A Life of Words

We all have anniversaries that mark important moments in our lives — weddings being the biggest and most special. LinkedIn even reminds us when we and our career connections have work anniversaries. 

For me, June 10 and 11 will always be marked as anniversaries on the calendars in my heart and mind because they’re the dates when a family I never knew — but the one that came into my life first — returned to me. Or I returned to it.

June 10, 2005, was the day I received a life-changing phone call from a woman in my birthplace of Huntington, West Virginia, who shared the first details I learned of my biological family. Her selfless, untold hours of digging had turned up information I’m certain I never would’ve found on my own despite my years of experience as a journalist.

Having grown up under very difficult circumstances with an alcoholic, abusive adoptive mother, I had made the primary goal of my search finding my biological mother in hopes of building some kind of relationship with her. So when I learned 18 years ago today that the woman who relinquished me at birth — when she was a single mother of three just months from turning 40 — had died at 71 in December 1992, it came as both shock and heartbreak.

The next day brought a two-hour phone call with my presumed oldest brother, one of three siblings whose names I’d been provided. Crystal “Crys” Edward Workman was more gracious and accepting than I could’ve ever expected anyone to be upon receiving a call from a stranger claiming to be his long-lost little brother (by 17 years to the day).

Just a day before the June 10 call, after multiple letters to a circuit court judge and phone conversations with his clerk in Cabell County (Huntington), I’d finally received a letter that gave me a shred of information about my birth family. But it was so scant that I had no hope of it helping in my exhaustive yet exhilarating journey. I’d pushed them to disclose non-identifying information from my sealed adoption record — clues such as the age of my biological parents at the time of my birth, number and ages of their siblings and parents, occupations, religion, height/weight. By WV law, they were obligated to give me that, but their pushback had been firm up to the point Judge John L. Cummings finally sent this:

“I want to stress that your adoption file is very sparse. However, I can tell you that your biological mother was unmarried and 39 years old when you were born. She was a resident of Huntington, West Virginia. Your birth father’s name and whereabouts were ‘unknown.’ No specific reason for relinquishment was given although there is a reference to your birth being ‘out of wedlock’ and ‘illegitimate.’ There is no other information related to the questions you provided me.”

I really didn’t want to go to court to petition for my birth record and OBC (original birth certificate), but had looked into it with a couple of Huntington lawyers. I still don’t believe there isn’t more valuable info in my sealed adoption file, but that doesn’t really matter now, thanks to the woman who called me 18 years ago today.

Three weeks after Crys and I spoke by phone, my wife Kay, our 3-year-old son and 9-month-old daughter drove to Colorado to meet him, our sister Terry and their families. It was a wonderful visit — I’ve never felt so loved and welcomed. During the trip, I also spoke to our brother Robin in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, by phone for the first time. (My siblings are 17, 14 and six years older than me.)

Crys, Terry and I also took the DNA test we probably could’ve skipped because we all knew the truth, and it confirmed the four of us are full-blooded siblings. That meant not only was Betty, the mother who raised the three of them, also my mother, but their alcoholic father Bob, whom Betty divorced in April 1959 — almost two years before I was born in February 1961 — was mine as well.

Eighteen years later, so much has happened. Robin sadly passed away at 61 in January 2009. Tragically, his two sons also have joined him in heaven. Crys and Terry, who’ve lived in the Denver area since the early ’70s, have been able to spend quality time with me in person and through video calls in recent years, and we do our best to stay in touch through texts.

Terry, her husband Rick and I have made several trips to West Virginia, where we always visit our mother’s grave, and I’ve embraced the opportunity to see some of the places of our family’s roots. Terry and I have met older relatives she never even knew about. I discovered early on through digging up newspaper clippings and photos many of the details about our father’s tragic drowning in Tampa in 1962 — the truth of his death my siblings were never aware of. And we’ve cherished the chance to hear our mother’s beautiful singing and father playing string bass on recordings dating to about 1950.

Thanks to many memories shared by Crys and Terry and a few other people who knew them, I have learned a great deal about our parents. The family photos they’ve given me are a boundless blessing. 

Despite the fact that Betty — a proud, forgiving woman who married two alcoholic men and held an everlasting love for her kids — could never bring herself to tell them the truth about their little brother, who they assumed died in childbirth, I’m absolutely certain this was meant to be.

And we don’t need to forgive Betty for anything she did or didn’t do. I unequivocally know how much she loved me. She selflessly protected her baby from Bob and gave him to a family she hoped would provide the best possible life for him. And although I had a tough upbringing, everything turned out fine, and I’m grateful for that.

If they want it, I wish every adoptee could receive the gift I’ve been blessed with: The discovery of where we come from, who came before us and who’s out there for us to reach out to in childbirth-like anticipation and apprehension.

I’m hoping to make it to Colorado for a visit with Terry, Crys and their families in late July. It seems impossible that Crys will turn 80 next February 28, the same day I’ll reach 63. Lord willing, I’ll make another trip so we can celebrate that shared birthday together.

Happy sibling “found ya” anniversary to Terry, Crys and our late brother Robin. I love you all very, very much.

To those reading this, thank you for sharing in my journey of discovery and the priceless gift of having more than one family to call mine.