Adoption – the lies that bind

How research for a novel led to a real-life revelation

Perhaps it’s the rise of ancestry and DNA sites, but people are learning shocking truths — and they want to talk about it. In addition to more conversations, I’d like to see people embrace forgiveness and self-forgiveness for all the heartbreak they’ve endured.

When I wrote a novel two years ago, I included a secret adoption to increase tension. I had no idea it would be such a touchstone topic for readers and an ironic curveball for me when I discovered my own family story.

To research my book, I talked to people who were adopted, and women who had given up their children for adoption. I wanted to explore the hurt and shame that unwed mothers faced in the 1980s — whether from the family, church or community.

In my novel, Lucy Mcgee’s Moment of Truth, Lucy became pregnant while at university and, through coercion, gave up her son for adoption. Lucy later married and gave birth to two children without breathing a word to her husband or children about her 30-year secret. An unforeseen medical situation threatened to unravel her happy life. Chaos ensued.

It reflected the era in which I grew up in Nova Scotia, when some kids knew they were adopted, others didn’t. Typically, in Maritime families, when a young woman got pregnant, only a few adults were told and sworn to secrecy. A single lie expanded into a web of family deceit.

Worse, the truth sometimes leaked out when relatives forgot who knew what. As the lead character Lucy observed about her own childhood family secrets, “The Mcgees have so many skeletons we need a walk-in closet.”

Of course, in real life back then, secrets led to further lies and denial. Kids overheard whispers or found adoption papers. When they asked their parents if they were adopted, they got angry brush-offs or silence. Other children felt in their bones they didn’t fit in, yet their parents refuted the adoption claim for decades.

In my book club visits, several women spoke of the "elephant in the living room" moment when someone realized Omg-melissais-a-dead-ringer-for-aunt-betty — passed off as a family resemblance. However, that didn’t explain the kid across town, whom everybody knew looked exactly like the siblings of another family.

I heard variations on these themes. Book club members shared how they learned about their adoption, met and interacted with birth parents, or discovered they had different parents than they thought, among other long-held family secrets. As one story wrapped up, someone jumped in with another — the floodgates had opened.

While some adoptees and families had positive experiences, the unlucky ones suffered from lifelong emotional issues. Those adoptees felt isolation, abandonment, frustration and burnout from lengthy searches for birth parents, and further rejection. The list goes on.

Perhaps it’s the rise of ancestry and DNA sites, but people are learning shocking truths — and they want to talk about it. In addition to more conversations, I’d like to see people embrace forgiveness and selfforgiveness for all the heartbreak they’ve endured.

Some teenaged birth mothers didn’t see or hold their newborn — their baby was whisked away and placed for adoption. They were rushed back to their daily lives, pretending nothing had happened and given no chance to grieve.

Birth fathers may have been saddled with guilt for getting their girlfriend “into trouble” as they used to call it, or they may have taken off to avoid consequences. Some weren’t told and were shocked to learn the truth decades later, missing the chance to provide love and support for a child they didn’t know existed.

Adopted children wondered why their birth parents abandoned them. They may have created “explanation” stories and dreamed their parents would one day arrive on their doorstep — arms wide open. This rarely happened. As adults, they know none of this was their fault, yet they still hurt.

Adoptive parents who kept it secret may have faced a backlash when their child found out. Or, if they had an open adoption, they worried their child might seek out their birth parents and form a stronger bond with them.

There are also adoptees from diverse cultural, ethnic or religious backgrounds — taken from their world and placed with an adoptive family. Aside from the separation trauma, they had to adapt to new cultures, communities and languages. Sadly, some didn’t. That’s another agonizing subject that could fill a book.

And then there’s my own curious story that I didn’t see coming. After the novel was released, my late in life partner Robert passed away following a lengthy illness. Six weeks later, I found out that he had fathered a child in 1967 — and I learned the birth mother didn’t tell him. His son, Joe, missed meeting his father by weeks.

Our family welcomed Joe, who brought happiness during a sad time. While he had loving adoptive parents, Joe is keen to learn about his birth father when he visits this summer. I realize not all adoption stories are happy, so I’m deeply grateful for the way ours has turned out.

This spring, Nova Scotia finally shed its patriarchal law of closed adoptions. The Adoption Records Act now allows birth parents, children (19 and over), siblings and relatives to connect — while still offering veto to those who do not wish to be contacted.

Thankfully, times have changed since I was a teen. Maybe it’s generational, but once-forbidden topics are now discussed without shame. For those interested in connecting, I think it’s time for new conversations between adoptees, birth parents, relatives or adoptive parents.

In my experience, all people touched by adoption have amazing, poignant and courageous heartfelt stories that deserve to be heard.