I will never forget one certain day in first grade. We were in gym playing kickball. It was my turn. I kicked the ball and ran safely to first base. The girl guarding the base looked at me and said, "You're adopted." I looked at her in shock, one because I didn't know what adopted meant and two, who was she to tell me. I remember bursting into tears and having to sit out on the bleachers for the rest of the gym period.

When I got home that afternoon, I asked my parents if it was true and what did it mean? They explained that yes it was true and that it meant I was picked, I was special. It didn't help hearing that. I wanted to know what was so wrong with me that my own mother didn't want me. My parents said the only information they had was that my father was from India.

I never forgot learning I was adopted, and I never forgave the little girl who told me. I suppose I should be upset with her mom for telling her. I used to torment her on the bus. Sometimes I feel bad for how I treated her. But, not often.

I'm not sure how old I was, but I remember getting the neighborhood kids together and knocking door-to-door asking if anyone had given up a child for adoption. I really got in trouble for that one.

Throughout the years I tried all kinds of ways to get my information. I called judges, my parents lawyer, the actual doctor who delivered me. I remember one time making a mad dash to Charleston to look in the birth records. Nothing worked. I signed up with registries and never heard a word. I knew for some reason there was something so terribly wrong with me that my mom didn't even want to find me.

When I was 29 I had just suffered the death of my first child, a son named John Alexander. The first night he was gone I reached out to my old babysitter. I knew she was an Obstetric Nurse at a different hospital and was just an overall wonderful woman. We had a common bond. She was adopted too. She came out to my home, brought me some ensure, and just sat and talked with me til the wee hours of the morning while my husband was sleeping. I hated him for that. I had never felt so alone or such a failure. And all he could do was sleep while all I could do was call the funeral home asking if they had my baby yet.

A couple of months later, I received a phone call from my former babysitter. She wanted to know my birthdate, time of birth and delivering doctor's name. I gave her all of the information she asked. She told me she would call me in a few days with a name. A nurse was retiring on her floor and the birth book had been brought out to see how many she had participated in. My mother's name was somewhere in that book!
I never believed it would actually happen.

Just as she said, my former babysitter called me and gave me a name. As soon as I got the name, I grabbed the phone book and started looking up anyone with the same last name. The first call I made was to a woman named Marcia Stump. I asked for Karen Stump. She said that had been her mother but she had passed a few years earlier. I felt crushed. I took a deep breath and asked if she knew of a daughter Karen had given up for adoption. The woman on the other end of the line broke into tears and said, "We've been looking for you for so long!" Again, I felt shock. I had lived in the same home for 16 years with my parents.

I asked if I could come over and meet her. We set up the meeting for that night. I'm sure I must have told my husband what I was doing. Of course, there was no offer of him going with me. I was so incredibly nervous that day. Would I look like my mom? Would I look like my sister? The time had finally come to find out the story of my adoption.

When I arrived at my sister's she opened the door, and we stared at each other. All I could manage to get out was, "Now I know where my body type comes from!" We were built exactly alike. But that's where the similarities ended. She was blonde with green eyes and fair skinned. I was a brunette with dark brown eyes and a tan complexion. She invited me in the house. As I stepped in, I noticed an older couple there. They were apparently my aunt and uncle. I think they were there to verify my story. I told my "family" that I had been adopted by a wonderful family and had a good life, but that I was a problem child after I found out I was adopted. I finally asked the question I had waited almost 30 years to hear. Why did she give me up?

My sister told me that her father was in prison when our mother had an affair with a man in town for business. Marcia said the man stayed about six months. When he left, he gave our mother a phone number to reach him in California. She discovered she was pregnant and called him. His wife answered. Meanwhile, my sister's father had gotten out of prison and told my mom if she brought me home he would kill me. So she had no choice but to give me up.

What really disturbed me was that our mother knew where I lived for a long time. My sister claimed someone told our mother that we had moved. I didn't believe it. Apparently our mother lived on the next hill over and would drive by and watch me play. I felt like I was in a dream, and I would wake up at any moment.

My aunt sat and watched the conversation. Then she looked at me and said,"You even have so many of her mannerisms, and you look just like her from the side." It was becoming too much for me, so I decided to go home. I agreed to call my sister again and arrange to meet my other sister and brother.

I've met a lot of my family, but I just don't have that family feeling with them. My brother drove me around and showed me places they had lived. Then he drove me right by my parent's home. That was eerie. She had known where I was my entire life and never showed herself. She left no note, no journal, no piece of information for me to find my father.

I quit going around my family at my aunt's funeral. One of my "cousin's" husbands was taking me around introducing me to people. At one point, he introduced me as the deep, dark family secret. That did it for me. I haven't seen them since.