There’s a scene in the first Jason Bourne movie where Marie drives him from Germany to his home in Paris. But he has amnesia, so it’s all new and he’s trying to put a bunch of strange pieces together.
As they’re about to say goodbye, he sheepishly says that she’s welcome to wait in the car while he checks out the apartment. She says no, because she’s afraid his amnesia means he’d probably forget her by the time he got back to the car.
He looks at her incredulously and says, “How could I forget you??? You’re the only person I know.”
That’s kinda what being adopted feels like. I went 29 years without knowing a single blood relative. Then everything changed the day Sean was born — the first blood relative I ever met. I have vivid memories of the nurses bringing him out to me, swaddled from head to toe, and I was suddenly holding and looking at him, thinking, “you’re the only blood relative I know.”
You can’t imagine what that felt like. If you’re not adopted, if you’ve been surrounded by blood relatives your whole life to the point where you take it for granted, what I’m saying makes no sense. And that’s okay. Just take my word how mind-bogglingly amazing it was to finally know a blood relative after 29 years.
And then it happened again when E was born four years later. Two blood relatives!! That’s all I’ve known for 57 years — and how I assumed it would stay, given how neither child seems ready to make Cari and me grandparents anytime soon. 
(Quick aside: This stuff about blood relatives is not a slap against my mom, dad, or sisters — they are my FAMILY, and I love them more than I can put into words, the same way you love your family. I’m not minimizing or diminishing them and our family bond/love in any way.)
After my mom and dad died, when I guess it felt safe to do, and also when every doctor started stumping me with the question, “Do you have any [X] in your family history,” I talked to Cari about finding my biological parents.
As a child, my mom and dad must’ve told me a hundred times about my birth mom — “she gave you up because she loved you, and she knew you’d have a better life with two parents.” They also told me I was the product of a Catholic mom and a Jewish dad, and how that was a huge red flag in the late ’60s. During my adoption, Catholic Social Services even asked my parents if they were willing to “accept a mixed-race child.”
My biological parents gave me the gift of life. Then my biological mom gave me the gift of opportunity, and her decision has given me a life filled with unimaginable love and joy and blessings. She gave me that life. So from the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I promised myself to never go looking. I didn’t want to possibly ruin their lives by showing up unexpectedly and unwanted.
But when you get to your 50s and the doctors keep asking about your medical history, you realize you need to know. The not knowing literally makes it harder for them to help me stay healthy and alive.
So it was time. Cari was all into genealogy and ran with it. Before he died, my dad had sent me a bunch of my adoption papers, probably anticipating I’d want to do this at some point. So we had my birth mom’s name and birth date. The papers say nothing about my birth dad.
Cari eventually found both my birth mom and dad. He’s still a bit of a mystery today and may never have seen our attempts to contact him, but we were confident that we’d found my birth mom and had her mailing address, at minimum, and possibly her email.
That led to more debate — internal and external — and a ton of self-doubt, questioning, fear, you name it…until I eventually made the decision to reach out, with Cari’s help.
I sent and re-sent an email to my birth mom. My message was that I know how sensitive this is and I’m not trying to ruin your life. I’m not looking for an ongoing relationship, but if you want that, I’m open to it. All I’m asking is for family health history so I can answer my doctors.
No reply. Cari wrote and mailed a letter to her home. Nothing. We never heard back from her, and she sadly passed in November 2023.
Meanwhile, I got nowhere on 23andMe so Cari suggested I try Ancestry.com, too.
Boom! It connected me with a guy named John who the DNA said had to be my half-brother. I sent him a message introducing myself. Said I was mainly looking for health information and had no expectations of an ongoing friendship/relationship, but I’d be open to that if he was.
No reply…no reply…no reply…..until early last year!!! 
John wrote back and said he was willing to help. Three days later, he and his sister — my half-sister — Kristin, got on a Zoom call with Cari and me. That was about 18 months ago. I have almost no recollection of what we talked about because my head was spinning the whole time.
We’ve stayed in touch mainly via texts/social media and tossed around the idea of possibly meeting up somehow somewhere.
Fast forward to now…I was flying back to NYC to see Bon Jovi over the weekend. John and Kristin live in PA and I thought this was gonna be our best chance. They agreed. Cari realized she couldn’t miss it, either.
So, finally, on Monday…it happened again. In one afternoon, I doubled the number of blood relatives I’ve met from 2 to 4!!
John, Kristin, Cari, and I all met for a late lunch. We hugged, got a bit emotional, and caught up on our lives. Kristin brought some old family photos. We all agreed the family resemblance was strong. She and John shared more about what their/our mom was like. I brought and shared those adoption papers my dad had sent, which had some info about their/our mom that I think was new to them.
It was the most wonderful afternoon. We talked for three hours, and could’ve talked for three days. We hit it off like we’d known each other our whole lives.
My heart is full. I think I can safely say all of ours are.
