I met my mother for the first time when I was thirty-five years old. She was nothing like I had imagined. When I was a child I was sure she was a movie star hopelessly in love with her leading man but unable to be with him for some obscure but romantic reason. When I was a teenager I thought she was probably a drug addict living on the streets. For why else had she not come back to claim me or at least inquire about my well being?

Our meeting falls into that category of significant and life-changing events that I will never forget: my wedding day, receiving my Ph.D., and the death of my adoptive father. All of these events, in fact, were crucial in the timing of my meeting my birthmother. But let me start at the beginning.

I was adopted as an infant in what is called a closed or traditional adoption. I was not supposed to meet my birthmother. She was supposed to forget me and get on with her life. We were supposed to ignore the fact that something out of the ordinary had taken place.

I found out I was adopted when I was seven years old. My mother told me that she and my father had wanted to have babies of their own but couldn't have any. They tried for many years. Then one day a doctor said that there was a baby available and did they want it? They had already adopted my older sister and decided to adopt me too. She said that my other mother loved me and wanted me to have a good home. They had never met her but heard she was a nice girl. I remember hearing what my mother was telling me but not being able to take it in. I felt kind of numb. She said I was special and that she and my father were really glad to have my sister and me. I felt sad. She never brought up the topic of adoption again.

What is it like being adopted? Being adopted means being different. Different is not bad, it is just different. To deny my difference would be to deny who I am. I started out in this world differently. My conception, prenatal experience, and birth were different. My birthmother was not joyfully pregnant. No one gave her a baby shower. She never saw the infant she gave birth to.

Losing the mother who gave you life is traumatic. I wanted to keep a part of her in my soul. I thought about her a lot. My fantasy life about my birthmother was rich. I didn't have a lot of facts to counteract what I imagined. I wanted to believe that if my birthmother and I were in the same place at the same time that we would immediately know it and recognize each other. For years I peered at faces in crowds - was she here? I was always looking - at the grocery store, in movie lines, and later, even in bars. I wondered if she ever thought of me. Did she remember my birthday? I had lots of questions that I wanted to ask her. I wanted to see her. I wondered if I looked like her. I wondered if I looked like anyone.

I was the tallest one in my family. People would ask me how I got so tall. I didn't know. I grew up with short people. They had blue eyes. I had brown eyes. They were brunette. I was blonde. I wanted to fit in somewhere, anywhere. I wanted to look like someone who looked like me. Whose eyes were those in the mirror?

Adoption was one of our family secrets. My sister and I were told not to tell anyone that we were adopted because they wouldn't understand and besides it was none of their business. But we were never told what to say to explain our obvious physical differences. Keeping the secret created some problems. One year my sister and I were on our way to a new camp on the camp bus. Some of the kids on the bus didn't believe we were sisters. When we got to camp they took us in separate rooms and asked us our home addresses to check out our story. Somehow that convinced them and they believed that we were really sisters. It didn't occur to me to say that we were adopted. That would have been breaking the taboo.

I did, however, tell some people that I was adopted. There would come a time in relationships where, if I trusted the person, I would confess to my status of being adopted. Usually it was no big deal to the person I told. To me, it was a turning point in the relationship. Would they reject me or accept me? Would they understand what it means to me to be adopted?

I began to search for my birthmother when I was twenty-three years old. I joined support groups and wrote letters to try to obtain information that would help me locate her. There were a lot of dead ends and a recurring voice in my head that said I shouldn't be trying to find her. I would be intruding on her life if I showed up now. It wasn't fair to her.

When I visited my adoptive family I would ask questions about my background to try to get any bit of information that might help in my search. My mother cried and my father got angry. They didn't understand my need to know. I told them that it felt like a piece of me was missing. They were offended and asked why they couldn't fill those needs. They weren't able to see that this wasn't something about them, it was about me before them. It was about my beginnings.

It's not an accident that I became more active in my search after my adoptive father passed away. I didn't want to face his hurt and anger and I didn't want to search behind his back. I needed a lot of support and encouragement to pursue my search and I received that from my husband. He was behind me all the way and helped me to keep going when things looked hopeless. He knew my pain. He also knew that I am a person who likes to be working on a project or goal. Since I had recently passed my licensing exam, I was out of goals. Finding my birthmother seemed like a good project to take on. Plus, with a Ph.D. behind my name I felt my birthmother would know I had accomplished something with my life. I would be "presentable".

My searching took many routes and I finally ended up with her telephone number. I dialed the phone. The call was transferred. My birthmother was on the other end. In one long, rushed, tearful sentence I stated my name, my birthdate, my hometown, and that I thought she was my birthmother. A moment of silence on the line. Then sobs. Yes, she was my birthmother. And how was I? Was I OK? More sobs from both of us. Yes, I was OK.

We said we would write to each other and send pictures. We both wrote and mailed our notes to each other that day. She sent a picture of herself with her youngest son, my half-brother. I studied it daily. We made plans to meet. My brother and I spoke and met.

The three of us continue to stay in contact. We all feel like we have known each other for longer than three years. For me, I feel like I have come home. I feel connected and centered. Much of my pain has been relieved. I know who I look like. I now have a place in the world.

I told my birthmother that I was writing this article on being an adoptee. I said it might be fun sometime for she and I to write about our adoption experiences. She wrote me back immediately. This is what she had to say: "The happiest day of my life was when Marlou called! Probably the saddest day was when she was born as I knew she would be given over to someone else to raise. Thirty-eight years ago was a very different time to be unwed and pregnant. I never told my family or her father (he was involved with someone else by then). He knows now but sadly to say he hasn't contacted her. (Maybe with a wife and family it isn't possible). Hopefully one day that will be resolved. He is missing knowing a wonderful person! My brothers and sisters have been great to me and welcome Marlou with open arms. My two sons are so proud to have a neat sister!

"Not having an education or any job skills, I thought it would be the best thing for her to be raised by a family with love (I hoped) and means to provide the necessary things she would need. I often thought of searching for her, but not knowing even if she'd been told she was adopted, would talk myself into thinking it was best for her just to leave things alone. I am so grateful she searched!! When she called I was in a wheelchair, using a leg brace (I have multiple sclerosis). Now I don't even use a cane to walk. I started improving the day she called. Isn't it strange what your sub-conscious can do? I stopped searching faces in crowds the day she called. It is so nice to have such a beautiful thing from my life back and I look forward to many more happy times. I feel so comfortable with her and her husband. I am a very lucky person. My hope is that all birthmoms would have my good fortune."

What more can I say? I am blessed to have such a caring and wonderful birthmother and we are fortunate indeed to know each other. Even if it did take thirty-five years to meet.

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Marlou Russell, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice in Santa Monica specializing in adoption issues. She lectures frequently on the lifelong impact of adoption and offers psychotherapy, support groups, and consultation. She can be reached by phone (310) 829-1438 or by Fax (310) 476-1963.

Credits: Marlou Russell, Ph.D.