My wife forwarded an ESPN article about a joyous reunion between adoptive and birth parents, celebrating the success of their son. It was almost too good to be true, as the now 45-year old football coach recently discovered he had been mentored all his life by his birth father, without either of them knowing the true connection. Everything about his upbringing came together in a fairy-tale like manner. He found his birth mother and they had a conversation as if they’d never been separated. She told him the name of the birth father, who turned out to be the coach who recruited him to play college football. It’s like a Hollywood movie script (and probably will be) as bio mom and adoptive mom harmoniously share their impact on his successful life. Here’s the link:

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http://www.espn.com/espn/feature/story/_/id/24505521/the-jaw-dropping-story-nfl-coach-search-family

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This is the way these adoption stories should always turn out, but unfortunately is not always the case. My adopted younger sister found her birth mother, who attended her wedding along with our parents. They all dealt with it much better than I did. I awkwardly felt it was a betrayal to the people who raised us and loved us as their own. I did not understand my sister’s need to find answers to life’s questions at the expense of our “true” parent’s feelings. I was filled with resentment and disgust, as my sister continued to develop this relationship outside of what I believed to be the boundaries of our family. I jokingly called it “her second family,” and wanted nothing to do with it.

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Four years ago this month my mom passed away at age 92, and my dad quickly followed. It seemed romantically appropriate that they left together, especially since they were born just hours apart. They were special people, who came to the rescue of my sister and I, when others couldn’t care for us at that time in their lives. Yes, I’ve been curious for years what those circumstances were, but remained loyal to this “first” family until their death. It was my choice, not my sister’s, and I respect her decision. I started with a simple DNA test through 23andMe.

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With time on my hands in retirement, I have now discovered “Banister World,” a foreign land of DNA-related strangers that somehow hold the secret to my existence. However, unlike the happy football story that’s unfolded, mine is cluttered with difficult questions. Why does an 85-year old woman who I can prove is my birth mother deny any connection to me? Is she embarrassed, afraid, conflicted, or confused? Were there devastating circumstances or traumatic consequences? Or, has her life-long lie become the truth in her eyes?

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I have suspicions about the father, and if they are correct he never would have known of my existence in 2011 when he died. There are strong DNA connections to his daughter and a noticeable resemblance in the eyes and smile. However, I may never know for sure without an admission by my birth mother, or perhaps her older sister. As was the case with the football coach, when his birth mother was secretly sent away to give birth, only a few close family members ever knew she was pregnant, and only she alone knew the name of the father. Time is running out on answers.

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In my opinion, the happy ending to any adoption story is knowing all the pieces to the puzzle. The coach finally had all the answers. “Now I know who I am and where I’m from. I got all the pieces to the story. I got them all now!” I’m thoroughly convinced that closure is essential, whether the outcome is positive or negative. Without these missing details, I somehow feel incomplete. This is why a family tree has become my recent passion. Sometimes I honestly don’t know what I’m looking for? Possibly, I waited too long before pursuing the truth? Maybe the father had the answers that he took to the grave just before my adopted parents joined him on the eternal journey? I’m sure they would have wanted to know who provided the first gift of family to them, just as they were probably equally grateful to my sister’s birth mother. I guess I’ll never know, so I’ll continue to search for clues.

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