As an adult adoptee, I've begun a journey that I didn't expect.
I've always known I was adopted. I believe that telling the child is the best policy for any propsective parents who are hoping to adopt. I don't even remember being told – I just have a wonderful story of love and longing and achieving that my parents have told me.
In my 20s, I decided to search for my birth mother. My parents were supportive, and helpful – Mom went with me to St. Joseph's (where I was adopted from) for an appointment I had made. Unfortunately, the man behind the desk was bound by law to not release any "identifying" information. So, I walked away with two pieces of paper, one for each birth parent, describing their height, eye color, hair color, and religion. Big whoop.
One thing I did do was leave a letter in my file, in case either one of them ever searched for me. Years went by. I had made a few attempts at finding out more. I'd learned my birth mother's name, but that still lead me nowhere. I put it to rest for awhile.
Years later, I got "the call." My birth mother had contacted St. Joseph's, and they had my letter, giving permission to release my information to her. So, she had my name and she had my phone number.
We met, and she also arranged for me to meet my birth father. I met my brother and sister on her side, and I was informed by my birth father that he too had a son and a daughter. But he didn't want them to know.
Years went by, and something made me look on Facebook for them. It took me about 30 seconds to find them – and here I was looking at the faces of my brother and sister. It was exciting, but how would I approach them?