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.