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The Journey and Rediscovery of Donna Elaine

Part One:

By Leanna MadillPublished 5 years ago 9 min read
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I am about to share with you, a piece of my history...

As an adopted child, I’ve written just a synopsis of what could easily become novel in itself.

It’s just another reminder that there is nothing simple about adoption. There are usually dramatic reasons for it to even take place. You will find occasionally, there are happy endings but more often than not, you will find endings that are sad and even tragic...

Ever since I was old enough to remember, it was always a dream to know my biological background. As a small child, it was a burning passion to learn the ‘truth’ and an insatiable desire to claim my identity.

It all started when I was about 2 ½ years old. My adoptive mother sat myself, my older brother, and my younger sister on the kitchen table side by each to tell us what would become our ‘favourite’ bedtime story as small children. “How the Three of Us Came to Be."

She would explain to us that she lost babies through two miscarriages and later, decided to adopt to fill her desire to have children. She would explain to us further that myself and my brother did not come from her tummy; that we each had a different 'birth mommy'.

She told us how our biological mothers were too young to raise us and assured us that our mothers loved us so much, they gave us up for adoption so we could have a better chance in life.

Born the second week in January, of ‘69, my brother was only six weeks old at the time of his adoption. A few months after his arrival, it was decided that he needed a little sister.

Eighteen months later, I (the little sister) was adopted into my new family. I was three months old at the time and had spent those first months in & out of the hospital and foster care because I was anaemic.

About the same time that I was brought home, it was realized that my parents were three months pregnant with my younger sister...

Our mother would go on and tell us how there never seemed to be a dull moment in the house with six different personalities running around and the variations were dramatic. My brother is of French & German bloodlines. Although my paternal background was unknown at that point, my biological mother was a full blooded Serb. My younger sister was Scots & Pennsylvania Dutch.

Mom kept the story simple enough for us to understand but poignant enough for us to always remember.

As we grew, our parents made certain that my brother and I were exposed to any available resource or information should we want to learn more about adoption and eventually our own situations.

They would fully support any decision we made, but we had to promise something in return. That was to remember who raised us...

It was my brother’s decision to leave things as they were. He was content with what he knew and saw no need to take it further. I felt differently. Things were happening in my life where I was feeling segregated to an extent; I didn’t fit in or belong...

I was quite small when I had decided I would travel the world if I had to, to find my biological mother.

As I got older, I started reading different books pertaining to adoption. By the time I was in high school, I was doing research papers, interviews, and independent studies, all having to do with various angles of adoption. By the time I was eighteen, I considered myself an expert on the subject and had registered myself to every available adoption registry within Canada & the United States... in hopes that it would enable my search.

I loaded up my Winnebago of dreams and embarked on a lifelong & a seemingly endless journey that in time would bring clarity & understanding of the spirit within me.

I would not travel this road without consequence though. There would be hard lessons learned, heartaches & tragedy would at times outweigh the joy and beauty of it all. In the end, it gave me the knowledge I needed to understand to fill my void.

Through the next 13 years I would exhaust every available venue in my quest... When I was 30 years old, and nothing had come of my efforts, I decided that maybe it was time to accept my life as it was and close the door to this long and lonely chapter.

The summer had just begun when I made that decision almost nineteen years ago... I had no sooner done that before the door was thrust open!

Within a week of making that decision, I received a phone call from the Children’s Aid Society.

I would learn from that call that information had been found pertaining to specific biological family members (Mother, Grandfather, an Aunt as well as a half brother & half sister).

I was beside myself with this news. As the phone conversation continued, I would also learn that my biological mother had passed away at the young age of 27 and that it was investigated as a homicide.

There was no information made available to the Children’s Aid leading to the cause of her death. I remember not knowing what to think or how to feel....

I was home alone when I received that phone call and after it had ended, I remember vividly going into the bathroom to draw a bath. When I submersed myself in the warm water, the emotional floodgates opened and I sat there and cried.

The following day, I received a formal letter version of the information as per my telephone call with the Children’s Aid. The next few weeks would move like a whirlwind.

A few days after the letter’s arrival, I handed a copy over to a family friend. He was a local Police Sergeant and it was my hope that he might know of a way to find out the reason behind my biological mother’s death. I was told I would have to be patient. The records would have to be searched manually due to the date of her demise.

Less than a week later the Sergeant called me. He explained the he had had taken the letter to a friend of his within the Department who at the time was a detective.

The Sergeant explained to the Detective about the letter and had his friend read it. The Detective was apparently shocked at what he read; he had recognized the name of my biological mother....

That same Detective had been one of the officers working my biological mother’s homicide case! He went on to explain that my biological mother's demise was the result of a ‘crime of passion’.

She was preparing to leave her husband, when he trapped her in the basement of the house and sent it up in flames.

I was told that she made no visible effort to save herself and the smoke consumed her.

After all that was said and done and the Sergeant was assured I was okay, he mentioned for me to stay seated, that he wasn’t done yet.

He went on to ask, “Would you like to meet your family? It can happen. The Detective happens to know who would be your ‘step-brother’ very well. He has stayed in touch with him through the years...”

A week later, I was sitting across from both my biological half brother & sister. Shortly after that, I was able to meet my Grandmother, my Aunt, and my three cousins, and later my step brother.

The meetings were beautiful, difficult, and exhausting. To all who saw me within my biological family, was to see a ghost.

I am a spitting image of my mother in every way, except for my mouth. Same hair, same eyes, same build... It was very hard on everyone.

In spite of all that, I was able to develop a healthy relationship with my brother, sister, my step brother, and one cousin... but it wouldn’t be that way with everyone.

The saga continued over the next couple of years with the story growing more bizarre at every turn.

My grandmother would talk to me like I was her daughter, but when I was able to get her focused; I learned more about myself through her.

She told me once, “Everything you are is everything your mother was. You are she, all over again.”... and then she would cry.

My Aunt became obsessed with me to the point I could not handle being in the same room with her...

Then, one of my cousin's ended up being forcibly relentless and ruthless in exploiting critical and sensitive details of my biological makeup.

He figured I wanted the 'truth', so he was sure I got the 'truth'. And... he did not care how it was delivered.

In playing cruel mind games, he made sure that I would come to find that I was a product of incest.

I was devastated and shattered to learn that my mother had suffered at the hands of her drunken father....

At that point, I said "enough!" I had to... the emotional train wreck was in full motion.

My mother's life was lost because she was broken. Destroyed by her own father. She jumped from one burning ship into another, marrying another man when she was far from ready.

I no longer have anything to do with that rouge cousin of mine. Not because of what he said, but how he went about it and the attitude he brought with it.

I also no longer communicate with my Aunt... now my sister... I don’t even know how to label it. Her obsession with me was overwhelming and now I understand why.

I even had to say good bye to my grandmother, for all she could see was her daughter. Her anger was so great over that loss; she carried it with her to her grave. Already suffering from dementia when I first came into the picture, seeing me (my mother’s ghost) sent her spiralling deeper. I am grateful for the tidbits of family history she indulged occasionally. I only wish she could have gotten to know me...

As for my biological mother... It makes me sad to know all that she suffered at the hands of her father. God Bless her. I thank her for ensuring that I would be given a better life.

I learned through my grandmother well before she passed that my mother visited me daily while I was in the hospital and in foster care.

She kept her distance as though to keep her heart from breaking. When the day came that I was to be with my new family, my mother said, “I can let her go... She is now in a safe place and my heart finally feels good.”

adoption
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