Category: DIARY OF AN ADOPTEE (Page 8 of 18)

In my ongoing quest to seek information about my adoption, it’s valuable to see it from someone else’s perspective. A very good friend of mine had a baby back when she was in high school and claimed that it was the result of a rape. No charges were ever pressed and the father never knew of the pregnancy, as she never revealed his identity to anyone. She went on to marry twice and had a child with her first husband. A couple of years ago she approached her high school boyfriend and finally admitted that he was indeed the father, realizing that he deserved to know that this child existed. I think this admission was the result of my story and the realization that DNA technology might eventually uncover this secret.

This friend’s confession was with the support of her current husband, also a close friend, who always knew the truth and appreciated the honesty in their relationship. They both were not as up-front with their first spouses, so in moving-on they frankly exposed every skeleton in the closet. This closeness is providing essential support in the dilemma that she now faces. With the recent release of sealed adoption documents by the State of Indiana, the secret is now out of the bag. She has been contacted by her “love child,” who is now 45-years old, and happily married with two children. An Ancestry DNA test also has her linked to the birth father’s family, so she’s been able to quickly uncover the entire mystery of her existence, although I’m sure she wondered most of her life. 

Over the past week, there has been constant e-mail communication between birth-mother and daughter, with a face-to-face meeting scheduled with the bio-father in a few days. Things are moving fast…too fast for my friend. Once again, because of my influence and struggles to connect with my birth-mother, along with the understanding of her husband who is also adopted, she has been very open in answering difficult questions. However, she’s now caught in a troublesome dilemma, especially if she wants to take the relationship any further. 

Her first step would be to tell her child about an older sibling, and try to explain why she had not been honest and forthcoming with this admission. This would be very difficult and embarrassing. It would also reveal the lies of rape that she told the rest of her family. Her mother passed away several years ago, but her brother and sister and their spouses were all involved at the time of birth. Also, her former husband was a victim of her web of deceit. I’m sure they probably saw through her false claims, but will still certainly be surprised when they learn the identity of the boyfriend. They tend to be judgmental, so this adds to her concerns. Not to mention, their children, who will be somewhat temporarily shocked, until they realize that they each could have easily made the same mistake. They grew up in a more liberal environment with birth control pills and legal abortion as options.  

She has explained this dilemma to her long-lost “daughter,” as they continue to e-mail and text. Their is relief in that both parties are financially stable, and in fact have friends in common that vouch for their credibility. However, there is reluctance to meet because of the overhanging baggage of my friend’s  current family. A decision needs to be made on whether or not a full confession will be constructive. I’m sure her “legitimate” child will quickly overcome the initial bombshell and related disappointment to eventually realize that even “Mom” makes mistakes and may even want to meet the half-sister, as I’ve had the opportunity to meet mine. I don’t think it’s fair to expect forever keeping this secret from cousins, so it’s probably best to tell everyone and then let any potential relationships unfold naturally. If not, this will continue to be an awkward dilemma. 

From my standpoint, I’ve found a certain inner-peace in knowing that my birth-mother has lived with a similar dilemma her entire life. I’ve already exposed it to her family, but none of them have been responsive, as was not the case on the birth-father’s side. I can now see, from the perspective of my friend, how the stigma of a high school pregnancy tragically effects a young girl’s life. It starts with how to tell the parents, and how they react, faced with the brutal scrutiny of society? It can lead to lies, embarrassment, and awkwardness with family members. When confronted with the truth, it can trigger deception, and for some there is no going back. I think that’s the case with my birth-mother, even though I don’t know the whole story. She is obviously still in denial at the age of 86. I just feel empathy for these women that are forced to give up a child because there was no other alternative at the time. They carried this child for nine months and were suddenly and permanently separated, expected to feel that they did the right thing. For decades, they try to forget, but often wonder what became of their offspring? It builds an emotional wall of protection between mother and child, so any potential reunion is difficult in many ways. This friend of mine is just another example of the dilemma that unavoidably ensues. 

I’ve recently being going to a local acupuncture center to be treated by an Asian doctor. Like every medical professional, he wanted to know of any health related issues that may have been passed on by my parents. I’ve always claimed to have been adopted with no knowledge of this history. In the past few years, with the discovery of my birth parents, I’ve gotten bits and pieces of this important information, but remain mostly uninformed. I’ve been in touch with the family of my birth father to know that he developed lymphoma. Those on the side of the birth mother, however, have not provided any feedback. I explained this to the doctor and he offered a story from one of his former patients, as he was inserting needles in my back. 

He profoundly told me when we first discussed adoption a few sessions ago that I was a completely different person now than when I was born, so there was probably no longer any connection with the birth mother. With this in mind, he observed that “I simply came through her… not from her.” (See Post #1009). In other words, she provided the window or gateway that gave me access into this world. From the moment that we parted ways in the adoption home, both of us took on separate lives to the point where we don’t really know each other any more. In a similar sense, his patient had given up a son at age 17 to adoption and it ultimately affected her health. She had trouble with future relationships, weight gain, and bouts of unexplained depression that led to physical and emotional pain. He treated her for years, as she was on the verge of suicide. Suddenly, she lost 25 pounds, quit smoking, and made frequent trips to the gym, finding that most of her pain was gone. As she eventually explained to the doctor, she had been contacted by this long-lost son and they were now in regular communication. 

As time went on, they decided to take a trip together and get to know each other. He had earned two doctorates and had homes on both Park Avenue and in Paris, and traveled extensively. He took her on a 35-day world trip to 21 different cities but they never bonded. They were completely different people despite their bond of birth. The family that adopted him were founders of the Toshiba Corporation and he was raised with servants. private schools, and social skills. Although they eventually separated once again, he set her up with ownership of 45 properties along the Oregon Coast and she became very wealthy. Her newfound money allowed her to set-up an education fund for immigrants from the Far East. All that guilt that she had been carrying about giving up her son was now forgotten and necessary closure was complete, although it’s sad they never got along in the end. 

From what I’ve read, mother-child reunions can take many twists. I’m certainly not in a position to help my birth mother financially, but I do feel that it would be a relief for her to see how successful my life has been. Perhaps, her recent heart issues are related to my fruitless attempts to get in touch. It may very well be that my lower back issues that caused me to seek acupuncture may be a result not being able to psychologically “move on” from finding answers to my existence. Sadly, I know that she has had a tougher life than me, having lost two sons. I’m glad that her remaining son and daughter are supportive, and obviously protective of my efforts to contact her.

On a related note, I’m still trying to find my connection with Joyce Gourley, who shows up as my strongest DNA connection on 23andMe. Her birth name was Nancy Ferris, the third daughter of Jack Duane Ferris and Betty Louis Burton. She was adopted at age 2 and her name was changed to Joyce. I’m not sure if Gourley is a married name, but I believe that the Banister connection is through the Burton family. Over the past couple months, I’ve added about 250 Burton’s to my Ancestry.com tree, but I’ve yet to come across a common relative. Genealogy work like this sometimes takes more patience than I have. Joyce initially responded to my e-mails, but recently has gone dark. By the same token, I’m also searching my connection with Terry Grimshaw who I visited with a few months ago but have yet to find our common link. I have to seek as many allies as I possibly can in my continuing quest for closure. 

A wise Chinese gentleman was leery of my quest to seek the past. “You’re a different person now and there’s nothing to gain,” he pointed out. “You simply came through her,” referring to my birth mother.  It made me feel like an alien, using her body to enter this world. “You didn’t come from her,” as is common with most children, he seemed to imply. It made me think that adoption was the means of shedding my alien skin and taking on a new identity. I even have visions of Sigourney Weaver (Ripley) watching the frightening creature burst from the chest of John Hurt (Kane) and escaping into the depths of the ship. Since my escape from a Banister birth, I have truly become a new person thanks to the Johnston name and the opportunities that came with the association. I’ve changed names, gotten a college education, had a son of my own, found a successful career, and am currently enjoying retirement. Unlike the movie nightmare, my life has been a dream.

In reflection, I somehow felt that something was missing. I needed to know the reason for my existence. After my adoptive parents passed away, I began to get more curious about the two people that gave me life. In the process, I’ve learned their names and have met members of their family. My biological father is dead but the mother is still alive at age 86. I have mixed feelings about wanting to meet her, and have been frustrated with the refusal of both her son and daughter to acknowledge my letters. They obviously are not as curious about me as I am about them. I’m a complete surprise to them, whereas I’ve had years to finally make my decision to contact them. My only connection with them is through Facebook where I find hints about their lives. Their mother apparently does not admit to being my mother. I do understand their loyalty, and I’m uncertain as to my next step as the alien. 

I got a tip from a friend yesterday noting there was a Facebook post from her son about “prayers for my mother.” Not knowing the nature of his plea, I honestly had mixed thoughts. If she was dying, it would be too late for a reunion, as was the case with the father. However, there was also a sense of relief that my search might be over. Instead, additional comments to the post included that the health concern was over “heart tests.” Apparently, all is well. Now, I just wish there was a place in her heart for me.                                                                                                                           

After receiving my packet of information from the adoption agency a few days ago, proving my connection to the woman that gave birth to me, I decided to try one last time to contact her only daughter. Unfortunately, all I have is her work address, after seeing a Facebook post that she was celebrating 28 years on the job. I wrote her a letter a month ago (See Post #968) with no response, so I don’t know if she received it or not? I was hoping that she would be sympathetic to my awkward situation. Since that first letter only included the birth certificate I received from the State of Indiana, legally linking her mother and I together, the follow-up adds even more credibility to my claim. Despite the discomfort of sharing a 68-year old surprise, I felt somewhat obligated to forward this additional documentation to her, since the whole affair could be perceived as a scam. 

I feel like I’m stalking the family after previous letters to her mom and half-brother have also gone unacknowledged. I’m convinced that someone owes me a direct answer, even if it’s please don’t contact us any more. So far, in my search, I only have hearsay that she doesn’t remember giving up a child for adoption at the age of 18. Well, here’s proof to the contrary, considering the state attorney recently unsealed these private files after all these years. It’s tough on all of us, even though my intentions are honorable. This is the short letter that I sent a few days ago:

Dear Janet:

I have no idea if you received my first letter, but I just recently got some additional documentation from the adoption home that I wanted to share with you. I’m sure that you question my intentions, but honestly I’m just trying to get some closure on the circumstances of my birth.

If you feel like this is some kind of scam against your family, I will be more than happy to stop with these inquiries – just send me an e-mail or note acknowledging that you received this and I will not bother you further – I promise. I just want to make sure that I’ve made every effort possible to express gratitude for my life. You are my last option since Jerry never responded and letters to Edna have been returned.

I’m not trying to make anyone uncomfortable or establish a relationship, but I somehow feel compelled to learn more about the woman who gave birth to me. Maybe you would do the same?

Best Regards, Mike

I waited most of yesterday for the postman, anticipating my delivery from St. Elizabeth/Coleman. It supposedly required a signature, but instead it wasn’t necessary for me to be here. When it finally did arrive, it was a very thin package, not the mass of paperwork that I imagined. Inside, were four Child Welfare & Children’s Home Admission file cards, confirming my birth name of Jerry Lee Bannister and the mother Edna Faye Bannister. It showed my status as “born out of wedlock, to unmarried woman” and birth date of 8/27/1951. Edna was admitted on 7/25/51 and went back home on 9/11/51 two weeks after I was born. At this point, I was admitted to the Children’s Home until my adoption by Burton and Catherine Johnston of Elkhart, Indiana on 10/29/51. It was interesting that all the paperwork showed the name Bannister with two “n’s” when both families involved used the single “n” spelling. It’s also important to note that Edna’s birth date and home address match the same Edna Banister that I had originally suspected to be my  biological mother. 

All of these files had been sealed for 67 years by the State of Indiana to protect her identity. However, over thirty years ago a friend of mine in the newspaper business had media access to this private information. This is when I first heard the name. Over the last couple years, as documented in this diary, I had found her birth certificate and census data that pointed to her family. I could just never prove it until today. Also, as most people would find insignificant, I have her original signature as an 18-year old on the 3 pages of notarized Release paperwork also provided in the packet. This is the very first item that we’ve both touched, and as close as I’ve gotten to her since September 11, 1951. There is nothing in the files to indicate how much time we spent together in my first two weeks of life before our separation on that day. From this day forward, 9-1-1 takes on new meaning for me. I also wonder if it’s as close as we’ll ever get. 

The most revealing page was a two-sided, heavy cardboard chart filled out by a case worker. Most of this information was given to me years ago by the Suemma Coleman Adoption Agency, but names and dates were excluded. It shows her with 7 siblings, including twins, ranging in age from 28 to 18. It names her mother & father and maternal grandparents along with their addresses and professions. I was also surprised when it listed the name of the birth father. All the other forms show him as “unknown.” It’s the first documented link between Edna Faye Bannister and Cecil Bannister and confirms them to be my biological parents. Once again, I had known this but couldn’t prove it. It also states that her sister and mother brought her to the home on 7/25/51, two months after she finished her Junior year of high school.  

From what I could calculate, the Banister family (or Bannister) paid a total of $261.08 for medical, room, board, and baby care during the 6 weeks that Edna stayed at the home. My parents (who were legally defined as my foster parents for the first year) paid an additional $350 settlement with the understanding that they could return me if I was found “unsatisfactory,” or that I could be removed from their care at any time previous to legal adoption. I’m sure I was very spoiled the first year in their home, and this explains my regal-like behavior even today. 

In the Social and Medical Background Information the agency sent years ago at my request, my birth father was described as “gregarious, easy-going, generous, a good worker, and good looking.” I assume this description came from Edna. I found it curious on the cardboard form that she had added “a little conceited.” The social worker must have decided to leave this out on the description they sent me because every other word was identical. Being “excessively proud of oneself” is not necessarily a bad thing, nor is “self-admiring,” as the word is defined. After my carefully supervised upbringing, I just might be like him in that respect, as my parents felt so lucky to have me after failing to produce a son of their own. All of us are beyond grateful to Edna and Cecil. 

The form then goes on to list them both of the  Protestant faith and Baptist church. This was important because the home was supported by the church, although Edna indicated that she was referred by an ad in the paper. As you can see, I was involved in the advertising business even before I was born, eventually becoming my chosen career. Edna was working at Lochhead, while Cecil was at Switzer-Cummins, where he remained employed for 35 years along with serving in the Marines. It also shows his address to be R.R. 1 North Vernon, indicating that he lived somewhere very near her at the time. However, not all the information appears to be accurate, since his birth place on the form was given as Jeffersonville, Indiana, where most records show it to be Alert. I’m really surprised that this much information on him was contained in the file, when Edna could have easily denied his identity. 

This means that Edna’s mother and sister undoubtedly knew that Cecil was the father, but may have sworn to secrecy in telling other members of the family. Their grandfathers were brothers, even though Edna, who shared the same last name, claimed “no relation” to Cecil. If word had gotten out, it would have created a much bigger scandal than just an unmarried pregnancy.  This is why I continue to believe that Cecil never knew of my existence, once he left for the Marines and got married. It could be, however, that he never acknowledged their affair. I can prove it now through both DNA testing and these newly released adoption records. Although the pieces of my adoption puzzle continue to fit together, there are still some key answers missing. 

I should receive my packet from St. Elizabeth tomorrow. They now hold the official adoption records from the Suemma Coleman Agency where I spent the first two months of my life. I was recently granted access to this paperwork because of legal changes by the State of Indiana. All adoption records have been sealed prior to this year, so this will be my first legal glimpse into the past. I’m very curious as to what they’re sending me. It wasn’t but a week ago that they called and indicated that these records were lost. With some additional information on my part, apparently they were found, although for several days I thought that I would never see what was in my files. I will get the chance tomorrow with the scheduled delivery via UPS. I just hope that I don’t miss the postman because it requires my signature. 

I can only imagine what is in this packet? It’s like opening a gift on Christmas. However, it cost me a $50 handling fee and might be disappointing. Supposedly, it contains some notes on conversations with the birth mother, admittance & release dates, background information on the family, and correspondence with social workers. It might help fill in a few missing pieces of the adoption puzzle. Any new information is certainly welcome, but I need to control my expectations. I also wrote to the daughter of my birth mother several weeks ago and haven’t received a reply. Unfortunately, I’m used to being ignored by the family. Since I now have the actual birth certificate with her name and address, I no longer refer to her as the presumed birth mother. She refused delivery of my certified letter; her son never answered my letter; her niece who is a DNA match has not responded to my note through 23andMe; and now the daughter is undoubtedly struggling with my connection to her mother. I can’t really blame any of them from protecting their privacy. It’s the same loyalty that I expressed to my adopted parents all these years. I’m just glad that the family on my birth father’s side has been so welcoming. At least, I now know a little about each of my biological parents, when just a year ago I knew nothing of their relationship. Let’s now see what the postman brings!

After almost 8 months of waiting, I finally got a copy of my official birth certificate that now gives me undeniable proof of my birth mother’s identity and address. The only intriguing detail on the certificate that certainly doesn’t exist in modern times is a check box indicating that I was NOT legitimate.  I was born at 5:22 p.m. and adopted two months later.  I decided to try one other route on connecting with the birth mother – her daughter. I wrote a letter to her this morning:

Dear Janet,

I apologize for contacting you through work, but it was the only address that I had available. Last year I wrote a letter to your brother, Jerry, and I don’t know if he shared the information with you. He did not respond to me, which is understandable under the circumstances. Your mother, Edna Faye, gave birth to me 68 years ago while she was still in high school. I’ve attached a copy of the birth certificate that I just received from the Indiana State Department of Health. Documents pertaining to adoption have been legally sealed until just recently, plus I have other proof of my relationship to her. Jerry received some of this information in my certified letter, so I don’t know if any of it has been shared with your mother.

This is obviously a sensitive subject, but I wanted to make every effort to make contact with her for several reasons. Most importantly, I need her to know that I have lived a healthy, successful life thanks in part to her decision to give me up for adoption. She was only 17 at the time, so I’m sure that this was a very traumatic experience for her and those around her. I recently read the book, “The Girls Who Went Away,” that documents thousands of young women of this era that left their families in shame and gave up their babies, convinced that they could never raise them on their own. I’m just grateful that she gave me life. I know that she just turned 86 so I hope she’s in good health. I lost both of my adoptive parents at age 93. I have a son who’s 46 and three grandchildren that are part of Edna’s life legacy.

I have already found the birth father, that make the “illicit” union even more complicated. His name is Cecil Ralph Banister, a distant cousin, who joined the Marines after high school and probably never knew that she was pregnant. He was then married to Edna’s classmate, Marilyn Foist, for sixty years before his death in 2011. I met her and his five daughters last December in Scipio, Indiana. The visit was a result of a “half sibling” DNA match that I got through Ancestry.com. I also have many DNA matches on your side of the Banister family, so I know that Edna has been questioned about me and denies any relationship, that we now all know is true.

I am not trying to embarrass her, nor do I want anything from Edna. I’m comfortably retired and financially secure. Like other adoptees, I’m simply trying to complete a void in my life and would appreciate any information that you could provide. I’m interested in health issues and would love to know the story of Edna and Cecil. I know that she’s been married twice, with children from both husbands. I also sadly know that there have been issues with Cystic Fibrosis in the family. On Cecil’s side it’s been Lymphoma. It’s important that I know this information and that you know that I am a match for organ donation, should that need ever arise.

It would give me peace of mind just knowing that you received this letter. Further communication is up to you, but as time ticks away, the curiosity of “what if?” grows within me. If you would like more information about me, I write a blog at https://blog.johnstonwrites.com/category/diary-of-an-adoptee/ that has a specific category set up called “Diary of an Adoptee.” It documents the beginning of my search and some of the family connections that I’ve made throughout the last few years.

Best Regards, 

I mailed the letter quickly before any possible change of mind could take place, as I consider how information like this changes peoples lives.  In the next few weeks, I should also receive a packet from St. Elizabeth/Coleman, the adoption agency of record. Per the state’s direction, they are releasing all paperwork regarding my case that might include letters to a case worker, dates of admission and release, visits, conversation notes, medical records, and perhaps even an identification bracelet that I wore in the two months that I was under their care. This will be the subject of my next post once snail mail takes its painfully slow course. Don’t hold your breath!

As I continue my search for the strangers who gave me life, I am forced to make assumptions. I feel that I’m close to understanding their connection, but certainly don’t want to interfere with people that don’t yet trust my intentions. I honestly don’t want anything but answers, and so my quest for closure goes on.

DNA testing has brought me together with biological half-sisters and the man I believe to be my birth father. Unfortunately, he took his life on this day eight years ago. He was a war veteran, lost a son, experienced heart problems, and found his body to be ravaged with disease. He must have felt that he was destined to be a burden on his family. To be candid, I just witnessed a life that went on a few years too long. My wife’s 97-year old mother became such a tragic victim of old age with severely limited sight, mobility, and hearing. She relied on her daughters, assisted living, and round-the-clock nursing to get through her last days. I wouldn’t want to live like that. It made me sick to even think that such a celebrated life could deteriorate into a pitiful existence. The end was a relief for all of us, and I mourn her loss the week before the commemoration of this man I write about today. 

I am fortunate to have heard some first-hand stories of my assumed birth father. He was born in the small Indiana town of Alert, with a current estimated population of 90. Her grew up an athlete, fought as a Marine, retired from Cummins Engine after 35 years of service, and built an eight-sided cabin for his wife of 60 years. She was unaware of my existence that happened before they were married, but showed me gracious hospitality on their amazing, creek-side property. It was an experience that I will never forget, and she followed up my visit with a candid thank-you call. She knew my suspected birth mother in high school.

Unfortunately, the birth mother has not been so forthcoming. The closest genetic connection I have is with one her sister’s children, but adoption paperwork documents her identity. She is still alive at 86 but has allegedly commented to a close relative, “don’t you think I would remember something like that.” Apparently, she doesn’t! My guess is that she’s denied it so much that she probably believes it.  An unmarried pregnancy was controversial enough, but she also might have been embarrassed to admit that the father was a distant cousin with the same last name. Any way you look at it, I was a traumatic experience. I also feel that her partner never knew of my birth since he immediately went into the service after high school and married shortly after. 

Today, I say thank you to a man I never knew and who  likely never knew me. He would have been 88 this year, with a July 2nd birthday. Perhaps in another month, I will have more information on both of them and maybe even the truth. In the meantime, I’m writing tributes to their lives for giving me mine.