Once Candy and I made contact, the word was out! By the end of the day, I had spoken to my niece Denyal, my half-sister Robin and my half-siblings' father, Bob. Candy insisted he was my father as well, but that was obviously not the case. In addition to the three half-sisters and one half-brother I knew about, I found out that I had another half-sister (who also has a different father). I also discovered that my birthmother was a twin and that her name was Darlene (her twin sister Arlene was the woman I had just missed meeting in the San Fernando Valley years earlier). I would have spoken with my birthmother on that day too had Candy not immediately called her and proceeded to tell her off for not letting her and my other half-siblings know that I existed. Unfortunately, as a result of that phone call my birthmother refused any contact with me. This was not at all how I had envisioned the beginning of our relationship.
During the numerous phone conversations, I discovered that three of my four sisters had drug addictions. Two had been in and out of jail and often lost contact with the rest of the family. One of my sisters had been a nude model until she lost a leg in an automobile accident, ending her career and kickstarting a heroin addiction. As a result, she had been on methadone for nearly thirty years. My niece kept in contact with my brother periodically, but had recently lost touch with him as well. My birthmother also suffered from a drug addiction and often lived on the streets of Lake Elsinore.
As you can imagine, this was a lot to take in. At first glace, it didn't appear I had much in common with any of my birthfamily. Luckily, my niece and I had an instant connection. She had a great job, was recently married and had two stepchildren. We agreed to get together in a couple of weeks and spoke on the phone frequently until our first meeting.
I was more nervous that I ever remember being, before or since. We decided to meet at my niece's house in Wildomar and then go to lunch. I instantly felt comfortable with Denyal and her husband Brian. With them it came easilty. It was as if we had known each other forever. My sister was late getting there and once she arrived with my nephew's daughter Bella we went to lunch. During that time, Bella's mother Katie called to ask how it was going. She asked my niece if I was weird, to which she promptly responded, "No, she's totally normal." It was a pretty quiet lunch with a lot of eating and very little small talk. My sister Robin did make one comment that shocked me. She said she didn't expect me to be such a "Miss Priss". I was completely taken aback. Interesting, especially considering it was almost summer and I was wearing a sundress (it's hot in Elsinore). Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm not the "prissy" type. Anyhow, all in all it was a good day.
So I know what you're thinking ... what about my birthfather?
When Candy made that first phone call, she asked Darlene why she never told her dad (Bob) he had another daughter. Darlene responded that he was not my father. My father was Bruno. When Denyal spoke with Janice (my oldest half-sister) to tell her about me, she was not surprised. She remembered me (Nancy) and said my dad was Bruno. She was ten when I was born.
All I knew from my birth certificate information on the California birth index was my birthfather's first name started with a B. I had searched and searched and found someone about the right age named Bruno, but now I knew for sure. It was Bruno!
Friday, April 13, 2012
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
With a Little Help (and Encouragement) from My Friends
One afternoon, a co-worker of mine shared about a group she had recently joined. She told me about a website called Meetup.com and said that there were many different types of groups covering a multitude of interests. I decided to check it out and found an adoptees group that met in Fullerton. My husband and I decided to attend an upcoming meeting. I really had no idea what to expect, but decided to give it a shot. Perhaps they could offer some tips. While my desire to search had cooled down for quite a few years, I was open to beginning again.
I met Steve and Dan and was immediately surprised by how comfortable I felt. They asked, and surprisingly I shared, my adoption story. They were both adoptees born outside of California, one in reunion and the other still searching. I was given a book called "Primal Wound" which is written by a psychologist who deals with adoptees, and also happens to be an adoptive mother. In her practice, she began to see many parallels in the types of issues adoptees were facing. I must admit that I have still not read the book in its entirety; however, I have heard from numerous adoptees that it brought a lot of things to light for them. By the time I left the meeting, I was all fired up to start searching again!
As soon as I arrived home, I decided to go online and get started. Much to my surprise, I had an e-mail from Classmates.com indicating that I had a message. When I opened it I was shocked to see that it was from someone with the same last name as that on the document my mother had shown me over thirty years ago. While previously deep in search mode, I had written to everyone with that last name and my birthmother's maiden name on Classmates.com who attended high school in Wisconsin and Illinois (where my birthfamily had lived and where I believed they had probably returned). In all honesty, I did not even remember writing this e-mail. Since I was uncertain whether any of my birthsiblings knew I existed, I always kept the e-mails rather vague. I would ask if they were the brother or sister of . . . (inserting the name of one or two of my birthsiblings) and if they had lived in California at one time.
This e-mail was written to a Candance. I always thought I would find her first as the spelling of her name was unusual and somehow I thought that would make it easier. In the e-mail I had asked if she had a brother Robert and had lived in California. Her response stated that she did have a brother Robert, but had not lived in California. She said she did not remember me (by my name), but thought she might if she spoke with me and included her telephone number.
Wow! I cannot even put into words what I felt or actually didn't feel. I was numb ... in shock really. After more than 20 years of searching, hoping and praying, I had a phone number that could be an open door to the question I was trying so desperately to answer . . . "Who is Nancy Faye?" What was even more shocking was that her response had come a week ago and was in response to an e-mail I had sent more than a year before!
It took me almost 2 weeks to muster up the courage to make the phone call. I decided that Good Friday was the perfect day. I had taken a personal day at work, so my husband and I could go to church. I was literally sick to my stomach when I picked up my cell phone, went into my bedroom and closed the door. My hands were shaking so hard it was difficult to dial the number. The phone was ringing and I thought seriously about hanging up. It was too late, someone had answered. It was a young man's voice. I asked for Candance and he said she was at work. I said I would call back. For the next few days I tried, and each time the same young man would tell me she was at work. I left my number and asked that he tell her I had called. We tried unsuccessfully on several occasions to reach each other.
Finally one day he gave me his usual response, that she was at work, but said she had asked him to give me her cell phone number. This time, I called and she answered. She started out apologizing for not remembering me. I didn't know what to say. My mom always said, "When in doubt just tell the truth." So, I took a deep breath and said, "Well, you really don't know me. We've actually never met. I'm adopted and I think you might be my sister." Complete silence. I asked if she had a brother named Robert. She said she did, but she had never lived in California. She then said that she had two other sisters. I asked if their names were Robin and Rebecca and she said "yes". I didn't know what to say. I couldn't believe it . . . FINALLY!!
I met Steve and Dan and was immediately surprised by how comfortable I felt. They asked, and surprisingly I shared, my adoption story. They were both adoptees born outside of California, one in reunion and the other still searching. I was given a book called "Primal Wound" which is written by a psychologist who deals with adoptees, and also happens to be an adoptive mother. In her practice, she began to see many parallels in the types of issues adoptees were facing. I must admit that I have still not read the book in its entirety; however, I have heard from numerous adoptees that it brought a lot of things to light for them. By the time I left the meeting, I was all fired up to start searching again!
As soon as I arrived home, I decided to go online and get started. Much to my surprise, I had an e-mail from Classmates.com indicating that I had a message. When I opened it I was shocked to see that it was from someone with the same last name as that on the document my mother had shown me over thirty years ago. While previously deep in search mode, I had written to everyone with that last name and my birthmother's maiden name on Classmates.com who attended high school in Wisconsin and Illinois (where my birthfamily had lived and where I believed they had probably returned). In all honesty, I did not even remember writing this e-mail. Since I was uncertain whether any of my birthsiblings knew I existed, I always kept the e-mails rather vague. I would ask if they were the brother or sister of . . . (inserting the name of one or two of my birthsiblings) and if they had lived in California at one time.
This e-mail was written to a Candance. I always thought I would find her first as the spelling of her name was unusual and somehow I thought that would make it easier. In the e-mail I had asked if she had a brother Robert and had lived in California. Her response stated that she did have a brother Robert, but had not lived in California. She said she did not remember me (by my name), but thought she might if she spoke with me and included her telephone number.
Wow! I cannot even put into words what I felt or actually didn't feel. I was numb ... in shock really. After more than 20 years of searching, hoping and praying, I had a phone number that could be an open door to the question I was trying so desperately to answer . . . "Who is Nancy Faye?" What was even more shocking was that her response had come a week ago and was in response to an e-mail I had sent more than a year before!
It took me almost 2 weeks to muster up the courage to make the phone call. I decided that Good Friday was the perfect day. I had taken a personal day at work, so my husband and I could go to church. I was literally sick to my stomach when I picked up my cell phone, went into my bedroom and closed the door. My hands were shaking so hard it was difficult to dial the number. The phone was ringing and I thought seriously about hanging up. It was too late, someone had answered. It was a young man's voice. I asked for Candance and he said she was at work. I said I would call back. For the next few days I tried, and each time the same young man would tell me she was at work. I left my number and asked that he tell her I had called. We tried unsuccessfully on several occasions to reach each other.
Finally one day he gave me his usual response, that she was at work, but said she had asked him to give me her cell phone number. This time, I called and she answered. She started out apologizing for not remembering me. I didn't know what to say. My mom always said, "When in doubt just tell the truth." So, I took a deep breath and said, "Well, you really don't know me. We've actually never met. I'm adopted and I think you might be my sister." Complete silence. I asked if she had a brother named Robert. She said she did, but she had never lived in California. She then said that she had two other sisters. I asked if their names were Robin and Rebecca and she said "yes". I didn't know what to say. I couldn't believe it . . . FINALLY!!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
The Search Begins
Once I received my non-identifying information for the second time, I became obsessed with my search. I would sit online in adoption chatrooms until the wee hours of the night. I visited adoption webpages and joined adoption registries. I met a wonderful woman in one of the chatrooms who was able to look up my birth certificate on a California birth index and located my birthmother's maiden name, and my birthfather's surname (neither of which were the name on the documents my mother had shown me years earlier).
While visiting my father in Los Angeles one weekend, I decided to visit the LDS Family History Center in Huntington Beach. I did a search on my birthmother's maiden name and found a couple, Florence and Lyle (both deceased), in the Social Security death index. Although the ages were not exact, they were close. Strange as it may sound, I was convinced that these two people were indeed my maternal grandparents.
I took this information to the Los Angeles County Office of the Registrar-Recorder and requested copies of the death certificates. Once I received the copies of the death certificates, I was excited to learn that the information on them matched the information in my non-identifying information about my birthmother's parents. Florence was listed as a cook and Lyle as a commercial fisherman. They were originally from Wisconsin and Iowa. Another interesting tidbit was that they were both signed by the same woman. The woman I was certain was my birthmother.
Even more exciting than finally having a name to search for, was the fact that both death certificates listed the same address in the San Fernando Valley. After several months of obsessing over what to do with this new found information, I swallowed my gripping fear and insecurities and took a very long drive to the Valley.
Once I arrived, I sat in the car for nearly an hour. My stepdaughter came with me for moral support, but the anxiety was paralyzing. While gathering my thoughts and attempting to gain the courage to knock on the door, a woman came outside to pick up the mail. I took a deep breath and walked briskly up the driveway. I asked her if Arlene was home. She then informed me that she and her husband had recently bought the home (six months earlier) and that she believed the previous resident had moved up north to live with her children. In addition, she shared that she thought the next door neighbor still kept in contact with her and suggested I to speak with him.
The neighbor was outside in his garage, seated at a desk with multiple video monitors, computers and other electronic equipment. When he asked me how I knew Arlene, I was surprised by how quickly the white lie rolled off my tongue as I told him I thought she might be my aunt.
He seemed to believe this might be true. He shared that she was a wonderful woman who cared for both of her parents during their illnesses. He said she was very strong. So strong in fact that after the Northridge earthquake damaged the cement slab that filled her entire backyard, she broke it up with a sledgehammer and hauled it out piece by piece ... all by herself. I felt a bit of pride swell up within me. My birthmother was a strong woman, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. This is something I have always aspired to be.
We left the conversation at that, and I left wondering if I would ever be able to track down the mystery woman.
While visiting my father in Los Angeles one weekend, I decided to visit the LDS Family History Center in Huntington Beach. I did a search on my birthmother's maiden name and found a couple, Florence and Lyle (both deceased), in the Social Security death index. Although the ages were not exact, they were close. Strange as it may sound, I was convinced that these two people were indeed my maternal grandparents.
I took this information to the Los Angeles County Office of the Registrar-Recorder and requested copies of the death certificates. Once I received the copies of the death certificates, I was excited to learn that the information on them matched the information in my non-identifying information about my birthmother's parents. Florence was listed as a cook and Lyle as a commercial fisherman. They were originally from Wisconsin and Iowa. Another interesting tidbit was that they were both signed by the same woman. The woman I was certain was my birthmother.
Even more exciting than finally having a name to search for, was the fact that both death certificates listed the same address in the San Fernando Valley. After several months of obsessing over what to do with this new found information, I swallowed my gripping fear and insecurities and took a very long drive to the Valley.
Once I arrived, I sat in the car for nearly an hour. My stepdaughter came with me for moral support, but the anxiety was paralyzing. While gathering my thoughts and attempting to gain the courage to knock on the door, a woman came outside to pick up the mail. I took a deep breath and walked briskly up the driveway. I asked her if Arlene was home. She then informed me that she and her husband had recently bought the home (six months earlier) and that she believed the previous resident had moved up north to live with her children. In addition, she shared that she thought the next door neighbor still kept in contact with her and suggested I to speak with him.
The neighbor was outside in his garage, seated at a desk with multiple video monitors, computers and other electronic equipment. When he asked me how I knew Arlene, I was surprised by how quickly the white lie rolled off my tongue as I told him I thought she might be my aunt.
He seemed to believe this might be true. He shared that she was a wonderful woman who cared for both of her parents during their illnesses. He said she was very strong. So strong in fact that after the Northridge earthquake damaged the cement slab that filled her entire backyard, she broke it up with a sledgehammer and hauled it out piece by piece ... all by herself. I felt a bit of pride swell up within me. My birthmother was a strong woman, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. This is something I have always aspired to be.
We left the conversation at that, and I left wondering if I would ever be able to track down the mystery woman.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Non-Identifying Information
I first wrote for my non-identifying information when I was in my early 20s. The response I received from the Los Angeles Department of Children's Services was 3 pages in length, disclosing very little information.
The final line indicated that my birthmother requested a picture of me at the time of placement and had not contacted the agency again. This resonated deep within my soul and as I recall, I cried over it for several weeks.
Quite a few years later as I was reviewing the information, it appeared that there was some sort of typographic error. The age information that was included did not coincide with the "story" explaining why I was given up. I decided to contact the agency again to request that they "clear up" this misinformation.
Not long after sending the letter off, I received a phone call from a woman at the agency who was handling my request. She indicated that it could take anywhere from 6 months to 2 years to receive my file from the archives. She was right. Nearly 18 months later, I received a call from her again, informing me that she had my file and was preparing a response.
I anxiously awaited the arrival of this new information. The day it arrived at the post office box is a day I will never forget. My hands shook as I opened the envelope to reveal a very detailed, 8-page letter. In addition to a wealth of information beyond what I could have ever imagined, this kind woman had included two photographs of me (one at about 3 months and the other at approximately 6 months of age ). I was overwhelmed by emotion and began to weep. You see, I was adopted at 10 months of age, and that was when the photographic history of my life began. I had never seen myself younger than 10 months old.
It is one of my persnoal goals to locate this woman and attempt to share with her how much I appreciate the time, care and concern she took to include so many details about my early life. While they might have seemed minor or insignificant to someone else, they meant the world to me. This angel gave me as much information as was legally possible without jeopardizing anyone's anonymity.
One of the most valuable and precious pieces of information in the letter was the names of my half siblings, Candance, Rebecca, Robin and Robert. All of my life growing up, I wanted a brother. I used to imagine how he would have taken care of me and watched out for me. I was the oldest in our family and other than my parents, there was no one there to lead and guide me. My parents were great, and obviously very wise; however, it is not the same as having an older sibling who "has your back". My brother was only 2 years older than me and I instantly knew that we would have been close.
The excitement of receiving this new information ignited a fervent search for my birthfamily, especially my big brother! At that time I was married to my ex-husband and living in Palm Desert. A friend of his was living with us and he had a computer with internet access. I signed up for an e-mail account and began my search. I had no idea where it would lead me or if I would ever find anything.
What would I find? Did they know about me? Would they be happy, angry, or sad? What would I say? Could I handle it? Only time would tell.
The final line indicated that my birthmother requested a picture of me at the time of placement and had not contacted the agency again. This resonated deep within my soul and as I recall, I cried over it for several weeks.
Quite a few years later as I was reviewing the information, it appeared that there was some sort of typographic error. The age information that was included did not coincide with the "story" explaining why I was given up. I decided to contact the agency again to request that they "clear up" this misinformation.
Not long after sending the letter off, I received a phone call from a woman at the agency who was handling my request. She indicated that it could take anywhere from 6 months to 2 years to receive my file from the archives. She was right. Nearly 18 months later, I received a call from her again, informing me that she had my file and was preparing a response.
I anxiously awaited the arrival of this new information. The day it arrived at the post office box is a day I will never forget. My hands shook as I opened the envelope to reveal a very detailed, 8-page letter. In addition to a wealth of information beyond what I could have ever imagined, this kind woman had included two photographs of me (one at about 3 months and the other at approximately 6 months of age ). I was overwhelmed by emotion and began to weep. You see, I was adopted at 10 months of age, and that was when the photographic history of my life began. I had never seen myself younger than 10 months old.
It is one of my persnoal goals to locate this woman and attempt to share with her how much I appreciate the time, care and concern she took to include so many details about my early life. While they might have seemed minor or insignificant to someone else, they meant the world to me. This angel gave me as much information as was legally possible without jeopardizing anyone's anonymity.
One of the most valuable and precious pieces of information in the letter was the names of my half siblings, Candance, Rebecca, Robin and Robert. All of my life growing up, I wanted a brother. I used to imagine how he would have taken care of me and watched out for me. I was the oldest in our family and other than my parents, there was no one there to lead and guide me. My parents were great, and obviously very wise; however, it is not the same as having an older sibling who "has your back". My brother was only 2 years older than me and I instantly knew that we would have been close.
The excitement of receiving this new information ignited a fervent search for my birthfamily, especially my big brother! At that time I was married to my ex-husband and living in Palm Desert. A friend of his was living with us and he had a computer with internet access. I signed up for an e-mail account and began my search. I had no idea where it would lead me or if I would ever find anything.
What would I find? Did they know about me? Would they be happy, angry, or sad? What would I say? Could I handle it? Only time would tell.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Who is Nancy Faye?
Well, that is a very good question! It is one I will attempt to answer over the life of this blog. What do you say we get started?
First, I'd like to set a few things straight. As far back as I can remember, I have known I was adopted. My parents were two of the most wonderful parents anyone could hope for, and two of the most incredible people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Let me just say that my searching is in no way related to any "issues" with my adopted parents. I would not change my childhood for all the tea in China, or more accurately for those who know me, all the Chai at Starbucks!
My parents were married for twenty years when I was adopted. They had been unable to have children of their own, although no one was able to tell them exactly what the issue was. They were a wonderful, loving couple who showered me with love when they opened their hearts and home to me as a ten month old infant. I also have an adopted sister who is three years younger than me.
I remember asking my mother once, "Where did you get me?" Her response was "the adoption bureau." As I was very young and had little idea about government agencies, I took her words as I heard them, "the adoption barrel." Images of large wooden barrels filled with babies came to mind. I wondered how they picked me out of all those barrels of babies. Either way, I was quite happy with my selection process.
While my parents were very supportive and open about the possibility of searching as I became older, they did not have a lot of information to offer. I remember my mother showing me an "important document" when I was about ten or eleven, that contained a surname. (Little did I know that this "memory" would come into play more than 30 years later.) She had also shared my "birth name" with me, Nancy Faye. I thought this was an especially ugly name.
I remember going to the public library to search their collection of telephone books some time after seeing the document. After inquiring at the reference desk which area codes were in the San Fernando Valley, I compiled a list of telephone numbers for all the people I could find with that last name. One particular phone call frightened me. So much so that it caused me to give up on my promising career as a detective. A man answered the phone and I asked to speak with Nancy Faye. He started shouting into the phone, "Who is this? What do you want? Why are you calling us?" Terrified, I hung up the phone and never tried to call again. That was the end of my search for about another eight or nine years.
First, I'd like to set a few things straight. As far back as I can remember, I have known I was adopted. My parents were two of the most wonderful parents anyone could hope for, and two of the most incredible people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Let me just say that my searching is in no way related to any "issues" with my adopted parents. I would not change my childhood for all the tea in China, or more accurately for those who know me, all the Chai at Starbucks!
My parents were married for twenty years when I was adopted. They had been unable to have children of their own, although no one was able to tell them exactly what the issue was. They were a wonderful, loving couple who showered me with love when they opened their hearts and home to me as a ten month old infant. I also have an adopted sister who is three years younger than me.
I remember asking my mother once, "Where did you get me?" Her response was "the adoption bureau." As I was very young and had little idea about government agencies, I took her words as I heard them, "the adoption barrel." Images of large wooden barrels filled with babies came to mind. I wondered how they picked me out of all those barrels of babies. Either way, I was quite happy with my selection process.
While my parents were very supportive and open about the possibility of searching as I became older, they did not have a lot of information to offer. I remember my mother showing me an "important document" when I was about ten or eleven, that contained a surname. (Little did I know that this "memory" would come into play more than 30 years later.) She had also shared my "birth name" with me, Nancy Faye. I thought this was an especially ugly name.
I remember going to the public library to search their collection of telephone books some time after seeing the document. After inquiring at the reference desk which area codes were in the San Fernando Valley, I compiled a list of telephone numbers for all the people I could find with that last name. One particular phone call frightened me. So much so that it caused me to give up on my promising career as a detective. A man answered the phone and I asked to speak with Nancy Faye. He started shouting into the phone, "Who is this? What do you want? Why are you calling us?" Terrified, I hung up the phone and never tried to call again. That was the end of my search for about another eight or nine years.
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