My Mom On My Mind

Around the time my mom’s adoption was finalized

The credit for the existence of this blog actually belongs to my adoptee mom. She wanted to know the truth about her adoption through Georgia Tann in Memphis Tennessee in the 1930s. The state of Tennessee refused her that information and it was my intention that I would pursue it after she died, thinking it might be easier with the birth and adoptive parents as well as the adoptee no longer living. In some states like Arizona, Virginia and California that hasn’t made a bit of difference to the closed, sealed records. What my mother was never told is that a few years after her attempt, the state was then providing the records to the victims of Georgia Tann’s scandals. I learned the record would be available to me in 2017 from my cousin who was able to obtain her still living father’s record (the daughter of my mom’s adoptive brother, also adopted in Tennessee through Georgia Tann before her).

Unrelated to issues of adoption, I have been asked to give a 3 min presentation at a choral event today in the city of St Louis. In a sense, I will be alone in the spotlight for those 3 mins. I mention my mom twice during that short speech. Therefore, I feel my mom will “be there” with me today, even though she died back in 2015. I smile when I think of ALL of her impacts on my life. I was lucky to have such a devoted mother and even more lucky, she didn’t have to give me up from adoption when she turned up pregnant with me in high school. I am forever grateful for that good fortune, since I know so much about adoption related trauma now.

Georgia Tann’s Impact

Blond girl (not my mom) with Georgia Tann

From a blog by New Hope Investigations, LINK>How a Criminal’s Dark Actions Continue to Shroud Adoptions in Unnecessary Secrecy.

My husband said today, regarding my mom’s adoption facilitated by Georgia Tann, that my mom had been stolen. My mom believed that and had her own story about it. Mostly, thanks to Georgia Tann, my mom’s adoption was “closed” and the file “sealed”, which kept her from obtaining what I now possess (her whole adoption file including letters from my mom, her adoptive mother and her biological genetic mother). I saw falsehoods incorporated into alternate surrender documents to match my adoptive grandmother’s “specifications” for the baby girl she wanted to adopt (a Jill to go with the previously adopted brother, the Jack, in the children’s rhyme). My adoptive grandmother was a repeat customer of Georgia Tann’s, though she was actually more closely involved with Fannie Elrod, who was the superintendent of the Tennessee Children’s Home Society’s entire operation headquartered in Nashville.

The children’s rhyme is actually a dark one – Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after. Oh my !!

Ms. Tann orchestrated over 5,000 adoptions between 1924 and 1950, though the actual number is likely closer to 6,000. She kidnapped many of those children before placing them for adoption into families who were only screened for their wealth. Before Georgia Tann entered the picture, adoption was extremely uncommon. With her black market practice, she singlehandedly popularized adoption, kickstarting it into existence as we know it today.

Very unfortunately for adoptees even still today, Georgia Tann made it common practice to falsify adoptees’ birth certificates to reflect incorrect information. She did this to cover her own tracks and mask her sinister crimes. Legislators were all too eager to approve this practice with the supposed intent of sparing adoptees’ the stigma of illegitimacy. In all reality, many of those legislators turned their heads the other way because they themselves had adopted children through Georgia Tann.

Still today, all 50 states issue an original birth certificate to adoptees, as well as an amended birth certificate that reflects the adoptive parents as the birth parents. The original certificate is typically then sealed forever, unable to be accessed even by the adoptee him or herself. (blogger’s note – I am fortunate to actually have a copy of my mom’s original birth certificate.)

As the child of two adoptees who this affected, I grew up not knowing our biological facts, cultural history or ethnic make-up, and nothing of our family medical history. Some adoptees have only bits and pieces of knowledge about themselves. (blogger’s note – this was true for both of my parents at some point in their lives but never a complete knowledge before they each died 4 months apart, after over 50 years of marriage.)

(Blogger’s note – my mom definitely registered her DNA with Ancestry’s database in the hope of uncovering biological family members but it never happened for her. She tried to construct a family tree, based only on the adoptive families for both her self and my dad, but had to give it up because she simply knew it was not “real”. Adoptees are forced to live a false identity.)

Even when Georgia Tann’s crimes were finally publicly outed, she remained safeguarded because of the numerous politicians, legislators, judges, attorneys, doctors, nurses, and social workers who would have gone down with her. She had such a wide net of accomplices that to take her down would have also meant the collapse of a very widespread group of prominent citizens. Memphis was a terribly corrupt city at the time. Georgia Tann died from cancer on September 15, 1950 at age 59.

Certainly, this describes my mom’s mother’s circumstances – The majority of children targeted by Georgia Tann came from poor, white, single mothers who had no resources or support. During the era of Ms. Tann’s operations, and very much perpetuated by Ms. Tann herself, single mothers who kept their children began to be regarded as selfish. It became the norm for the majority of these women to choose adoption when they no longer received support from their families and were instead sent away for the duration of their pregnancies with shame attached to their “condition”. (blogger’s note – my maternal grandparents were married but the lack of financial support from her father or her husband allowed my grandmother to be exploited and coerced by Georgia Tann to surrender my mom.)

The terribly sad effects of adoption – identity crises, bereavement for the loss of their old lives, feelings of isolation, grief over separation from siblings placed elsewhere, depression, confusion, and a host of other negative feelings, behaviors, and difficult experiences – stay with adoptees into their adulthoods. In 1995, the state of Tennessee made original birth certificates available to adoptees who had been born IN the state. (Blogger’s note – that my mom was born in Virginia, although adopted in Memphis, was one of the excuses the state made to deny her the adoption file.)

Blogger’s note – In fact, it was because my mom knew a great deal about Georgia Tann by the early 1990s from a multitude of stories that came out in Good Housekeeping, on 60 Minutes and thanks to Oprah, that my mom believed she had been stolen from her poor, illiterate parents in Virginia and transported to Memphis to be sold by Georgia Tann. That was not the reality and I grieve that although the actual reality of her circumstances does not change the fact that she was adopted, she could have been allowed to know how much she was loved by the woman who gave birth to her and how she struggled to find a way to keep them together.

The New Hope Investigations piece notes in conclusion – “However, over 20 years after Tennessee’s victory, adoptees still face pushback and denial of access to their original birth records.” Also that they wrote their blog inspired by Barbara Bisantz Raymond’s book, The Baby Thief, and praised that she really did her homework having conducted over 1,000 interviews for her phenomenal book. Barbara Bisantz Raymond also previously contacted this blogger, thanks to my own efforts with this blog. When my mom died, still knowing nothing, I felt the responsibility to complete the effort my mom had made to learn her own origins. In having succeeded, I have honored my mom’s trust in sharing her feelings and beliefs with me. Sadly, my adoptee dad was unsupportive.

More Common Than Believed

I am often surprised to discover an adoption connection in someone I have known but did not know that about them. In discussing the weather, a friend casually commented – I was born in Virginia, my uncle arranged my adoption 2 months before my birth, my adoptive parents raised me in Chicago.

I replied – oh my !! I did not know this about you. Every day I write a blog about all things related to family separations – primarily adoptions. My parents were BOTH adoptees. My maternal grandmother was sent away to Virginia to give birth to my mom, when my maternal grandfather for whatever reason (and I have many ideas about it that can never be confirmed) left her in Memphis 4 months pregnant. She didn’t give my mom up in Virginia but brought her back with her to Memphis Tennessee. She tried to reach my grandfather who was in Arkansas (they were actually married) – there was a big flood going on in the Mississippi River at the time and I suspect that was part of whatever obstacles. I have met my cousin in my maternal grandfather’s line who does not feel he was the kind of man to not respond. Regardless, Georgia Tann (the baby stealing and selling woman) got ahold of my mom and she was transported by her adoptive mother to Nogales Arizona.

Adoption touches more lives than many people suspect.

PS – If you don’t know about LINK>Georgia Tann, there is a Wikipedia article that covers her generally and more than one book has centered on her.

A Near Miss

Almost every Thursday (though I sometimes have weeks long gaps or skip a week), I query literary agents for representation of my third revision of my family’s adoption story. I do not intend to revise it again and if I do not succeed, I’ll simply print a copy for my daughter and for my family of today and be done with it. I do not intend to be pessimistic but at this point, I simply go through the motions like it is my “job” – and in a very real way it is. My husband has taken over most of our businesses functions to leave me plenty of time to write and he remains more hopeful about a positive outcome than I do.

Yesterday, I got the quickest rejection yet – like in minutes. Sharlene Martin of LINK> Martin Literary Management sent me this email – “I’m sorry but I recently did Jane Blasio’s book, Taken at Birth, and this would present a conflict of interest for me.” I didn’t know that of course, just sort of got lucky in choosing her (one of the challenges is deciding which literary agent to query). So, I looked into the author and saw that her book was published in July 2021. That is the closest I’ve ever come to finding a literary agent interested in the topic. I don’t know whether to feel encouraged or not at this point.

I was already aware of the story of the Hicks Clinic in McCaysville Georgia before yesterday evening. Dr Hicks was the Georgia Tann of Memphis Tennessee’s compatriot – with similar practices but in a different state, each seeking to grab their share of a lucrative exploitation of babies and hopeful adoptive parents. Adoptive homes are often an expression of secrecy, lies and shame. Everyone living there is living a false reality. Sadly, adoption is often not much different than human trafficking.

LINK> Jane Blasio is not the only adoptee to uncover the truth of their childhood as an adult. It can be quite unsettling for the person who discovers their parents were not the ones they were born to. These adoptees are often referred to as Late Discovery. Dr Thomas Jugarthy Hicks would tell his expectant patient that their newborn child had died at birth and then, sell their baby out the back door of his clinic to the hopeful adoptive parents.

Jane’s own story is that, at the age of six, she learned she was adopted. At fourteen, she first saw her birth certificate. This led her to begin piecing together the true details of her origins. It took decades of personal investigation to discover the truth. Along the way, she identified and reunited other victims of the Hicks Clinic human trafficking scheme. She became an expert in illicit adoptions, telling her story to every major news network that would have her. Her book is a remarkable account of one woman’s tireless quest for truth, justice, and resolution.

I first roughed out my family’s adoption story in November of 2017 using the NaNoWriMo effort to jumpstart it with 50,000 words and the title Lost Chances: Frances Irene Moore’s Georgia Tann Story. In 2021, I submitted a short version of 8,431 words titled With Luck and Persistence (my completed manuscript is 87,815 words) to the Jeffrey E Smith Editor’s Prize with The Missouri Review. This year I am doing a very brief version, less than 1,500 words, for the True Family Stories contest with the Kingdom Writer’s Guild titled Surprised by the Miracle. The prize is nothing to get excited about but my husband long ago suggested I write a version for Christians, so this is that – where I won’t make an issue against adoption – I’ll only focus on the miracle that I didn’t end up adopted as well. All this to say, I can’t say I won’t re-write it in some form again but I won’t revise the long manuscript again or try to shop it if this effort ultimately fails. I still think I have a good story but the challenge is getting anyone else to believe that.

My Maternal Adoptive Grandmother

I spent the afternoon yesterday reading through a thick stack of letters that I wrote to my grandmother. When my grandmother died, for whatever reason, when my mom found these, she thought to send them to me. I wondered why but now I understand. My grandmother adopted my mom from Georgia Tann and the Tennessee Children’s Home Society’s Memphis branch. I find it amazing that she kept all of these letters from me but they are very detailed about my marriage in the early days, what living in Missouri was like for me and what we were doing to promote our home-based business than I would have imagined. I wonder that I had that much time to write so much to her but then, there is only one, maybe two, in any given month and not even one for every month.

I could have been given up for adoption as my mom conceived me when she was only a junior in high school and not wed. My dad had graduated from the same high school the year before and had only just started attending the University of New Mexico at Las Cruces. I tend to credit his parents (he was adopted also) for preserving me in the family but as everyone who would know is now deceased, it is only a guess on my part. That is the reason I was born in Las Cruces and not El Paso Texas where my sisters were born.

I had the good fortune to chose to be born on this grandmother’s wedding anniversary. In January back in 1994, I acknowledged a memory she shared with me in a letter from her (I haven’t kept most, if any of hers to me). It was a “special memory” of hers about the sunlight shining upon me while she held me in her arms and some beautiful thought she had at that moment. It seems to have been a sign from God meant just for her and since I too believe in signs of that sort, I understood. I am now married to the man that I am because I received a physical, unmistakable sign to give him a bit more attention than I might have otherwise. Of course, discernment is very important when it comes to trusting the signs one notices.

In fact, it is quite clear in re-reading these very old letters from the early 1990s, that I was closer to this grandmother in my spiritual understandings than anyone else in my family. My dad’s parents were very conservative, traditional Church of Christ adherents. My mom was very much Episcopal and my dad wasn’t at all a church goer until all of us girls had left the home and then, he said to me that he went to “keep my mom company.” After she died, when I was there helping him with life in general, I went with him because he continued to go to their little church alone or with my youngest sister who was assisting him so he could remain in his home.

These letters are full of the most amazing details of my early marriage and life here in Missouri. I could share these things with this grandmother because she grew up in Missouri in a house much like the one I live in and an environment that is very similar. In one letter, I write – “I truly love the woods, hills and streams of my home here in the Missouri Ozarks. Knowing that you grew up nearby gives me the feeling that I came back home.” (I had grown up in the desert of El Paso Texas, where my grandmother spent most of her own life and where she eventually passed away.) I also shared a lot with her about our efforts to promote and grow our fledgling business.

When I found this thick packet, I wondered why my mom sent it to me and didn’t simply throw it away. I don’t know if she bothered to read all of these letters or not – I can’t ask her since she died in Sept of 2015 – but I’m glad to have them today. Only a few of them can I even bear to throw away but the details of our early business are as precious as gold and I hope we can preserve them in protective sleeves in a binder. Maybe someday, our sons will enjoy reading about our adventures before we decided to become their parents.

Family Breakdown

Some reading I was doing today in a book titled Healing the Split by John E Nelson MD caused me to reflect on my mom’s adoption from a new perspective.

He writes – “While there remains much to learn and study, schizophrenogenic mothers bring a sense of incompleteness to child raising. This is not the same as that mother rejecting her child.”

“Quite the contrary. She regards him as particularly close and significant for her. She needs her child in a distorted way as much as her child needs her.”

This causes me to reflect on my maternal grandfather. His very young mother gave birth to him AFTER her husband, his father, has died. He was her first born (even as my grandmother was her father’s first born and his wife had died but only after the 5th child was born) and remained extraordinarily close to her all her life.

As much as I have blamed my maternal grandmother’s widowed father for not supporting her and my mother, when it appeared that my maternal grandfather (whether this was entirely true or not) had abandoned her at 4 months pregnant – there remains this question in my own heart that can never be answered now. Why did he leave her and why did he not come to her defense when she returned to Tennessee from Virginia after my mom had been born and reached out to him through the Juvenile Court in Memphis.

With the same kind of destructive failure to be supportive that I blame my maternal grandmother’s family for, I do also believe that my maternal grandfather’s mother was not supportive of him. I believe she was not happy he had married my grandmother nor did she want anything to do with the child they conceived while married.

I can never know this for certain but why didn’t he take her back to Arkansas with him, when his WPA job in Memphis ended ? It could be because he was dependent upon his mother since she was caring for his children after their mother, his wife, had died – so that he could go to work in Memphis.

So, I believe the deck was stacked against both of my mom’s natural parents raising her – by her very own grandparents, their father and their mother, one on each side of the parental equation.

Dr Nelson notes in his book – “Any movement toward autonomy leads him to feel that she cannot survive without him, added to his certainty that he cannot survive without her. For him to individuate would destroy them both.” Just the thoughts percolating in my own mind this afternoon related to my own familial adoption stories.

No, I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day

Oh, little darling of mine
I can’t for the life of me
Remember a sadder day
I know they say let it be
But it just don’t work out that way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again

~ lyrics in Mother and Child Reunion by Paul Simon

Motherless Child

I was listening to an African-American group called Sweet Honey in the Rock sing acapella the old spiritual Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child and read it dates back to the days of slavery when children were often sold off away from their parents and siblings. My heart ached listening.

These lyrics caught my attention –

I’m a motherless child,
I can hear my mother calling me,
I can hear my mother’s voice calling me home.
Across the waters, come on home across the waters.

Of course, my thoughts immediately went to adoption and I guess not surprisingly to my own mother. She yearned to find and connect with her mother. She had a complicated relationship with the woman who adopted her. Never felt like she quite measured up to the expectations.

She felt the loss keenly. Especially when she learned the Georgia Tann story. She never could reconcile the fact that she was born near Richmond Virginia but had been adopted in Memphis Tennessee as an infant. She always believed that her adoption was somehow “inappropriate” as she politely worded it in a letter she wrote to the State of Tennessee trying to get her own adoption file. She was denied on more than one technicality and although some years later a law was passed to allow her to receive that file, that information never reached her.

After her death, I did receive that file from Tennessee. My mom’s belief that a nurse in cahoots with Georgia Tann had stolen her in Virginia and transported her to Tennessee wasn’t quite the true story. But that kind of story did happen all too frequently with Tann’s baby stealing and selling scandal.

The real story is sad and my grandmother was definitely exploited in the midst of an impossible situation. Her widowed father still raising some of his children as a poor sharecropper refused my grandmother support with her baby when she returned to Memphis. She was a married woman. Why she was estranged from her husband I’ll never know. I have some theories.

He was WPA and the large hospital project that brought him to Memphis had ended. He was widowed too and his mother had his children in her care in Arkansas. His first wife had died 8 months pregnant on a cold and rainy December morning and her baby in the womb died with her. The image shared with me by my cousin haunts me still. A Phil Collins song The Roof Is Leaking makes me think of my grandfather. These lyrics caught my attention –

The roof is leaking and the wind is howling,
The kids are crying cause the sheets are so cold.
I woke this morning and my hands were frozen

My wife’s expecting but I hope she can wait
Cause there’s been signs it will be another bad one
But Spring will soon be here.

Too many sad maternal deaths. My grandmother lost her own mother at the age of 11 with four other younger siblings, including the baby one, in the household at that time.

His employment ended, my grandmother was already 4 months pregnant and due in January. My heart believes my grandfather feared for her and the baby’s well-being as he had no certain shelter to offer her come winter. It may be that his own mother wasn’t happy he had married such a young woman, as young as his oldest sons. She may not have been welcoming either. Then came the Superflood on the Mississippi River in 1937 (at the same time my mom was born) and he was out shoring up the levees in Arkansas, when my grandmother arrived back in Memphis.

Whatever the real story is, that I can never know, my grandmother went to the Juvenile Court in Memphis trying to reach him. No response. Desperate, she took my mom to the storied Porter Leath Orphanage for temporary care. The superintendent there alerted Georgia Tann to my mom’s presence. My mom was the blond, blue eyed kind of baby girl that Tann most coveted for her clients. And so began the pressure on my grandmother to separate her from my mom.

Four days after signing the surrender papers, my grandmother called Georgia Tann’s office trying to get my mother back. “I have friends in New Orleans who will take us in,” she told them. It was to no avail because Tann’s paying customer was already on her way by train from Nogales Arizona to pick up my mom.

My image today comes from a Facebook page titled Memoirs of a Motherless Child. She relates a story about Brooklyn and it’s connection to her own mother there. After her mother’s death, she writes –

I later blamed myself for never being able to meet her, know her, experience her because I didn’t go look for her, as if that would have done any good. She didn’t want to be found not because she didn’t love me (took me years to realize that but my inner child still can’t accept it wholeheartedly) but because she loved me so much she didn’t want to hurt or disappoint me. My inner child could very well be making that up too in order to spare me more hurt and trauma. What still hurts the most is I’ll never know what part of me was/is that part of you. So I’ll continue to travel this endless journey of uncertainty until our energies meet somehow.

I believe that is how my mom felt too because by the time she tried to find her mother, her mother was only somewhat recently deceased. That devastated my mom. Now that my own mom has also died, I believe she was reunited with the mother who never gave up hoping she would see her precious daughter again as well. So much sadness when a mother and her child are separated.

Family Contact Matters

I understand this as the child of two adoptees. The adoptions for both of my parents were closed and my parents both died knowing very little about their origins or the details behind why they ended up adopted. Since their deaths, I have been able to recover a lot of my rightful family history. I now know of genetic relatives for each of the four grandparents. It has been quite a journey. It wasn’t easy (though maybe easier for me due to our unique circumstances than for many) and it required persistence and determination to see it through.

Certainly DNA testing and the two major matching sites – Ancestry as well as 23 and Me – were instrumental to my success. Since the genetic relations I was coming into first contact with had no prior knowledge of me and I am well over 60 years old, seeing the DNA truth that I was related to them, I believe it mattered. It is hard to refute when it is right there clear and certain.

My mom had four living half-siblings on her father’s side when she was born. One died young of a sudden heart failure. I barely missed getting to meet my mom’s youngest half-sister by only a few months. I was lucky to connect with her daughter who had all of her mom’s photo albums and possession of a lot of family history, including written accounts. One afternoon with her and I felt like I had lived my Moore family’s history. The family photos I now have digital copies of are precious treasures.

Though my Stark family was the first I became aware of and within a month, I had visited the graves of my grandmother and her parents east of Memphis in Eads Tennessee, those living descendants were the last I finally made a good strong connection with. The reality is that I simply can’t recover 6 decades of not living with the usual family interactions with my true genetic relatives. All I can do is try and build relationships with whatever time each of us has left. The personal memories of my grandmother that my mom’s cousins possessed (she was our favorite aunt, they said) made her come alive for me.

The Salvation Army was somewhat forthcoming with information about my father’s birth at one of their homes for unwed mothers in the San Diego California area just walking distance from the beach and ocean. They were able to give me my father’s full name and the missing piece of how he got from San Diego to El Paso Texas where he was ultimately adopted. Once I knew my grandmother’s first married name (born Hempstead including my dad, later Barnes, Timm at death) and a cousin did 23 and Me, my discoveries were off and running. Her mother, my dad’s youngest half-sibling, was living only 90 miles away from him when he died. Mores the pity.

I thought I’d never know who my dad’s father was since his mother was unwed but the next cousin I met who I share a grandmother with had her photo albums and she left us a breadcrumb. Clearly she had no doubt who my dad’s father was. His father, Rasmus Martin Hansen, was an immigrant, not yet a citizen, and married to a much older woman. So, he probably never knew he was a father and that’s a pity because I do believe my dad and his dad would have been great friends.

I now also have contact with my Danish grandfather’s genetic relatives. If it had not been for the pandemic, they would have had their annual reunion there in Denmark. I haven’t heard but I would not be surprised to know it is postponed. My relative (who I share a great-grandfather with – my dad being the only child of my grandfather) planned to make the Danish relatives aware of me.

To anyone who thinks not knowing who your true relatives are – if the adoptions were more or less good enough, happy enough and loving enough – I am here to tell you that not knowing anything about your family (including medical history) and being cut off from the people you are actually genetically related to DOES matter. Adoption records should be UNSEALED for ALL adult adoptees at their request. Sadly over half of these United States still withhold that information. I know from experience as I encountered this problem in Virginia, Arizona and California. If my mom’s adoption had not been connected to the Georgia Tann, Tennessee Children’s Home Society baby stealing and selling scandal, I would not have gotten my first breakthrough.

The Loss Of What Could Have Been

In the early 1990s, the Georgia Tann baby stealing and scandal re-emerged into the national consciousness. She had been dead 40 years and narrowly escaped criminal charges when the complications of cancer took their toll.

60 Minutes did a feature on the scandal. They introduced a woman named Denny Glad who lived in the Memphis Tennessee area and was doing her best to assist Tann’s victims in relocating the families they had been taken from. At this time, adoption records were closed and firmly sealed behind the power of the state and kept from even adult adoptees. My mom did reach out to Mrs Glad and was only able to receive some minimal information which was still more than she had before.

My mom took the next step and contacted the state. They promised to do everything in their power to locate the parents my mom had been born to. It was a lie. There was definitely bureaucratic laziness in their less than motivated efforts. My mom’s father was 20 years older than my mom’s mother when they married. He had been dead 30 years at the time my mom made her effort to get her adoption file.

All the state did was inquire of the Arkansas Driver’s License about his status. In the adoption file, it is indicated that he signed a separate set of surrender papers after a sheriff showed up at his mother’s home in Beech Grove Arkansas with those papers along with a subpoena to Juvenile Court in Memphis for the very next day – not much time to prepare – and anyway, I’m certain he was told the mother had already signed these and if he did too, he would not have to appear in court.

Had the state of Tennessee confirmed he was no longer living when my mom inquired, she would have been given her file. She had at least 2 uncles and 2 aunts still living on her mother’s side and half-siblings on her father’s side.

My mom was devastated when the state of Tennessee told her that the woman who gave birth to her had died several years earlier. It ended her hopes and dreams. My mom was never told when the state of Tennessee decided to release the adoption files to victims or their immediate descendants in the late 1990s. Thanks to that change in the law, I finally received her adoption file in October of 2017.

The Grandparent Factor

A topic not always discussed in adoption issue considerations is the lack of support from potential grandparents when a woman finds herself pregnant. They are often key to why an adoption is taking place.

Regardless of the age of the mother, the grandparents often play a huge role in a decision to surrender the child. My own mother, an adoptee herself, encouraged my sister to surrender her daughter.

Where is the family that could have stepped in ? Who else is giving up this child ? In reality, every one related to a child given up for adoption has lost an opportunity to have a relationship with that child. I lost the opportunity to have relationships with all 4 of my original grandparents and many aunts and uncles.

“I don’t want this child – get rid of it !!”, could be what my maternal grandmother’s own father said to her as he sent my married grandmother far away to have my mom. I doubt he intended for my grandmother to bring her back to Memphis Tennessee.

My paternal grandmother left the Door of Hope, a Salvation Army Home for Unwed Mothers in Ocean Beach California to go to her cousin’s home for support. Obviously, that support was not forthcoming because my grandmother went back to the Salvation Army seeking employment, was accepted and transferred to El Paso Texas – which is how my dad ended up there and could be adopted. Being in El Paso was crucial to his meeting my mom and to my conception and birth.

In my family’s case, both of my original grandmothers had lost her own mothers at young ages. The lack of a nurturing, supportive older female probably played a huge role in their losing their first born children. It appears that they didn’t have support from their fathers either.