But What Is This Name?
By Susan Shaw, of Brough, East Yorkshire

With my hands shaking I moved them towards the desk door, feeling as if I was intruding into another person's life. Like a bullet moving, my hand shot back to my side. I was intruding into my father's private life. But sense took over, he was dead. Without consciously realising it my hand once again moved to the door and before I knew what was happening it was open.

Gaining more confidence, I picked up the first piece of paper. It was a birth certificate. Now I could feel my appetite whetted, I was eager to know who it belonged to - my father. But hang on a minute, what is this extra name?

Maybe he had a middle name I didn't know about. No, this couldn't be the case, the extra name was at the end. It must be a printing error. Now I was able to cast it easily from my mind as I convinced myself this was the truth of the situation.

Later on, mentioning it to my mother, she was equally as puzzled but at the same time sure an error could be the only answer. It was only as I slowly began to come to terms with my father's death that I realised birth certificates do not have errors on them. My mind became alive; I wanted to know the answer.

I approached my mother and suggested we must get to the bottom of this. She was rather sceptical that there was anything to be found out. Not knowing where to go from there I left it alone. That was until one evening the phone rang. It was my mother.

She had decided to get to the bottom of the name by asking a relative if they knew the answer to the riddle. Not thinking it would be anything dramatic I nearly dropped the phone with shock as my mother stated: "Your father was adopted."

Suddenly I felt as if I hadn't been myself all my life. Who was the person I'd called Dad? Had I really known him? But who am I?

My mother was as equally stunned. She had been married to this man for nearly 50 years and didn't know any of this.

Her first question to me was: "Was I ever legally married to him if the surname he used was really his middle name?"

Realising how upset my mother was I quickly replied in order to reassure her: "Of course you were, it is only a name, he was still the same person."

My mother felt very cross with him that he'd kept this secret all his life. I felt very sad that he had not been able to tell any of us his secret. He'd had many opportunities in discussions.

Because I felt as if I no longer knew my father I needed to do something more. First of all I sent for a full birth certificate, I suppose because I really hoped what I'd been told was not true.

But sure enough, when the certificate arrived, there was the evidence once more. Not only had he a different name, but he'd always told us his ancestors came from further up north, in fact his birth certificate showed his family really came from Kent.

We'd given him the benefit of the doubt initially that he'd known none of this himself but it transpired he'd been told 40 years ago of his adoption. Yet he'd kept up this front that the Granddad and Grandma I had known were his true parents.

Being an only child myself, I had always wanted a brother or sister or to at least feel part of a larger family.

Suddenly my mind was eager to know more. I booked into the library and studied the St Catherine's guide and found out his mother's age at his birth, that she had married a few years later and had another boy. He'd a half-brother; I'd an uncle I had never known.

I tried to research further wanting to find out if either were still alive, but couldn't find any record of their deaths, but neither could I find where they were now if they were still alive.

All these years when I have said to my children: "You inherited this from my father's mother," was a myth. But what is my true ancestry? What have I inherited from these true relations? I don't know. I still feel very sad that he couldn't tell us, that he kept this secret until after his death.

I am sure just before he died he did consider telling me because one day he said he would like me to help him sort his desk out later in the week. But when I reminded him, he said it was okay he had already done it.

One thing I do feel he has left me is a new identity, a new me. So all the while I keep searching and have actually been in touch with a great uncle, who sadly has now died. He sent me two photographs of my grandma and now I know without a shadow of doubt who I take after in build.

I'm glad he, at least, told me where my grandma is buried. One day I may even get to see that grave. In fact she only died in 1988 so had I known all this information previously I could maybe have met with her.

My daughter is also in the process of trying to set up a website to find my late father's half brother who we've found out now lives in Canada, he has three girls who all bear a striking resemblance to my daughter.

Until you are put in this situation I don't think anybody can say how you will react. For me it has been very much like finding out that I was the adopted one. After all, the family I thought were genetically mine no more belonged to me than to my father.

It has caused me a few traumas trying to get to know myself and I don't think this will be properly done until I can make contact with my new uncle and his family.

There is most certainly a lesson to be learnt from this, in my opinion, that an adopted child should know it's background and that information should be passed on through the generations despite the love between the adoptive parent and child.

It is not just the first generation that is affected but future generations and as time goes by it is so much harder to piece all this lack of knowledge back together.

There is one missing link in mine, I have not found out who his father was, my granddad, and it now looks unlikely as that information has gone to the grave with all those involved.

I beg of adoptive parents, please don't hold back information, it can be worse not knowing than knowing.

Used courtesy of the TooWrite web site