My adoption story ends here, but this blog does not. The unborn need advocates like the ones I had in Mom and Lynette

Lynette carried her first child for nine months. She lugged around the memory of the son she placed for adoption much longer.

Lynette was sent away to hide her pregnancy. The Friends Rescue Home proved no more nurturing than her permanent one.

Tragedy had left Lynette’s mother cold and detached. This brought trouble for her daughter, too.

Weeks after my first email to her, Lynette responds to the son she placed for adoption.

My plucky half sister sets me straight on my biological father’s identity and tells me of the brother neither of us will ever meet.

Even amid the wrenching loss of my mother, there was reason for gratitude. And it pushed me to find my birth mother.

With advice from a woman who has received a message from the son she placed for adoption, I penned my own letter to my birth mother.

As I tried to find the words to approach my birth mother, I took advice from a friend who has a compelling adoption story of her own.

A search through genealogical records exposes decades of unthinkable loss for my biological mother and her family.

I open my DNA and adoption records to find stunning news about my biological mother — news that renews doubts about whether I’m doing the ri

Men often put the “crisis” in “crisis pregnancy.” They can also take it away, as my cousin and father lovingly demonstrate.

I have no ill will toward my biological father. I just feel no obligation to meet him. One reason: Unhealthy male sexual tendencies.

The search for the woman who placed me for adoption in 1969 starts with DNA tests and record requests. Results come washing back quickly.

Not everyone has an adoption as healthy and natural as mine — and their stories can break your heart.

Mom always made her adopted son feel safe in her nest, but she knew when it was time to nudge me out, too.

Mom and Dad turn to adoption after four years of fertility frustration leave them without a child.

I thought of a million things that might go wrong in the search for my biological mother. But sometimes, you just have to take a chance.

I was an incurious adoptee who never dreamed of seeking my biological mother. Then, I lost the woman who raised me. Looking became critical.