This is a very true story of my being adopted and then finding my Birth Brothers!!!!!
It was August 5, 2004, a hot summer day at the St. Louis Airport in Missouri. I was feeling pressured from the humidity. The humidity was so thick that I could feel it on my hand as I waved it through the air. The anxiety I was feeling was also very oppressive. My stomach was in knots while I was waiting for the plane to pull into the terminal. At age 28, I was meeting my brothers James and Mark, two people who have known of me my entire life, but we were just now meeting.
I was raised by my adopted parents from the age of six. We lived in Lake Morena, California, which is located approximately 55 miles east of San Diego. My parents were very open with me about my birth mother. They did not try to make me forget her, like some people do with their adopted children. Unfortunately, my birth mother had made a career out of being a heroin addict, which, of course, led to a life-style that was unsuitable for a child. During the adoption process, which took a total of five years to complete, I was required to see a social worker. At age 10, the social worker told me of my two brothers. I was baffled, because I was unaware that I had siblings. The social worker proceeded to tell me about them. She could not tell me much, just their first names and approximate ages because they too, were adopted, and all adoption records are sealed. Therefore, everything she told me could only be non-identifying information. The social worker informed me that my brothers had been adopted to the same family. This information made me feel two things: I was jealous that I was not with them, and I was happy that they were together. I took this information and filed it away in the back of my mind and went on with my new life.
In the year 1999, at the age of 23, my curiosity about my two brothers finally spurred me into action. I went on a mission to find my birth family. I knew I had to start with my birth mother. It was the only way to get any identifying information on my brothers. Lucky for me, my adopted mother had my original birth certificate, which had my birth mother's name and date of birth. Keep in mind that since I knew my birth mother was a drug addict, I grew up thinking that, if I ever went to find her, she would probably be dead or in prison. This is when I figured out that the internet could be used for much more than just playing video games. The first place I looked was in the California Death Index. I found no one with her name or date of birth. Thus, I began looking for groups that consisted of people that would help others search for their birth families. I found one on Yahoo Groups called CaAdoptees, which is short for California Adoptees. At first, no one had any luck; there was no guarantee that my mother was not going by an alias. I continued searching without any success.
Almost a year later, I was online checking my e-mails and I had an e-mail from CaAdoptees who was helping me search for my birth mother. I opened it like I opened all e-mails I received from them: with a little bit of trepidation and much disappointment since usually they ended up being just another dead end. There on the screen before me was some information from the California Criminal Index: Mary Katherine Schwing aka Mary Katherine Reid. My birth mother's name and date of birth was right there in front of me. I could not breathe! My birth mother, Mary, was currently doing time in a women's correctional facility in Chino, California, for voluntary manslaughter. Finally, I knew where she was, and as much as I had prepared myself for this exact situation, I found myself in jumbles, “Do I really want to contact her, knowing she is in prison?” I asked myself out loud. During the many months of contemplating the issue of writing Mary, I went downtown to the San Diego Courthouse to look up her criminal file. I decided to write Mary a letter to get my brothers names and dates of birth because my curiosity and desire to find my brothers outweighed the fear of communicating with her.
On August 9, 2001, I finally wrote Mary a letter. I kept it very general, wishing her good health, telling her a little of my life, and asking her for my brother's names and dates of birth. She did write me back with the information I requested from her. My brothers names were James and Mark. I went back to Gail with the new information, and she did many various searches. A year had passed, and we still could not find my brothers, even though the ladies on CaAdoptees were constantly telling me that some searches take years. I was beginning to get very depressed about the situation. I could not take much more; I was getting to a point where I was going to give up. Gail contacted me via e-mail about a new database that she had just purchased, but because of the cost to her, she needed to charge to run searches on it. “How much?” I asked. She replied, “$25.” If it could mean the difference of knowing and not knowing my brothers, what was twenty five dollars? It was certainly worth the possibility, so I sent her the money.
A week later she sent me the following: “Dear Ceila, I found the following names with the dates of birth you gave me. I hope this is them. Remember to breathe when you call. Love, Gail.” Along with my brothers names and dates of birth, there was a phone number next to James. Mark had no number next to his name. I called the number, and a man answered the phone. He knew who James was, but he no longer lived there. After I gave him a little information on who I was, he then proceeded to give me James' adopted parent's phone number. I called it, and a woman answered the phone. It was Mark and James' adopted mother. We talked for approximately half an hour, and after she was satisfied that I was who I said I was, she gave me James' current phone number. I was so nervous that I was chain smoking like I had never done before; even when I drank, I did not smoke like that. This was it; this was the moment; had they forgotten about me, or did they remember that I existed?
On the evening of June 8, 2003, I made the call. “Hello?” the voice said. “Ummmm, hi. Is this James?” It was James, and we only talked for about fifteen minutes before he said he had to go. I was very sad and hurt. He did say he would call back, but I was unsure of when he said he was going to. During the few hours that passed, I jumped out of my skin every time the phone rang. When it was finally him on the other line, I was rendered speechless, but only for a short while. James and I ended up talking for six hours that night. We talked about everything, including that he liked to be called Jim, and why he had hung up on me earlier. He said he hung up on me earlier because he was nervous and wanted to talk to his adopted mother to make sure I was his real birth sister, which, I am glad to say, she did confirm. Within a week of talking to Jim, I also talked to my oldest brother Mark. He and I do not talk as much as Jim and I do.
Another year went by, and it was now the summer of 2004. My brother Jim and I talk often, and my brother Mark and I talk little, but we still had not met face to face. I received an email one day from Mark and Jim's adopted parents saying that they would like to pay for a plane ticket for me to come to St. Louis, Missouri to meet my brothers. I was ecstatic and bouncing off the walls. This was truly the moment that I would never forget in my life, to actually get to hold them both in my arms had me in tears in a matter of seconds. I called them and made all the arrangements. We had it set for August 5-8; it was not much time, but it would have to do for now. I met my brother James at the airport on August 5, 2004, and Mark flew in on August 6. We laughed, and we cried as we talked about so many different things, ranging from the big accomplishments in our lives to the stupidest mistakes we have made. We drove around St. Louis just being together. Together, that was the best part, the three of us just being together.
What a life altering weekend that turned out to be. We all cried when we had to part ways, but when I sit and look back, I cannot help but feel happy. I realize how lucky I am to have found my brothers. I know that for some, the searching never ends. Hopefully, someday, everyone searching will have a moment like mine, a completion of the soul and a beginning to a whole new life.
