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This emotional account of a true search for birth parents challenges us, surprises us, and hopefully reminds us that unconditional love is powerful and lasts a lifetime.
Extracts:
When I was six weeks old my mother and father traveled to London from northern England to collect me from an adoption agency in Knightsbridge. My father later joked with me that he started having second thoughts when he was left holding a screaming baby baby on the platform at Euston train station in London while my mother went to buy a cup of coffee.
I often wondered where I came from. And, in particular, whether there was anyone out there in the world wondering what had become of me.
I tracked down my original birth certificate listing my birth mother's name and my original name. Later that evening my old friend Vanessa, from college days, came to visit. I explained what had developed and was just about to tell her my original name when she stopped me. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I want a few seconds to think of you as just Claire for one last time.” This made me realize the magnitude of the process that was unfolding. My identity was never going to be the same again.
Having researched and found a person I believed my birth mother had married after I was born, I wrote what I thought was a very considerate letter explaining that in 1958 Rae Sparrow had placed a baby girl into adoption and that baby was me. I believed she had married Peter Goodriffe subsequently and if this was him, I hoped that my information had not been a shock to him. I asked if he would be prepared to pass my contact details on to Rae if he knew where she was. Some weeks later a large postcard arrived and it read:
I believe Social Services have turned themselves into a bunch of interfering busybodies. Your letter is an intrusion and I have already told your SS (social services) that I am unable to help them. However, it does no harm to tell you that your mother died 19 years ago. I do not know where or the date. I know nothing else having divorced her 10 years earlier.
I often wondered where I came from. And, in particular, whether there was anyone out there in the world wondering what had become of me.
I tracked down my original birth certificate listing my birth mother's name and my original name. Later that evening my old friend Vanessa, from college days, came to visit. I explained what had developed and was just about to tell her my original name when she stopped me. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I want a few seconds to think of you as just Claire for one last time.” This made me realize the magnitude of the process that was unfolding. My identity was never going to be the same again.
Having researched and found a person I believed my birth mother had married after I was born, I wrote what I thought was a very considerate letter explaining that in 1958 Rae Sparrow had placed a baby girl into adoption and that baby was me. I believed she had married Peter Goodriffe subsequently and if this was him, I hoped that my information had not been a shock to him. I asked if he would be prepared to pass my contact details on to Rae if he knew where she was. Some weeks later a large postcard arrived and it read:
I believe Social Services have turned themselves into a bunch of interfering busybodies. Your letter is an intrusion and I have already told your SS (social services) that I am unable to help them. However, it does no harm to tell you that your mother died 19 years ago. I do not know where or the date. I know nothing else having divorced her 10 years earlier.
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Searching for my birth father, I placed an advertisement in the Start and Stripes Newspaper. Two years went by and I had not received the reply I was waiting for. Then, on New Year’s Eve 1996, I received a letter from Omaha, Nebraska. I didn’t know anyone in Omaha, or even in Nebraska and I hadn’t reached Nebraska in my letter writing efforts. When I opened the envelope there was just one small sheet of paper that said, “I have seen your advertisement in the Air Force paper and I have information about Harry Andrew Fisher Junior. Please contact me if you think this is the right person.” I realized the Air force Times had published my advertisement, although they didn’t tell me as much, and they didn’t charge me any fee. The letter was signed by Polly Keady. There was a phone number and return address. I felt sure this was a bad lead because Omaha was so far away from Pennsylvania plus the name was different. Harry Andrew Fisher, whereas Rae had listed Andrew Fisher on the adoption form. I decided to investigate with a view to ruling it out so after the New Year, on January 2nd I called Polly.
The phone was answered. I gave my name and explained that I was responding to the letter a Polly Keady had sent me about Harry Andrew Fisher. The lady on the phone immediately asked me how old I was, then my date of birth, my original name, and my birth mother’s name. As soon as she asked the questions I felt a surge of adrenalin, because there could only be one reason she would want to know. Once I had given my answers there was a pause. Then Polly said “You are the person we’ve been looking for then.”
The phone was answered. I gave my name and explained that I was responding to the letter a Polly Keady had sent me about Harry Andrew Fisher. The lady on the phone immediately asked me how old I was, then my date of birth, my original name, and my birth mother’s name. As soon as she asked the questions I felt a surge of adrenalin, because there could only be one reason she would want to know. Once I had given my answers there was a pause. Then Polly said “You are the person we’ve been looking for then.”
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