December 2022

     I always knew I was adopted.  But I never felt the need to find my birth parents, not until my sister, who is also adopted, told me the joy she brought to her birth mother when she found her. Don’t misunderstand!  My parents, the father and mother my sister and I knew, who had been our parents since we were born, were more than most children could wish for. But after my sister found her birth mom, I was curious, and thought I might be able to bring some joy and answers to the woman who had given me life.         

      I was born in 1956, and was adopted from St. Vincent Infant and Maternity Home, in New Orleans.  That was all I knew.  On a whim, I decided to submit my DNA to several of the sites that offer DNA testing and matching, to see if I had any relatives out there. I got an e-mail that told me that I had a match on one of the sites, a 50% match by a woman named Elizabeth Roberts. In mid-September, I got a copy of my birth certificate under a new Louisiana law that allows the release of the document to adopted people who are at least 24 years old. I now knew my birth name and my birth mother’s name.  There was no father’s name, and I figured I knew what that meant.  But, according to my birth certificate, my mother was 36 when I was born, and I am now 66.  So, my mom is 102!!         

      I kept my sister advised of what I had found, and one evening my sister told me she thought her internet search had found my mom, and a brother. My mom, Elizabeth “Betty” Mortimer Roberts, was alive and well known for her accomplishments.  After getting her BPHE from the University of Toronto in 1943, mom received her M.S. from the University of Wisconsin in 1950, and in 1960, she received her PhD from the same university.  She had been a full professor of Biomechanics in the Department of Physical Education at the University of Wisconsin until she retired.

     I found contact information for the person I thought was my brother and we set up a phone call for the following day. How do you break the news to a man that you may be his brother?  Never done this before. So, I asked him, “Do you have any idea what this call may be about?”  My Lord, I am a chicken.  He said, “I think I do.” He told me that our mother, about 4 months before this, had sat him down and told him that she had something to tell him.  She told him about her pregnancy, her trip to New Orleans, and her subsequent attempts to locate me. Until that conversation with Charlie, she had not told anyone about her child.     

     Charlie called mom, and she was thrilled.  The assisted living community set up a Zoom call with mom in Madison, Charlie in Memphis and me in Metairie.   I knew that many women who have given a child up for adoption are afraid that the child will be angry that they were seen as “unwanted.” So I began the call by introducing myself and by telling Mom that my expectation from this call was joy.  I wanted her to feel joy, and to know that her decision to give me up for adoption was a decision that had made me the person I was, and that my adoptive parents were wonderful and giving people.  And I got to tell Mom that she now had a granddaughter and a fifth grandson.  Charlie and his wife, Diane, have four sons, and I had a son and a daughter. Mom’s smile was beaming.  Charlie told me later that she was experiencing the joy I hoped for, and he had not seen her this happy in months.     

     My wife and I made plans to visit my mom, Betty, in Madison in October, when Charlie and his wife could meet us there. It was surreal at first. What was I expecting?  To be honest, I was not sure. This had started out as a kind of puzzle that would be neat to figure out.   But what I got was a woman who was honest with me about her journey that brought me into the world.

     She told me about my father.  She described it as “Some Enchanted Evening” from South   Pacific. She was headed to visit her parents in Toronto, and was in a train station in Chicago, when she saw the man, across the station, and their eyes met.  She continued on to Toronto, and on the way back to Madison, she and my father tried to see each other, but it did not work out.  After 66 years, mom did not remember his name, but with the help of DNA, I very recently found my birth dad, who had passed away in 2015, and I have three sisters on his side of the family.     

     The biggest question I had of Mom: if she lived in Madison, Wisconsin, how was I born in New Orleans?  Mom said that her doctor in Madison arranged for mom’s care here.  Mom lived at an apartment on South Carrollton and worked in a grocery store until she gave birth.  I was born on August 30, 1956, at Hotel Dieu Hospital, and mom had already planned to give me up for adoption.  She saw me once at the hospital, and again at St. Vincent.  She became significantly depressed, and arranged to stay for several months. After that, she returned to Madison to resume her position at the University of Wisconsin. Mom made another trip to New Orleans and attempted to obtain information about me from Catholic Charities.  She was not able to obtain any information.     

      We talked about the difficulties that women faced in the 1940's and 1950's, and the fact that mom was able to obtain her advanced degrees, and conduct significant post-doctoral research.  I told her again that her decision to give me up for adoption was a good decision for me, and I hoped she would feel only joy with meeting me. Stories about mom’s growing up, her service in the British military during World War II, and other events in her life make her a unique and wonderful person.  Again, so much information to absorb about her life, and I am just getting started.     

      Last month, I set up a Zoom call with mom, my son, Francis, and my daughter, Gabrielle.  We visited and they got to talk with their new grandmother, and she got to talk to her new grandkids. Our family will visit Mom in Madison in mid-December. So far, I am still in shock about meeting a new mother after 66 years. I have a lot of questions to which I hope I can get answers.  Or just sit with a woman whose accomplishments during her life would astound me, even if she were not my birth mom.