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I always wanted to search for my birthparents, and I tried to get the process rolling when I was nineteen. When I contacted the Catholic agency that handled my adoption (evil, horrible people!), I was told that I "have no rights," that I was too young to search, and that they'd never tell me anything. (Admittedly, I didn't approach them in the most ideal manner--but hey, I was an angry, passionate teenager.) The callous dismissal I got from Catholic Charities enraged me. I cried for hours, and then I called the ACLU and everyone I could think of--telling them of the heartless injustice I was facing. No one cared--except the people at Adoption Crossroads--who really just wanted me to give them $75 in membership dues. I was terribly disheartened by my first searching attempt, but it opened my eyes. I had no idea, for example, that my birth certificate was "amended," and I did not realize that b.c.'s are filed in the hospital by BIRTH NAME, not date of birth. (This still seems absurd to me.) I soon understood that I would have to find my original birth name, and that this whole thing was way more complicated than I originally imagined. I figured I would have to wait until I was older and had some money, and then I could hire a P.I. to do the dirty work for me. I was so upset and frustrated by my first attempt that, for the next five years, I was too scared to search. Finally, my friend found the Adoptees Internet Mailing List, told me about it, and I subscribed. This was great--tons of searching tips, support, etc. Lots of people were "finding" and reuniting, and it was exciting to witness all the success. I did get a little depressed from time to time, when my search seemed to stagnate, but for the most part I was totally obsessed with finding my birthparents. I had learned how to be cool and professional, and this time, I suckered those stupid social workers into telling me much more than they intended. (This felt amazing--sweet revenge!) I never really had a mental picture of what my birth mother would be like. All I knew about her was that she was supposedly pretty and very smart. I found out she was from a huge family--eight kids--and that she was Irish. This was all very exciting, but I still had no actual fantasy of my perfect birthmother. I just hoped that I would find her alive--and, of course, I hoped she'd be glad to know me. I never really expected to find my birthmother, but I had some incredible luck and invaluable help from a member of the Adoptees Mailing list. She found one of my b-mom's brothers, and I called him up. I tried to be very discreet and I said that I was an old college friend of Marilyn's, but he wouldn't give me her phone number. Finally, I HAD to tell him who I really was--her long-lost daughter--and after a few minutes of disbelief and intense quizzing, he believed me, and he called her right up. She phoned me immediately, but was kind of strange. She said, "My brother said you wanted to talk to me." I said (trembling uncontrollably), "Yes. And you know why, right?" And she said, "No." So I start to go into my spiel about searching, and I rattle off my birth date, and she cuts me off and says, "I know I'm your mother." (So she knew exactly why I called and was just being evasive...) Then she tells me all about her life and her childhood--this is a three hour monologue--and I write copious notes, in a state of absolute amazement. On the phone, my birthmother seemed sort of emotionless--very quiet and rehearsed. I wondered if she'd been waiting twenty-four years to tell me about herself and had written out a whole long speech. She was a little miffed that her brother found out her big secret--that she had reliquished a child--but at least I had located the one sibling she was reasonably close to. If I had broken the news to her second sister, for example--with whom she was obviously a little competitive--I think my birth mother would have been very ashamed. But, how am I supposed to know this stuff, right? I DID try to be very careful...and anyway, the agency report I received said that her family all knew about me (a total lie, as I found out). During that first conversation, I asked my birth mother a million questions, but she didn't ask me ONE THING! Not a "How was your life? What are your parents like?"--nothing. I thought this was strange, but I let it go. She also didn't give me any personal information about herself--never offered to tell me her last name, where she lived (though I knew it was Chicago), her phone number, kids' names, address, nothing. I was hurt by this, and I didn't understand it--but again, I just let it go. I hoped she would call me again the next night, and we could really catch up (this always seemed to happen with the other adoptees who "found"), and I hoped I'd get to meet her very soon. She did say a few encouraging things to me--like she wanted her kids to know me, etc.,--so I thought we had a future, and I hoped she would warm up quickly. After all, she had called me right away--she must be interested in knowing me, right?-- I assumed she was just working through her "shell-shock" and that's why she seemed a bit cold. But, since she neglected to give me any "identifying information," I couldn't contact her again unless I went through her brother, and I didn't want to involve him anymore. So, I waited for b-mom to call me. I waited a long time--three months--and then, starting to think that she was never going to call me again, I began to try to locate her on my own. I got her mother's death certificate and obituary, and I managed to find out her married name. Then I called Chicago information, and bingo! I had her phone number and address. So, after a bit of hesitation, I wrote her a letter and enclosed some photos. A few weeks passed, and I still didn't hear anything (weird, right?), so I called her and left a discreet message on her answering machine. One morning, when I came into work, I found a long voice-mail message from her. She was shocked that I had found her phone number, but quietly explained that she was "just very confused, and this whole thing is hard to deal with." She said she did want to know me, and acknowledge me, but wasn't sure where to start. She said that we could meet if I came out to the midwest on business (plans I had mentioned to her in my letter), and then she said she'd been "trying" to write back to me, but was having trouble. So, I forgave her for being so unresponsive, and soon after this, we had our second long talk on the phone. She told me a few more things, but again, mostly talked about herself, and didn't ask me any questions. I had told my parents about my finding her, and they, though surprised, were supportive and wanted to know all about my birth family. But they, too, thought it very odd that Marilyn didn't ask me anything when we spoke, and that she was so unresponsive to my letter and generous offering of photographs, etc... With my adoption group, I whined a lot about my difficulty understanding my birthmother, but people said that I had to be more compassionate and patient, that she had spent a quarter of a century repressing the memory of my birth, and that this whole thing was bringing up difficult issues for her, etc... I could certainly see that this wasn't easy for her, but frankly, I thought (and I still think) that not responding to letters is just plain rude and inconsiderate. When she wrote to me (as she did rarely, by email), I always wrote back, just to be nice. I thought she could at least do the same--but often, and especially if I asked her a "difficult" question (like, how come you didn't tell me where you lived? how come you won't tell me my birth father's name?), she just wouldn't answer. This always pissed me off, but I tried to keep my frustration in check, for fear of alienating her. I soon figured out that my birth mother's "game" was not answering. This left her in control--and was especially upsetting to me because, as an adoptee, I had spent my whole life out of control--with no legal right to knowledge about my birth family and personal history. Now, my b-mom was pulling another "authority" thing with me by witholding information. I wondered if she realized it. We were supposed to meet in Minnesota, but she left me a voice-mail (at the last minute) saying she couldn't make it--she had mixed up the dates or something, and already had plans to go to her secretary's wedding. I thought that meeting me was definitely more important than making a mercy appearance at some cheesy wedding, but whatever. I still hoped she would surprise me at my hotel and that we could meet and have a wonderful weekend. I waited alone, in vain. She never even called me in Mpls., as she said she would. The holidays came up. I sent her presents. She sent me nothing--not a Christmas card, not even a thank you for the gift I gave her. I thought this was super-rude, and I told her so. She responded with some lie about being busy because of "a death in the family"--but wouldn't go into any detail--and then, as punishment, she didn't write to me for over two months. In February, I broke the silence by writing her a letter telling her how frustrating it was for me to make so much effort, and not get anything in return. Until we stopped writing around Christmastime, she had been promising to send me photographs (I had no idea what she looked like--and she had tons of photos of me), and to tell her kids that I existed. I asked her what happened to all the promises she had made--and why our relationship didn't seem to be progressing. She finally responded, angrily, that she was "not the maker of empty promises" and that she and only she had the right to tell her kids about me and she would do it "when and if the time is ever right." She also said she never imagined that her child would "disdain" her...Well, how am I supposed to feel after she never follows through with her promises, and never seems to act in good faith? Soon after this, I received a color copy collage of family photographs--but with no letter. At least I could see what she looked like--though the most recent photos were over ten years old. I graciously thanked Marilyn for the photos, asked her a few questions about my siblings, and she started to warm up a bit and resume regular communication by email. We made new plans to meet--this time in NYC where she was traveling on business. Again, at the last minute, she canceled, saying her plans had changed. I was very disappointed, and I thought this was odd, but I accepted it. I did tell her, however, that if our roles were reversed, I would have been on the next plane to see her after that first phone call. I didn't have enough money to travel to Chicago, but I thought she could have at least invited me...as usual, Marilyn didn't respond. Meanwhile, my birthday came and went. No card--though I did get an email. I also got repeated questions about whether I had received her present yet. No, I said, not yet. This went on for months--"Did you get my present?" "No, not yet"--and then a few months later, she admitted that she hadn't gotten around to mailing it yet. (I never did get it. Oh well.) In May--almost a year after our first contact--we finally met in Pennsylvania. I drove for hours to meet her in some godforsaken corporate hotel complex. We hugged ( I wasn't sure if we would), and went out to dinner. There, I showed her the baby dress that the nuns had made for me and that I was wearing when my adoptive parents came to pick me up (this dress is one of my a-mom's most treasured possessions)--Marilyn just nodded, and didn't seem to care. I tried to show her some of my photo albums, but again, she didn't really seem to be interested in my life. She talked A LOT about her other kids, and she talked endlessly about her work...I realized that she must be very self-absorbed...and I thought she was rather boring. My boyfriend agreed. We had a few drinks, took some photos, and left. I came away from our "reunion" feeling very unconnected to her, and strangely empty. I certainly didn't regret meeting her, but I realized that I didn't love her automatically--as I thought I would. After our reunion, we wrote regularly--sending real time messages. Marilyn continued her two famous topics of conversation--her family and her work. I tried again to ask her who my father was. She grudgingly answered, "Frank," but wouldn't go into any more detail. She later told me that she was searching for him as a present to me, but wouldn't tell me what she had done so that I could help (I considered myself a skilled searcher at this point, and I knew I could find him if she'd just give me some clues). I did find a message she had posted on the AOL birthfather's bulletin board--so then I finally knew my b-dad's full name. I was unable to "officially" search for my birthfather because I didn't really know any details about him, but I did a few phone disk searches for men with matching names, and I sent out discreet letters. I got some wacko responses, but didn't find the right guy. Marilyn was no help, and said only that she was looking but that his whole family "seemed to have disappeared." I was depressed by this news, but I believed her, and was flattered that she wanted to find him for me. Soon after this, it dawned on me to search for families with my birth father's surname--in his hometown. There could be some relatives living there--even if he had moved away. Jackpot! I found his dad--a super-sweet old man who was thrilled to hear from me. He called his son--my birthfather--and we had a wonderful, long talk on the phone, and made plans to meet immediately. I was so happy--I called Marilyn right away to let her know. Big mistake! Her icy voice almost froze my ear through the phone line! She was not happy! And why? Because she'd been lying about looking for Frank--sure, she posted a message on the birthfather board, but that's ALL she did. I knew then that she was a big-ass liar. Frank's parents had lived in the same house in MA for forty years! They certainly did not "disappear!" How cruel is that? To lie to your child and break promises?! She was doing everything a "bad" parent does--and I had finally seen through her. She wrote to me soon afterward, apologizing for her bad reaction, and said that I should have understood that Frank was a part of her life she wanted to keep private. She said he was a good guy and that he always held a special place in her heart. So why couldn't she have told me that?? The first time we spoke she said she never loved him, didn't want to discuss my conception, and insinuated that I was a product of date rape! Nice, huh? Now, I find out that it was all quite the opposite, but she wanted to keep his memory private. I told her that I didn't think it was fair to keep the subject of my birthfather private--precisely because he is MY FATHER and I have a right and a need to know about him. Marilyn seemed to "get over" my finding Frank, and I told her about our meeting, etc... She then opened up a bit, and went into some detail about being sent to the maternity home, and told me that it was hard for her to think about that, and she guessed she had resented Frank for being the one who got off so easy. I could understand this, and was happy that she was finally being a little forthcoming. I then told her I was planning a trip to Boston, and she said she had business there at the same time, so we made plans to meet for dinner. My boyfriend and I were staying in a nice hotel, and I gave Marilyn the phone number, she told me her flight plans, and we settled on six o'clock as a meeting time. Well, she never even called! Around eight p.m.--after freaking out, wondering if her plane was delayed or had crashed or all sorts of horrible thoughts--I called her hotel and found out that she canceled her reservation! I franticaly checked my messages at home, at work, everywhere. Not a word from her--even though she'd confirmed our meeting the day before!! My boyfriend said, "What do you expect from her? She's full of it--let's just go out and forget about her." So we did, but I was still really upset and confused. How could she do that to me?? When we returned the next night, I called Marilyn at home. I said, "Uh, didn't we have dinner plans? What happened?" She was weird and cold, and didn't even bother to apologize or explain. She just said, "My plans changed because I needed to get some tests." I said, "You could have called. I gave you my phone number." She was just quiet. Whatever! So I said, "OK, hope you feel better, bye," and slammed down the phone. A few seconds later, I called her back, ready to say, "You wouldn't treat your other kids so inconsiderately, what makes you think it's OK to lie to me and treat me like shit?!"-- but she didn't answer the phone. It's been over a month since that final fiasco, and my attitude now is SCREW HER. She's not worth my time. She obviously has major problems and I don't need any more aggravation from her. I was always honest and giving with her, and she was just the opposite with me. Well, it's her loss. I tried so hard to know her, but her defenses were much too strong. Now that I am essentially out of her life (unless she gives me a MAJOR apology), I know she has no reason to tell her kids about me, so I am thinking that I just might tell them myself. I don't need to be on Marilyn's good side anymore. And I truly believe that we all have a right to know each other. Marilyn shouldn't be able to control us or keep us apart with her secrets and lies. Who knows? I might actually have a nice, fulfilling relationship with her kids. As an only child, I have always wanted siblings, and it would be helpful for me to know them. I have seen my birth father a few times now--luckily, we live close by. He's a very nice guy, and seems genuinely interested in knowing me and making up for lost time. (The complete opposite of Marilyn!) The sad part is, now that I have dealt with the "difficult" birth-parent, I am having a hard time accepting the love that Frank offers me. I was so hurt by Marilyn that I have a hard time believing Frank might actually care about me. I just try to be polite, honest, and keep in touch with him. After all, that's the least I can do for family.
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