On February 10, 1986, I received a phone call that was to create a drastic change in my life. It was a Monday night around 8 p.m. when the phone rang. Long-distance static crackled in the background, and then I heard the words that changed my future and resolved my past. A young woman's voice, sounding a bit hesitant said, "I love you," and then she hung up.
Suddenly a strange feeling came over me and I knew where I believed the call came from. Logic told me that the odds of the call being a wrong number were pretty high. How many long-distance calls could there be that were meant for another mother only to be followed by a hang-up?
In my excitement I immediately called my friend Penny and told her what had happened. Here is the story that precipitated the phone call:
Back in 1963 I was separated from my husband and working at the Nevada Test Site during the week while my parents watched my children. I became involved with a neighbor and co-worker and as a result became pregnant and was fired from my job when word of my condition got around. In those days women just did not get pregnant outside of marriage without repercussions, and there were no laws to protect their jobs.
I was going through a divorce, had two small children, and had to live with my parents. When my father found out I was pregnant he told me, "You are not going to bring that bastard into my home!" I tried everything I knew to get a job, including live-in housekeeping. But no one wanted a pregnant woman with two small children and the $50 a month child support I sometimes got didn't even begin to pay for my children's food, let alone put a roof over our heads.
As a result of my circumstances I had no choice but to give my child up for adoption. My doctor was a very kind man, and he found a family who would adopt my baby and pay the medical expenses. He told me that the adoptive parents already had children and that they could have more, but they loved children and always had room for one more. He also said that they were Mormons and very good people. That meant little to me at the time, but was to have significant meaning later on. I was just glad to know that my baby would be surrounded by lots of love.
In the summer of 1964 I gave birth to a beautiful strawberry blonde baby girl whom I named Gillian Leah (which was changed by her adoptive parents). She was "caught" by a doctor in a wet bathing suit who had been called back from his swimming lessons to deliver her. I signed adoption papers shortly after my daughter was born, which was the single hardest act I have ever had to do in my whole lifetime. The second hardest was literally handing my baby over to her new mother three days later in the hospital parking lot. Because of hospital policy for private adoptions I had to take her out of the hospital myself.
After I lost my baby I went through the same sense of grief that I would imagine a woman goes through when she has a baby die at birth, except with no sense of closure. I mourned for a very long time. I would sit in a chair and rock my little ones, holding them close to me while I sobbed continuously. My hands would shake and I couldn't concentrate on anything. My doctor believed I had a breakdown. It took me about 6 weeks to get control of myself to where I could go out and find work and an apartment.
About this time I met a neighbor who had a brother that was a judge. I talked to the judge and learned that since my baby was only a few months old, I could still go to court to try to get her back. It was at that point that I finally realized that I had to let her go. She had two generous and loving parents, one of whom was a mother that could be home with her during the day, and I knew that I had to leave my children with babysitters while I worked. Bonds had already been formed, and I knew that she was no longer mine. Hard as it was, this was the first real attempt at letting go for me. I suppose it was because for the first time I knew that I had a choice.
During Gillian's first couple of years I sent her parents two letters through one of their relatives, letting them know about the circumstances of her birth and why I had to give her up. I wanted them to reassure her when the time came that she wasn't given up because she wasn't wanted. I never wanted her to feel rejected for any reason. My younger sister was adopted and I had been raised around an adopted sibling all my life. I knew all the questions that my sister always had about her natural mother. It was important that Gillian have her questions answered with the truth by her adoptive parents.
When I moved to Utah I realized for the first time what the implications were as to the available resources to find out where my little girl was and what she had been named. Even though I had given her up, she was never completely out of my mind. Her birthdays were the hardest to take, and not a single one passed that I didn't have her on my mind. But, I quickly decided not to look up the information for fear that I would be tempted to try to catch a glimpse of her. I didn't want to interfere in her life, and I didn't want to take advantage of the fact that I had seen her new parents' names on the adoption papers that I signed.
One night when Gillian was about 15 years old I strongly felt her presence and I just couldn't seem to get her off of my mind. I had a bad case of insomnia and so I stayed up late to watch an old Henry Fonda western. There was a terrific thunder storm going on outside that night and, predictably, the power went out right in the middle of the movie. I still couldn't sleep so I searched for some light to read by. The candles were nowhere to be found and the batteries in the flashlight were dead.
I don't know why, but I picked up a yellow legal pad and with something beyond my comprehension wrote the lyrics to a song in less than 15 minutes by the literal "flick of my bic." I had never written lyrics before in my life so the fact that these words poured out of my soul so easily was astonishing to me. For years I couldn't pick up these lyrics without bursting into tears. I still believe to this day that the words were inspired. "Child I Cannot Claim" was written because of and for.... Gillian.
Five years after I wrote the lyrics I found someone who agreed to write music to my song and my gal pal Penny sang the first demo. Almost a year later to the day, I got the mysterious phone call that set things in motion.
Penny and I both believed that the phone call came from the daughter I had given up for adoption, and that she was afraid to talk to me. For the first time I felt I could go forward and search for her. She was 21 years old and I no longer felt I would be an unwelcome interference in her life. Soooo, Penny and I went to the LDS Genealogical Library in Salt Lake City, took two volumes from the archives with the surname (all I could remember) I was after, and started the search. For no particular reason Penny opened her volume right in the middle, turned one page and there the family record was, staring us right in the face. We found out what name they had given Gillian and we had an old address as a starting point.
I decided to write a letter to Gillian's adoptive parents at this address and hoped it would find it's way to them. I never thought time could drag so slowly as when I waited to hear back, and in actuality it wasn't long at all. In the meantime I asked a police officer friend of mine if he could get me a copy of Gillian's driver's license so I could see what she looked like. That first picture was so precious to me that I cannot begin to put into words how moved I was when I got it. Shortly after that I received a phone call from Gillian's father and we had a very long talk and I found him to be a wonderful and caring man. He told me that Gillian was not more than 10 minutes away from me the night I wrote that song for her. He also told me that had he known where to find me he would have contacted me for her. He further told me that had he known how much I wanted to keep her when she was born that he would have helped me to do so. I was in tears when we finished talking and was very grateful that Gillian had such a wonderful father raising her. He is a man who loves his adopted daughter enough to have put her well-being above all else.
Gillian's father forwarded my letter on to her and on Saturday, March 10th she called me. I don't know who was more frightened, she or I. She seemed shy, and full of questions all at the same time. All in all, it was a very wonderful and lengthy conversation. Over the past few years Gillian and I have exchanged letters, pictures, and phone calls. We've discovered a shared artistic talent as well as the aristrocratic nose that runs in the family. I have sensed a growth and a positive change in Gillian that didn't seem to be there when we met. Now she seems to have more self-confidence and a sense of herself and her biological history.
When I found Gillian I was able to send her a birthday card for the very first time. I think it meant as much to her as it did for me. I had waited 21 years to be able to do so.
Gillian and I have become friends in a different sort of way. It's as if it's a seperate part of our lives that doesn't cross over outside of us. Our relationship is unusual to me in that she's just a friend, but I still think of her as my daughter. To say otherwise would be denying her existence. I have a very deep love for Gillian and I love her every bit as much as the children I raised, I just don't know her as well and I try to rein in my love because I don't want to lose what friendship we have. I guess I fear rejection too as she must have felt at being given up for adoption. A few years ago my Italian family had a huge family reunion and all of my children were coming together under the same roof at the same time for the first time in nearly 20 years. Family came from all over the United States and Gillian decided to come as well. She got to meet her blood siblings and I got to meet 4 of my grandchildren. Gillian seemed to enjoy visiting with her brothers and sisters and I got to hug her for the first time. I was too afraid of scaring her off the first time we met because she was still keeping me at arms distance then. This time I couldn't help myself. She was just too hugable. I am very grateful for whatever time I can have as being Gillian's friend. I look at my sister's situation and realize how lucky I truly am. My sister was adopted at birth, and when, as adults, she asked me to help her find her birth mother, I was able to do so with the help of an "angel" searcher. Unfortunately, her birth mom did not want anything to do with her. We were able to get medical information from her birth aunt and find out about her siblings, but were not even sent any pictures, although we sent several. According to the aunt, my sister's birth mother had two very religious sons whom she felt would not be understanding or able to forgive her if they knew. She felt they would keep her from seeing her grandchildren if they knew. Even her husband (now deceased) did not know. Her aunt also told us that she felt that my sister's half-sister would have been thrilled to discover she had an older sister, but that the birth mother wouldn't let her tell anyone. I know how disappointed my sister was and I really felt bad for her. This only made me appreciate my relationship with Gillian all the more.
P.S. We located my sisters birth sister and they talked on the phone and exchanged information. My sister never showed any interest in calling back. That was several years ago and they haven't spoken since, but my sister did get a lot of genealogical and family information. And most importantly for her, she got closure.
Growing up in a home where adoption is practically the central issue in your family life can be pretty daunting from a child's point-of-view. Especially for the unadopted children when there is a mix. I grew up always hearing that my sister was special and that she was chosen. Whereas I was allowed to run wild my younger sister was overly protected. Her friends were carefully selected while I could chase with anyone I chose to. For most of my life I didn't understand and felt totally unloved and unwanted. Then not too long ago my sister told me that when she was maybe 4 years old she overheard our mother talking with our aunt about my sister's birth mother showing up on their doorstep wanting to get her child back. She had been led to believe that giving her child up was only a temporary thing. Mother was very upset. And now, in the writing of this story, I have finally understood for the very first time that my mother's overprotectiveness towards my sister was a result of her fear of losing her and not from her lack of love for me. I wish I had seen this while my mother was still living.
Our relationship has not been ideal in the sense that I had hoped for a closer bonding between us than Gillian did. Anyone embarking on a search for their birth family should know that very rarely is it the way you hope or expect it to be. There will be both positive and negative sides to it, but in the end, it will be "yours" and uniquely so. I will always encourage birth families to find their blood ties because no matter how it turns out, it will either open a new door or close an old one and allow the past to rest. My own involvement in the adoption triangle from all points-of-view has led me to an understanding I never had before. It's an understanding that I needed in my life and would never have found without closure on the whereabouts and well-being of the child I gave up for adoption. I'm grateful that I was blessed to find her.
As for Gillian and I, we only talk on the phone two or three times a year to catch up. I still enjoy talking to her and she's always very receptive and friendly when I call so I know all is right between us. We just both lead very busy and different lives. And in spite of our ups and downs, it is okay. She's a very nice gal. There's one more thing that needs to be added. The phone call that started all of this? Gillian said that it was not her that made the call. Coincidence? I don't think so.............
If you are unable to download this song and would like a CD of it you can order it here for only $5, just enough to cover the cost of the CD, the postage, and the packaging.
Anyone knowing a Kathy Migliori (her maiden name) born in the fall of 1950 in Phoenix, Arizona who is searching for her birth family, please contact me. She is my first cousin and her birth siblings are looking for her. The last her now-deceased birth mother heard, they may have moved to Illinois.
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