When the package arrived, I didn’t think much about it. My daughter Susan forwards letters sent to my former address and I’d given her permission to open them.
Inside I found two letters in their original envelopes; the first was from an old acquaintance.
The second immediately put off strange vibes: It bore an unrecognizable return address, and looked like it might have been resealed. Unsettled, I put it down, wondering who sent it and what they wanted, but afraid to find out.
Later that day, I took a deep breath and opened it.
The first sentence identified the sender as a researcher for a company called SearchQuest America based in Florida. The second sentence made me gasp.
“I help reunite adoptees and birth parents.”
I stopped reading because I was hyperventilating.
I Googled SearchQuest. The company was known to, but not a member of, the Better Business Bureau and had no lawsuits pending. Somewhat reassured, I returned to the letter.
Most of the information listed was accurate or close. In the third paragraph the researcher states, “I am aware that this letter will be a shock for you, but I am hoping you will be relieved to know Lori has had a good life and is a happy and healthy adult.”
Whether or not I agreed to contact, she requested answers about family and medical history.
Well, I thought, she’s entitled to that.
I called Susan to say I’d received the letter and ask if she read it. The line went quiet, and then she admitted she had. I asked if she phoned her sister Betty and she said yes.
To my relief they were both supportive, wanted to know if they might exchange e-mails and photos. Of course, I agreed.
A few days later I received a long letter from Lori with her baby picture and one taken a year ago. The photo told it all; Lori was the image of her sisters. I cried.
In an instant, I was transported back in time to 1956. I had been in what might charitably be called an “uncommitted” relationship. For those who weren’t of age then, I’d say the 1950s were squeaky clean. In high school I remember a few girls who simply disappeared. We weren’t told where they went or why but years later I learned parents who couldn’t face the embarrassment of a child’s unintended pregnancy had sent them away. The rich ones went to Switzerland; the poor ones went to a home for unwed mothers in downtown Los Angeles where adoption was encouraged, sometimes forced.
I had moved back with my parents because I had a fractured leg and couldn’t get around. My mother was having a dreadful time dealing with my father’s alcohol addiction and worried about him constantly. I knew I couldn’t burden her with my problem, so when the cast was off my leg, I moved into an apartment with an old friend. She was the only one with whom I shared my predicament.
My doctor arranged for the adoption and the adoptive couple paid my medical expenses.
In those days, California law protected privacy above all. When I signed the adoption papers, I was cautioned by the clerk not to look at any part of the forms so I never knew who took my baby from the hospital.
I also promised myself I would never reveal the birth to the baby’s father, who three years later became my husband. But living a lie takes its toll. After 13 years the marriage ended and I spent the ensuing years raising my twins, wondering what their sister’s life was like.
After their father and my parents were gone, I tried to find out but was blocked at every turn. Clerks at the L.A. County Hall of Records would tell me nothing, although they said if I wrote a letter it could be inserted into the file. That was it.
One day I drove to the street where the doctor’s office had been. I couldn’t remember his name but no matter, the whole building had been demolished and rebuilt. I guessed the time still wasn’t right.
Then came changes to California law, the Internet and search engines for birth records that make finding anyone easy. The researcher from SearchQuest found me just one day after Lori contacted her.
And so it was that we all met here in Montana—Lori, her daughter Shanti, the twins, their families, even their brother who joined by telephone. Three wonderful days replaced a lifetime of worry and wonder. I couldn’t be more proud of all my relatives, their support and a Thanksgiving none of us will ever forget.