Blog 3
My Search for my Birth Mother
In 1997 I applied for and received my original birth certificate and accompanying information which was recorded by my biological mother at the time of my birth. I now knew my real name...Sarah. But my father was not listed on the certificate. My biological mother, Sarah, had given me her name at birth, as well as her mother's name as my middle name. The information in my file was sparse but stated that Sarah was Australian, 20 years old at the time of my birth and a telephonist. It also stated that my father was an Australian soldier. This still didn't answer my question of "where did I come from?" so I proceeded to try and find her.
My search wielded results pretty quickly and I think from memory it was only about 3 weeks between the time I received my original birth certificate and the day I met Sarah for the first time. I was so excited. Nervous, but excited. I had bought a new outfit, had my hair done and even washed my car! This was a big day for me as it was the day I was going to get some answers. It was the middle of the day and we met in a pub, at her request. When I walked in I felt like throwing up. I saw a middle aged woman in the corner and she got up from her chair when she saw me. I guessed that this was her. She called me by my name and I nodded and we sat down. My initial hope that we would have an instant connection was dashed. We didn't. She was very cold and matter of fact. She was wearing a t-shirt, pale pink track pants and ugg boots. It appeared evident that she hadn't made an effort in her appearance. Her walls were up and it felt like I was a nuisance and that she had better things to get on with. My heart broke and I became flustered. I just wanted her to love me...want to know about me. I had taken some pictures of myself as a baby which I gave her but she appeared disinterested, barely glanced at them and put them in her bag. Who knows if she kept them or if she threw them away. She then told me that I had ruined the image she had of me as a child, the little girl that she had always imagined in her head. Wtf!! Was she serious? I held back the tears. I asked her a few questions about herself but she was very guarded. She did tell me that she had two boys (my half brothers) and that after her second child she was unable to have anymore. She told me that she was disappointed that she didn't have another girl, to replace me, and that this had meant that she had had difficulty bonding with her second son. She then went on and told me that he had suffered with depression and had had difficulties throughout his life. I asked more about them but she wouldn't tell me anymore. She also told me that neither her husband or her sons knew about me and that they never would. In the years that followed I often thought about my brothers and felt guilty that it was because of me that Sarah was unable to bond with the youngest. I thought of and prayed for him often.
I finally gained the courage to ask about my father and Sarah told me that he had been in Adelaide, South Australia with the British Army in 1966 and that he had been on his way home by the time she found out she was pregnant. She said that he was from a famous 'biscuit' family in the UK and that due to the distance they had both agreed to not continue the relationship once he returned home. She then handed me two photos of a man she called Derek and stated that he was my father. One of the photos was taken at the Dunlop Ball on 29th July 1966 and the other was of a man lounging on a sofa. Despite suspecting at the time that the man in the photographs was not my father, I took those photos and treasured them, because Sarah had given them to me. I knew in my heart that I was not half Australian and half English and that what she had told me was not the truth. Clearly she had forgotten that at the time of my birth she had documented that my father was an Australian soldier. Which story did I believe, if any? And why was she lying to me?
My first meeting with my birth mother finished abruptly by her stating that she didn't want me to be a part of her life. I had spent less than half an hour with her and I walked away with more questions than when I arrived. I knew that what she had told me, particularly about my father, was not true. The pain of being lied to was surprisingly immense.
I walked back to my car in a bit of a daze and when I got safely into the drivers seat I broke down. The pain I experienced that day is something I will never forget. The pain of rejection (again) was something so deep that it felt like I was being ripped apart at the seams. The pain of being lied to by someone who I felt should care for and respect me enough to tell me the truth. The fact that she couldn't, made me feel not good enough, not worthy enough, and that I didn't deserve the truth. That I was a nobody without a past. That day my mother not only denied me from having a relationship with her and my brothers, but she also denied me from knowing the truth about who I really was, my culture and my heritage, the very core of who I was. She had an opportunity to help me fill the void and she chose not to. I sobbed and sobbed for about an hour before I felt capable of driving myself home. Naively, being rejected by her for a second time was not something I had prepared myself for. At that time in my life I still believed that fairy-tales were possible.
But my life had just changed.
My Search for my Birth Mother
In 1997 I applied for and received my original birth certificate and accompanying information which was recorded by my biological mother at the time of my birth. I now knew my real name...Sarah. But my father was not listed on the certificate. My biological mother, Sarah, had given me her name at birth, as well as her mother's name as my middle name. The information in my file was sparse but stated that Sarah was Australian, 20 years old at the time of my birth and a telephonist. It also stated that my father was an Australian soldier. This still didn't answer my question of "where did I come from?" so I proceeded to try and find her.
My search wielded results pretty quickly and I think from memory it was only about 3 weeks between the time I received my original birth certificate and the day I met Sarah for the first time. I was so excited. Nervous, but excited. I had bought a new outfit, had my hair done and even washed my car! This was a big day for me as it was the day I was going to get some answers. It was the middle of the day and we met in a pub, at her request. When I walked in I felt like throwing up. I saw a middle aged woman in the corner and she got up from her chair when she saw me. I guessed that this was her. She called me by my name and I nodded and we sat down. My initial hope that we would have an instant connection was dashed. We didn't. She was very cold and matter of fact. She was wearing a t-shirt, pale pink track pants and ugg boots. It appeared evident that she hadn't made an effort in her appearance. Her walls were up and it felt like I was a nuisance and that she had better things to get on with. My heart broke and I became flustered. I just wanted her to love me...want to know about me. I had taken some pictures of myself as a baby which I gave her but she appeared disinterested, barely glanced at them and put them in her bag. Who knows if she kept them or if she threw them away. She then told me that I had ruined the image she had of me as a child, the little girl that she had always imagined in her head. Wtf!! Was she serious? I held back the tears. I asked her a few questions about herself but she was very guarded. She did tell me that she had two boys (my half brothers) and that after her second child she was unable to have anymore. She told me that she was disappointed that she didn't have another girl, to replace me, and that this had meant that she had had difficulty bonding with her second son. She then went on and told me that he had suffered with depression and had had difficulties throughout his life. I asked more about them but she wouldn't tell me anymore. She also told me that neither her husband or her sons knew about me and that they never would. In the years that followed I often thought about my brothers and felt guilty that it was because of me that Sarah was unable to bond with the youngest. I thought of and prayed for him often.
I finally gained the courage to ask about my father and Sarah told me that he had been in Adelaide, South Australia with the British Army in 1966 and that he had been on his way home by the time she found out she was pregnant. She said that he was from a famous 'biscuit' family in the UK and that due to the distance they had both agreed to not continue the relationship once he returned home. She then handed me two photos of a man she called Derek and stated that he was my father. One of the photos was taken at the Dunlop Ball on 29th July 1966 and the other was of a man lounging on a sofa. Despite suspecting at the time that the man in the photographs was not my father, I took those photos and treasured them, because Sarah had given them to me. I knew in my heart that I was not half Australian and half English and that what she had told me was not the truth. Clearly she had forgotten that at the time of my birth she had documented that my father was an Australian soldier. Which story did I believe, if any? And why was she lying to me?
My first meeting with my birth mother finished abruptly by her stating that she didn't want me to be a part of her life. I had spent less than half an hour with her and I walked away with more questions than when I arrived. I knew that what she had told me, particularly about my father, was not true. The pain of being lied to was surprisingly immense.
I walked back to my car in a bit of a daze and when I got safely into the drivers seat I broke down. The pain I experienced that day is something I will never forget. The pain of rejection (again) was something so deep that it felt like I was being ripped apart at the seams. The pain of being lied to by someone who I felt should care for and respect me enough to tell me the truth. The fact that she couldn't, made me feel not good enough, not worthy enough, and that I didn't deserve the truth. That I was a nobody without a past. That day my mother not only denied me from having a relationship with her and my brothers, but she also denied me from knowing the truth about who I really was, my culture and my heritage, the very core of who I was. She had an opportunity to help me fill the void and she chose not to. I sobbed and sobbed for about an hour before I felt capable of driving myself home. Naively, being rejected by her for a second time was not something I had prepared myself for. At that time in my life I still believed that fairy-tales were possible.
But my life had just changed.
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