"I'd like to try to give up smoking. I'll bet meditation would help that. We are taught in A. A. to take one day at a time. It also says to take one day at a time in the Bible. I'd like to have the feeling that I accomplished something at the end of the day." -Sue Grant, age 39 January 1983 Sue's High  School yearbook picture 1961

In my 27^th year, after the birth of my son and death of my father, I requested and received from my mother, my adoption papers that had been kept in a safe deposit box. They were still sealed in their original envelope, yellowed with age. My parents had never opened them. In these documents where most of the information had been blacked out by the New York Suffolk Court to ensure anonymity and confidentiality of the birth family, was my birth name, Carlisa Grant. With this first clue, the name chosen for me by my birth mother, my search for my biological history began.

On November 22, 1963 as the country froze in disbelief at the news John F. Kennedy had been shot, my mother received a phone call from the Children’s Aid Society in New York City. Their third child, a healthy white baby girl, was waiting for them. I was two months old. My parents had already adopted two other infants from this agency and would adopt a fourth one two years later.

As with the other two adoptions, my parents were assured neither the birth family, nor I, could ever find each other. They were told that my records were forever sealed. My parents were promised that I was now a member of their family, and a part of their history. As the caseworker gave some minor details of my birth and health, my parents did not think to write them down nor try to remember them. Instead, they delighted in the gift of yet another child.

Before my older sister had been adopted in 1959, my parents had been married over eight years. Both of them dreamed of having a large family, but biologically couldn't.

My Aunt and Uncle also could not have children biologically and adopted three older children. Because my Aunt was Catholic and my Uncle was a Lutheran, policy prohibited them from adopting an infant. Adoption became the norm in our family.

Unlike my sister and two brothers, I was always asking questions about my adoption. Finally to try to give me some answers to the questions I relentlessly pursued my mother with, she bought a baby book and filled it in, making it up where she did not know the answers. For heritage she wrote, "German and English."

One of my favorite stories was one called "The Chosen Baby." I imagined my parents selecting me out of a supermarket of babies. My mom told me that I was luckier than most children because I had not one, but two mothers who loved me. One Mother, who was unable to provide what she desired for me, and loved me enough to relinquish me, and the other one, who was unable to give birth to me, but longed to be the mother who raised me.

In grade school, a mother of a girlfriend asked me, "Don't you wish you had your 'real' mommy?" This was my first experience with people who saw me as not belonging to, or separate from my parents because I did not come from my mother’s womb. As an adult, my Dad's older brother gave me a copy of my family tree. When I asked him why my brothers and sister were not listed, he said, "Because you aren't blood." My Mom and Dad were often told how "charitable and kind" they were by taking in four children. This angered them because their children were as precious as any that could be born to them biologically and even more so in some ways because they had waited so long to become parents. I never felt my parents loved us less than any biological child they may have had.

When our son was born in 1987, I t felt incredible to have someone biologically related to me for the first time in my life. When I had our daughter five years later, I felt an even stronger pull for answers as I looked into her infant face. I needed to know where I came from and the circumstances of my birth. I had no medical history and that was interpreted on my medical charts as "no medical problems."

After learning my birth name in October of 1990, it took another year and a half to receive non-identifying information from both the adoption agency and New York State. No specific information was given, but the documents listed my birth mother as a 20 years old college student. She was of English and Scotch decent. My birth father was 22 and a stockbroker. He was Jewish. I now had my ethnic heritage.

Included was the standard fare sentence that is contained in most adoptee non-identifying information, "Although they had a meaningful relationship, marriage was not possible. For that reason, your mother decided that adoption was the best plan. Nevertheless, parting with you was very painful for her."

During the next few years, I was able to obtain a few more clues. I spent hours going through microfiche files in the library looking for wedding announcements and obituaries on people named Grant in the hopes of finding the clue that would solve my search. Because New York State seals the records of an adoptee at birth, I was searching for a needle in a haystack. For me to read my own files, have my own birth certificate, or be given my own history is illegal.

From my inquiries on the Internet, I knew my birth mother was not searching for me and I suspected she might be deceased or unable to look. I knew from the information I had gotten, that she had polio when she was seven and I was concerned she may have suffered a relapse from it as an adult. I would try to send ESP signals to her at times willing her to contact me. On my birthday I hoped she would surprise me by calling me. At times, I would ask God, "Why is she not looking for me?" I would plead with him to have me find her. I knew what a gift she gave to me when she made the heart wrenching decision to let me go. I wanted so badly to tell her how special and brave she was.

Since I believe in a loving God who would not hold back from me my heart's true desire, I could only try to reason in my human brain, that there must be a reason that I was not finding her. Perhaps he was protecting me until I was ready to know the truth.

My search concluded when I was 35 on September 30, 1998. During the course of my search, my husband and I celebrated our 11th year anniversary and we had two precious children. I went back to College to finish my degree.  I quit smoking, changed jobs, and adopted 3 dogs. In that time, I really got to know who I am (the best one can). I devoted more time to my spirituality and my personal relationship with God.  

As it was so hard to see before, I now know the wisdom of the wait. God will only give me what I can handle - and for that I needed a really good foundation.

When I exhausted my final trail, I hired a private investigator to finish the search. This investigator came highly recommended by my connections in the adoption triad. She had access to data banks and connections that I did not. When my search ended, my first call was to my adoptive mother. Hours later I received flowers that said, "I love you – Mom." My adoptive mother at first hesitant about my search, had become my greatest supporter and advocate.

I talked to my birth Aunt first. As I had long ago suspected, my birth mother was deceased. I got her answering machine. I left my name and asked if I could talk to her about a private nature in regards to her sister, Susan. I gave the date of my birth as a reference. I also left my phone number. I prayed that she would be receptive to me and she was.

My birth mother, Susan, never had another child, never got married and never held a job. When I talked to my birth mother's older sister by 3 years, I talked to a very kind, discerning woman. By the nature of what I am about to discuss, it might be hard for me to convey just how protective she was of my feelings - but I will try.

My birth mother was very unstable. She was normal as a child, but emotional problems set in during her teens. She had schizophrenia. Please don't think my Aunt just blurted this out. She only used "unstable" until much later in the conversation when I asked other questions and probed deeper. Susan (my birth mother) was in and out of institutions her adult life.  She couldn't hold a job. When she did get out of an institution, it wasn't long before her parents had to bail her out of some situation.

I had to ask if she was overweight (because I am). "No," My Aunt said, "just the opposite - too skinny. She was anorexic." 
"Was she mean?" I asked
"No, I can't say she was mean."
"Why do you think she was so unstable?" I asked her.
"She was mentally ill," she told me softly. "My parents tried everything, Susan put them through hell." My Aunt went on to add that her parents were wonderful - extremely caring.

My Aunt had known about me, but not a lot of the details.  She has no idea what my birth father's name was. She did say that there was no way that my birth mother could have kept me.  

At a couple points in the conversation, my Aunt apologized to me for holding back, telling me she didn't want me to feel worse. She also said that because this is such a shock for her that until she trusted the situation better, she felt reserved about sharing a lot private information. But she added, "It is your business also." My Aunt alleviated any of my trepidation by telling me it was my right to search and find.

My Aunt was interested in my adoptive parents, my life, and me. She applauded my going back to school and laughed over my stories of our family and the dogs. 

I asked if Susan ever finished her degree. My Aunt said she was incapable of doing so. Susan had gone part time at a community college but it was beyond her to stay with it. "My parents were so supportive of education that they would have encouraged her any way they could."

My Aunt asked for my address, phone number, email, and told me she would send some pictures of my birth mother to me. She said that because Susan had deteriorated so much as an adult, she would send me pictures of her when she was a child and happy. I asked her if she wanted me to send her pictures. "I don't know yet" she said, "I need to think about that."

"I understand completely," I assured her.

My Aunt gave me medical history - longevity, relatively good health, and some mental illness. "Get a mammogram every year" she warned. Breast cancer is prevalent. Her mother had Alzheimer's and her dad died of a brain tumor. They lived into their eighties. "Oh, and we all have bad knees," she added with a chuckle. " I just have had knee surgery for the second time."

We found out we both do step aerobics (even with her bad knees), and love to walk. She has freckles also. "You can connect the dots," she told me. I told her how my daughter is mad at me for giving her freckles.  I thanked her for sharing so much with me telling her how very much it meant to finally know where I came from.

As we hung up, her last words were, "Welcome to the family, Amy."

Those of us searching never quite know how it is going to end (or when), but I believe things are as they are meant to be. A couple weeks after talking to my Aunt I received a short note and several pictures in the mail. I eagerly searched through the pictures of my mother to see for the first time what the woman who gave birth to me looked like. My Aunt had found a picture of Sue as an adult that was complementary. Sue did not look like me.

Shortly after talking to my Aunt, my birth Uncle sent me a long letter. He enclosed letters my birth mother had sent him the last six months of her life. She died on July 16, 1983 at the age of 39.  My Uncle is 5 years younger than my birth mother. His letter started with the words...."Dear Amy, I am quite moved to learn of your existence. That Sue's terribly sad life has given rise to an apparently healthy human being...

Toward the end of his letter, he wrote:

After the initial elation of finding my birth family I fell into a strange depressed state. I am not prone to melancholy and it really surprised and upset me. I even tried to deny I was depressed for some time. I equated my depression with an inner weakness and lack of gratefulness. As I found out more information surrounding my biological family, the reality of it all hit me. Fantasies I had never consciously acknowledged ended and the truth was now concrete.

In all my haste to assure my biological family that I understood their hesitation, their shock, and their reactions, I ignored my own feelings. I was not as accepting of my own doubts - trying instead to keep a positive front especially to myself. Part of my self-deception included these kinds of thoughts... "I searched for nine years and have already processed my emotions" "I accept that no matter what happens I want to know it all."

It was only until I faced myself and accepted I wasn't above these very human reactions that I finally could address some of what was going on inside and coming up as depression. At times, as I pondered the complexity of it all.  Of course each and every time I conclude this circle of thought with, "Yes, I am glad I found."

I have found strength from talking to others in my adoption triad support group. I am even closer to my adoptive Mom who I was able to bounce off a lot of my vulnerabilities and fears with. (After all, who knows my entire life better?)  I found that my faith helped.

Everything has happened the way it was meant to be. Time is the great healer.  My relationship and blossoming friendship with my biological family is an aspect of my life that I value very much. There was an initial rush of exchanging information and trying to "catch up", but that is really impossible to do.

Now my correspondence with my birth family is much like friends - back and forth - more natural - and with longer gaps in-between as we are all living busy lives.  We have met in person and now are including each other in the fabric of our lives.

Little has been written about the time after the search has ended. I like the comfortableness of my adoptive family, and after 13 years of marriage there is a relaxed atmosphere with my in-laws as well. Dating was exciting, new and fun, but I much prefer the serenity and ease of being many years with my husband. In time, I hope the same will develop with my birth family.

My search never had anything to do with how good my adoptive parents were. I had wonderful adoptive parents who will always be my "real" parents. How were my parents to know that I needed to find where I came from? They weren't prepared to ever take on this situation. My parents were promised no one could ever come and claim us. My mother's love for me gave her the courage to support my need to search.  If my father were alive, I believe he also would have given me his blessing. 

Happy or sad - however our searches end - it is our life and our right to have our medical and family information. I now have three loving families - my adoptive, birth and husband's.  Each family intrinsically related when my husband and I gave birth to the next generation.  If a mother can love more than one child, why can't an adoptee love two mothers, two families…or more?

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