Some Things Really Are Better Than Winning the Lotto

With the new Illinois law allowing adoptees to acquire their original birth certificate, I decided I wanted mine. I know all the details on it (I think). The $15.00 investment seemed worth it.

Filling out the form was the easy part. Putting it in the mailbox to be retrieved by the mailman got my mind wondering and reminiscing.

What nationality are you? I always wondered. My last name is Czech. So, I’d just say Czech. But being adopted, it’s a piece you just think about sometimes. My parents “chose” us. They were unable to conceive. I was raised with 3 siblings who were “chosen”, too. It all seemed natural. All we knew was that we were adopted and that we were loved. We lived simply, happily. I love my family very much.

We grew up in a small town. We had church every Sunday, a family dinner every night. In the summer, we’d ride our bikes together as a family to the local swimming pool. We went on family vacations to a cabin on a lake every summer. We went to Disney World as a family, twice. Dad coached all of our soccer teams and was on a team, himself. Mom made cookies often, and would be there to greet us when we got home from school every day. Life was good and simple.

In the 8th grade, I was confirmed with my church. It’s a religious ceremony of sorts, acknowledging my Lutheran faith. At the party at home to celebrate, I thumbed through my baby book, which sat on the coffee table on display for the day. A paper fell out. “Boy 1961. Girl 1963. Boy 1965. Etc. all the way to Jennifer (Me) 1976. I felt a pull at my heart and asked my mom what it meant. “You have brothers and sisters.” EIGHT of them?? I was blown out of the water. I was just filled with amazement that there were others out there. 

I wondered if they looked like me. Did they live nearby? Were they adopted too? I’d pass someone at the mall that resembled me. Could that be one? I asked about doing a search and learned I had to wait until I was 18. What a terribly long wait. I only confided in my closest friends. It was usually received with a little bit of shock, which surprised me a little. It just felt so normal to me, except for the newest part of having so many siblings.

When I was 18, I felt aloof. I juggled jobs and college. Learning who I was as an adult. I was still thinking about finding my siblings, but also feeling emotionally vulnerable. Would they like me? Would I be a letdown? I felt like I had to achieve more in the world and make them proud.

I waited until I was 22. I felt whole. Solid. I had my own apartment, my own car, decent job. I finally felt like someone my siblings to find would be proud of.

I learned from my mom that I had been adopted through Lutheran Child and Family Services. When I was adopted, I was part of a pilot program for adopting children that weren’t legally free. By birth mother had me, and left me at the hospital. The nursery nurses cared for me for 2 months before Lutheran Child and Family Services looked to place me for adoption, but still as a baby that wasn’t legally ready to be 100% adopted. There was always the notion that my birth mother could come back for me. My parents knew that risk when they were invited to take me home, and took me anyway. My grandparents joked about a car for my family to flee to Canada if my birth mother ever returned.

She never did. 11 months later, the court had the papers they needed for me to be successfully adopted. I was 14 months old when my adoption was offical.

I contacted Lutheran Child and Family Services. It was November of 1999. I wasn’t sure what the procedure was. They explained everything to me. The first step was to send me all of the non-identifying information on my biological parents. They sent out the packet of non-identifying information. I thumbed through the information as if the pages were made of gold. My biological mother was German. My biological father: Puerto Rican. My soul screamed in satisfaction. I finally know my heritage! My biological mother was 43 when I was born. My biological father was 63. TEN brothers and sisters were confirmed (including myself). I was the youngest girl, with one brother younger than me. Each child was adopted at birth. Our biological mother was Catholic and had migrated to the United States when she was 17. She lived with her husband in a studio apartment in Chicago and couldn’t afford the children. My head spinned and the tears just streamed. The pieces of the puzzles in my life were sliding into place. The papers also noted any medical history. Both of my grandparents were noted as being diabetic.

After reviewing everything, I spoke to the nicest lady from the agency. She let me know that a brother and sister were already “in the system” asking for information, too. My one brother had been “in the system” for several years. He was waiting to start a search. She would try to put us in connection with each other. It took 6 months. That was the longest wait of my life.

In April of 2000, I was finally told I could write a non-identifying letter to my brother who was “in the system.” That was one of the most difficult letters to try to write. What do you possibly say? I told him how I grew up: with brothers and a sister. I told him I was happy, but was excited beyond words to meet him! That I had thought of him for so long. I told him that I could not wait to meet him. I faxed the letter to Lutheran Child and Family Services and they in turn sent it to my brother. I got a letter back! I was thrilled. He has kids! He is married and could not wait to meet me. My heart was soaring.

The next step was a legal disclaimer to reveal my identity to my brother and a phone number for him to call. I faxed it out as quickly as it was sent to me. Then came the waiting to get his information in exchange. I got home from work that night. My phone rang. It was my brother! Tears streamed, but I kept my voice level.

“I’ve waited so long for you” I told him.

“I had a dream”, I told him. “You live in Oaklawn or Oak Park, but not Oakbrook”. 

He told me he lived in Oaklawn. So close by! I want to drive there that second. We talked about how when his son was born, there was a medical emergency. As his wife was being wheeled into the emergency room for a c-section, the nurses drilled my brother for medical history. His reply over and over again was “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Luckily his son was born and all was well. 

On May 5, 2000, I finally met my brother and sister for the first time. They met me at my apartment. I opened the door and was too in awe to speak. They looked like ME! Same height. Same smile. My brother held a bouquet of flowers. My sister held a wrapped present. I invited them inside. We hugged. We spent a lot of time studying each other in amazement. We learned that my sister and I both sneeze when we eat chocolate and also wear the exact same perfume: Amarige by Givenchy. We all enjoy seafood. They grew up 30 minutes from me. All this time, so close by! It felt surreal.

My mom lived two doors down from me at the time. We all walked to her house. She opened the door and burst into tears. “You look like Jenny,” she told them. I gulped back my tears. I was glad she was accepting. I couldn't have done any of this without my mom's support. We ate dinner and talked for several hours. I held off crying until they left. What an amazing day. We called, wrote, and saw each other often.

Lutheran Child and Family services allowed us each to search for one sibling. Just one.

My one search was going to be for our brother who is 2 years older than I am. I submitted my request to LCFS and the search began. The case worker kept me posted on the progress. A letter was sent on my behalf, from LCFS to him. And the same letter was “returned to sender.” My caseworker suggested we had the wrong address. Another letter was sent. Also, returned to sender. Days, months were passing by. We were nearly into September of 2000. A third letter was sent. My caseworker had suggested this may be our final try. Finally! Finally he called the number in the letter and spoke to my caseworker. He thought it was a joke, a scam. He had no idea he had brothers and sisters. He was raised an only child and he was completely blown away. I was beyond thrilled.

It was late one afternoon. I was at work when I got a call from my step-dad. “There’s been an accident. You have to come home now. It’s your brother.” My knees buckled beneath me. I couldn’t breathe. My younger brother who I was raised with and I are very close. He’s always been a little different. He was diagnosed with being bi-polar, ADHD, hyperactive, and more. He was on medications from a very young age. I was always his protector. When kids would make fun of him and he’d cry, I would defend him and make sure they stopped. I’d yell idle threats, then throw an arm around my brother’s shoulder and walk him home. He’s always been accident prone, so my head swirled with thoughts of what it would be this time.

“It’s a brain tumor.” The tears spilled at the words. He was with my mom in an ambulance, on the way to University of Illinois in Chicago Hospital. I don’t remember the drive to the hospital, just the look of pain on my brother’s face when I got there. The tumor was as big as a softball, they said. Surgery was imminent. The doctor’s said it was touch and go. They had to go in and see how bad the damage was.

They came back from surgery. “We couldn’t get it all.” And they had planned a second surgery. I screamed. I was angry, and terrified. And I couldn’t do anything to defend or protect my brother. He was a zombie. Tubes and bandages all over the place. I was still in shock at how quickly it all happened.

In the meantime, my caseworker let me know that my brother was ready to meet me. And that we could exchange a non-identifying letter to one another. I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling I had that God was giving me one brother, and taking another one away. I was thrilled and distraught at the same time. I was on an emotional rollercoaster.

I met my new brother at a restaurant down the street from the hospital. It had been about 3 weeks of surgeries at that point. I was at the hospital every day. My pace and heartbeat quickened as I walked down the street to the restaurant. I sat at the bar, eyeing each person who walked in the door. The wait felt like forever. My excitement was more than I could control. I told the bartender an abbreviated version of the story. And that here I was, waiting to meet my brother for the first time. It felt nice to confide in someone. It was just too big of a secret to share. Finally, he walked in the door. Big hugs. Everyone else in the restaurant melted away. He wore a yellow shirt. His words were heartfelt and genuine. He had apologized for sending the letters back to LCFS. He didn’t believe it could be real. By the end of the night, it felt like we had known each other all along.

In the 30 days to follow, I saw him 27 of the days. We were instantly close. Our worlds meshed so easily. He knew about my brother in the hospital and how upset it made me. He went to visit my younger brother in the hospital. My younger brother was coherent enough to know what was going on and who he was. They greeted each other with genuine hug-handshakes and “Hello Brother.” They were family, too (although not biological) and it all blended so easily.

My younger brother improved. They eventually got the entire tumor out, and put in a shunt. He had withered away so much over the course of those 8 weeks. The next phase was a rehabilitation center. We were just grateful to have him alive. My new brother visited my brother at the rehabilitation center. He brought him Yahtzee and they played together for hours, just the two of them. They were family.

In the remaining months of the year, we found 2 more brothers. My very oldest brother, I spoke to for the first time on Halloween night. I was on my way to a Halloween Party. He was so genuine and friendly on the phone. He told me about his family. And how he had known we existed, but he had no idea how to get in touch with us. The conversation flowed like silk. We ended with “I love you,” although never having officially met each other. And I felt it. I felt the love and reality of our connection. He had promised to come to Chicago soon to visit. And I was thrilled.

Our other brother lives in Florida. My brother I met in May, my brother I met in September, my mom, stepdad, 2 of my girlfriends, and I planned a trip to fly to Florida to meet him. We were going to leave on December 27th and stay through New Years. We were staying in a Disney resort in Disney World. I would have three of my new siblings with me in the same place at the same time. And we’d be meeting in Disney World. It was awesome. We spent the day in Disney World. Talking and walking. Seeing the attractions. The following day we went to a music concert. My new Florida brother is the brother-in-law to the lead singer, so we had free tickets, front row seats, and back stage passes. It was amazing!

In 2001, we located 3 brothers and a sister. Meeting each was overwhelming and wonderful. Hugs right away. So many photos it felt like we had our own paparazzi. And just love. We met each others families.

In February of 2002, we met my youngest brother. One of my brothers and I went to meet him at a restaurant near my house. Everything was smooth and easy. “You know, I wished for brothers and sisters every birthday. That was my wish. I feel like God just took a really long time, but answered my prayers” he said. “This is better than winning the lottery.” I feel the same way.

By July of 2002, we had found everyone. Our searches were complete. I held a family reunion (or rather union) at my mom’s house on the river. Everyone was invited to come and bring their families. We invited their mothers, fathers, sisters, friends. Whoever they wanted to share the special day was welcome. My younger brother’s brain was healed and he was there with us to enjoy the day. To have us all there in one place at one time was beyond words. The tears just streamed. It was overwhelming. There were a few times it was so emotional, I’d sneak into the bathroom to cry into a towel, pat my eyes dry and go back to be with my family. Everyone embraced everyone. The love was so thick. It felt like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. We bbq-ed and played volley ball. My brothers and sisters were enough to fill both sides of the volley ball net. I was on cloud nine. We spent the entire day until nightfall together.

We had learned that our biological mother died in 1999. It hurt a little to know we’d have so many questioned that would remain unanswered. She had died suddenly, and was without family to identify her remains. She was finally buried, 6 months after she died, and placed in an unmarked grave. My brothers and sisters and I chipped in and bought a head stone. It very simply said her name, and Mother. Many of the details of her world still remain a mystery. We can only speculate. We have not found a death certificate for my biological father. He would be 98 now. I don’t think he is living.

My brothers and sisters and I have remained close. Three of my brothers live particularly close and I see them at least once every 2 months. This was by far the biggest, best thing to have happened to me. Over the years, we’ve had marriages. Divorces. Births. Relocations.  And we’ve moved through each as a family. I’m still overwhelmed with pride and joy when I spend time with them. I am blessed to have the foundation and strength of the family I was raised with. And the additional pillars of my found family. What a beautiful castle we’ve built.

I’m incredibly lucky for how this turned out. You never know who you will find or what you will encounter. I needed to write this for me, for my son, and for my family. This journey has been long. I feel forever blessed.

No matter what comes in the mail in regards to the original birth certificate, I’ve learned a lot of lessons. 1.) You don’t need to share blood to be family. 2.) Great things are worth waiting for. 3.) Things are how you perceive them to be.  4.) Happiness is a choice, and not always an automatic response.  5.) If tomorrow never comes, today was REALLY GOOD.