I finally found my secret family
Staring in the mirror, I knew the school kids had to be right. ‘You’re adopted,’ they teased constantly.
While my five siblings all had dark hair, blonde locks framed my face.
‘Am I, Mum?’ I’d ask my mother, Eileen.
But she insisted it was just nasty gossip. Yet as I grew up, the whispers continued.
So at 28, and now a mum to Lisa, nine, and Shane, six, I wrote to Family and Community Services to find out once and for all.
Ripping open the response, my hands shook.
I was right – I was adopted. My biological mother Marion was 22 when I’d been born. But adoption laws at the time meant that was all I could know.
I wish Mum had just told me the truth, I thought.
I decided not to say anything though, I didn’t want to cause a rift.
But now I knew, I yearned to find my biological family.
Then, 12 years later the law changed – I could apply to find out about my birth mum!
Learning that her full name was Marion Harding, and that she was from Ballarat in Victoria, I felt a thrill.
Finally, a clue!
But then I received a call. ‘We’ve found a note on the file,’ I was told.
Marion had requested that I never get in contact.
I have no family, I did what I thought was best … but it’s a secret I’ve kept to myself and I wish it to go no further, she’d written.
Deep down, I knew she was trying to protect me, but I was devastated.
‘Mum, you could still try,’ my girl, Lisa, then 21, said.
But what was the point if I wasn’t wanted?
For 25 years, it niggled at me. Then in 2015, when I was 65, I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
By now, my adopted parents had passed away. If my mum was alive, she’d be in her late
80s.
Maybe I have brothers and sisters out there who want to know me, I thought.
So, I contacted the Benevolent Society, which offers support to adoptees.
I applied for marriage certificates in Victoria and New South Wales with no luck. Then, my niece, Kerrie, had an idea.
‘Why don’t you do a DNA test?’ she said.
Hopeful, I ordered a kit, and after submitting a sample of saliva, I went online in May to see if I had any matches.
At the top of the list, was a man named Allan, whose DNA was so similar to mine we were likely first cousins.
I’m looking for my birth mother – her name was Marion Harding, I wrote.
That same afternoon, I received a reply.
Well, my mother’s name was Marion Harding,
Allan wrote back.
He wasn’t my cousin – he was my brother!
Goosebumps prickled my arms.
Picking up the phone, I dialled my daughter straight
When Rosemary discovered a family secret, she was healed by love Rosemary Debello, 68, Old Bar, NSW
away, but it went to her voicemail.
‘Lisa, I think I’ve found my family!’ I exclaimed.
Then another message from Allan appeared.
I’m just waiting for my sister Patricia to come over – can we call you?
Sending him my number, I kept my mobile in my pocket.
And just an hour later, I was talking to my long-lost family on the phone!
My birth mother, Marion, had died in 1999.
Sadly, she’d never revealed my existence to a soul.
As an unmarried mum, she must’ve felt too ashamed.
But, I had five siblings – Patricia, 71, Jo, 63, Margaret, 62, John, 61, and Allan, 58.
‘We all live in Adelaide,’ Allan told me.
‘We’re so glad you found us,’ Patricia said.
That night, each of my siblings called me to say hello!
From then on, we chatted constantly and I began to learn more about my mum.
‘I’m just sitting on the deck having Jatz with butter and doing my that’s life! puzzles,’ I told Margaret one day.
‘Oh my God, Mum used to do that!’ she said. ‘And she loved Jatz with butter!’
This July, I flew to Adelaide.
Patricia’s daughter Michelle met me as I got off the plane.
‘It’s so lovely to meet you!’ I said, hugging my niece.
‘If you’re excited about this, look up there!’ she laughed, pointing up the ramp where the rest of my family was eagerly waiting.
Bursting into tears as I walked towards them, I was wrapped in hugs and kisses.
For five incredible days, I got to know my long-lost loved ones. Turns out, Mum was unmarried when she’d
My hands were the spit of Mum’s and I fidgeted just like her
given me up for adoption at seven months.
Patricia was aged three at the time.
We think she must have tried to keep me but being unmarried with two kids was just too hard.
Then, Mum had gone on to marry and have five more kids – little Beverley had died at just 10 months old.
‘It must’ve killed her to say goodbye to you,’ Patricia said.
Apparently, my hands were the spit of Mum’s and I fidgeted just like her!
Visiting her grave a lump formed in my throat.
This is as close to my mother as I’m ever going to get, I thought.
But I had to remember just how blessed I was.
Three months on, I’m still on a high. My love for my brothers and sisters in my adopted family hasn’t changed, but now, I have more siblings than I could ever have imagined.
That’s a whole lot of love!