Chapter Seven

What do I do now?  I have one option open to me but I can not really afford it.  I could get a real court sanctioned confidential intermediary.  There is a part of me that just hates absolutely hates contributing to the system.  This one CI is good.  She is very good.  It is not her.  I think she would do right by me.  I have spoken with her enough times.  In fact, I need to contact her again to let her know that I was recommending her all over the place.   I don’t recommend the agency CI whatsoever.  Heck she is the former agency director.  She is also an adoptive parent. She has reason to keep whatever is so secretive in my file just that secret.

I want to find but I am reluctant to raise the money.  I could use it on so many other things.  I won’t accept money from others to help me find.  I just can’t do that.  I keep hoping against hope itself that Indiana will open the records eventually.  I hope my daughters won’t have to fight this battle years down the road.  I hope that they won’t have health issues coming from my undetermined side of the family.

I read recently in an Indian heritage book.  It takes ten generations in order to correct the rift that adoption causes.  It will take that long before my tree will be rerooted.

Another legislative session begins soon in Indiana.  I will again begin to write letters to legislators.  Hopefully I can get them to listen to me and to the others living adoption.


Chapter Six

At this point in my life, I don’t know what to think of adoption.  Its corrupt and that is very obvious.  I spoke with the local U. S. Congressman.  The oh we don’t handle adoption problems.  We handle only things on a federal level.  Well by God, investigate the adoption industry.  How many people have to be hurt by the adoption industry in order for you to take action?  Well its a presidential election year.  Both of the candidates are speaking about it.  Yea they are talking about making it easier.  It doesn’t need to be easier.  It needs to stop so that it can be federally investigated. I am tired of children dying.  I am tired of the money behind it.

I can’t hate all adoption and adoptive parents.  I feel that would mean that I have to hate my own adoptive family.  I just can’t do that.  I can’t.  I love my adoptive mother and my adoptive sisters.  I do my best to honor my adoptive father.  He passed away a few years ago.

I can’t hate my first mother either.  Even though she denied contact, I can’t hate her.  I know the typical maternity home story.  I have read Ann Fessler’s book, The Girls Who Went Away.  I know how horribly that she was treated.  Where does it leave me?   How do I move forward when I don’t know my past?  Why is it okay that others know their past but because I am adopted that I can’t?  Something is just wrong with this.

I have written legislators in Indiana repetitively.  They tell me that they want to protect “the birthmothers from their unwanted children.”  Yea I gagged on that one.  Then the first mothers of Indiana tell me that they have written their legislators.  They get told that the adoptee must be protected from them.  We just can’t win.  I think honestly even if the adoptive parents stood up and stated that they wanted the adoptees to have access to those records, the legislators still wouldn’t listen.  So what is it going to take to make them listen?  Would it take adoption agencies that believe in adoptee access?  Somehow I don’t think so either.

Too many Right to Life organizations contribute to these legislators.  Too many legislators are attorneys.  Many of the ACLU attorneys have become adoption agency attorneys as well.  Its sickening that this is about money.  Pure money.

Catholic Charities controls the records in Indiana.  In fact, the CI from St. Elizabeth Coleman is now doing the contacting for the Child Welfare Department.  Instead of the charge that they charge (which is $325) their adoptees and mothers, they are charging for $1,000.  Talk about discouraging people from searching.  These agencies are charging way too much.  They get the mothers, then they get the adoptive parents, and then they get the adoptees or the mothers again.

This kind of crap is ridiculous.  Why don’t the legislators care?  I don’t know.  I will start voting out those that don’t.  Remember I vote.

Unknown Indy Baby Girl

First Chapter

I was born on a hot summer day in Indianapolis, Indiana in the wee hours of the morning.  I was brought into this world listening to the screaming sirens of an ambulance.  It was the mark of my separation from my natural mother.  It was a memory that will forever haunt my very soul.  I was born to a single unwed mother. 

On this day in the history of 1965, the Social Security Act of 1965 was signed by President Lyndon B. Johnson which established the nation’s Medicare and Medicaid programs, financed by higher social security tax premiums.  William Churchill, former Prime Minister of Great Britain, was buried on this day.

I have been told by other mothers at this home were not allowed any pain relief.  Many were tied to the bed to prevent the mother from touching her child.  Many were not even told the sex of their child.  Many were not allowed to hold  their children.  Within twenty four hours after giving birth at the hospital, the girls were sent back to the maternity home to recover for nine more days.  The babies were either in foster care or in the nursery. 

I was placed with a dentist and his wife.  We spent six months in Indiana.  My first adoptive father was then drafted into the Vietnam War. He was sent to Fort Polk, Louisiana.  We spent two and a half years there.   When the Army   my first adoptive father, we went to another state.  It was in the southern most tip of that state where I would spend my growing up years. I remember looking up at huge shelf of books and sitting in my high chair.  I remember the time that we went to pick up my first cat.  His name was Midnight.  Black as coal.  We didn’t have him 24 hours before he died.  I remember my father carrying his stiff body out the front door.  I remember when a massive hurricane hitting the area.  My sister and I slipped and fell on the white marble floors of our home.  The window in the den and bedroom was broken.  I remember sitting in the bathroom eating orea cookies, drinking milk, and chatting with my family.  My youngest sister sitting on the lap of my mother.  My other sister and I sitting quietly on chairs.  The tub was filled with water.  I remember my father telling about a neighbor’s roof flying off. 

Fast forward a couple of years later, I remember the day of the separation.  I remember standing outside with my mother and sisters as my father drove away.  In the weeks ahead, my father begins dating a younger woman.  She too has a daughter with the same first name.  They got married two weeks after the divorce was finalized.  He then adopted her daughter.  Now there were two girls with the same name.  There are also began a battle of custody over my sisters and me.  They didn’t separate children from their mothers back in those days.  I have to wonder why.  They stripped my natural mother of her rights as a mother yet my adoptive mother could continue to be a mother.  I would not have been better off with my adoptive father but I am just noting a fact for that time frame.  It was only six years after my adoption. 

I remember the visits.  They were harsh.  My sisters and I were treated as second best.  We always got the lesser of things.  I remember for years that he wouldn’t pay child support consistently.  My mother had to fight to keep the lights on in the house.  She still always made it the best for us.  We always had ample toys and barbie dolls. 

He finally moved out of state in order to avoid paying child support.  He later went off to create laminate veneer for teeth.  He even had the patent for the process.  His second wife would become his exwife.  We were later told that the adoption of the  other daughter was annulled.  Alas, that was a lie.  The second wife fought hard to get some of the profits.  She got some but he and his family spent the rest.  I later heard that he filed bankruptcy at that time.  He borrowed money against his mother’s home.  That debt was never repaid.  Whether or not this is truthful, that is an unknown.  My sisters and I never saw the documents.

The last time that I saw him was in sixth grade.  He pulled up in a brand new 280Z.  My step father was outside working on an old Volkswagon Beetle.  It was Christmas time.  I remember him shaking his head.   The Christmas tree we had was on its last legs.  It had no back on it.  We had to keep the lights off.  It would otherwise burn down the house.  He had brought money to my mother.  He had brought us a few gifts. 

Chapter Two next.

Unknown Indy Baby Girl