9 hours ago
First off my half sister... We have been searching for her for YEARS and finally got some more information from our birth mother. She gave up a little girl on December 6, 1986... There was a family that flew in from Connecticut and the adoptive mothers name was Linda but we don't know the last name. There are 4 half sisters and we would love to find our missing piece of our hearts... Then the birth dad... I have been told for years that his name is Christopher Alexander Menke from Wisconsin but I have never been able to find out anything. He was in the Marines and stationed at Dallas Air Station in 1982-1986, then transfered to a base around San Diego CA. I have recently learned that he was also adopted in Wisconsin, he has a sister named Shari and both his parents have passed. He used to live on 84th St in Milwaukee, WI and should be in his late 50's to early 60's. ANY HELP would just be amazing. Thank you, Sabriena

Michelle MadridBranch
October 10, 2018
There is no experience or condition more isolating to the human spirit than a soul denied of its truth. I don’t think there is anything more lonely and confusing than not knowing who you are; not knowing where you’re from. As a young adoptee, I would stare into the mirror and every time I did, I came face-to-face with a stranger. I knew that I was supposed to be familiar with this girl I saw. Yet, she was foreign to me. I didn’t know her. I didn’t really know her story or the stories of who had come before her. I felt as if I was a girl all alone in the world. A tribe of one. No true understanding of a biological identity or a DNA history. Many around me said that it—the biology of who I was—really wasn’t important, anyway. It is true that I speak of a family as having little to do with biology and everything to do with love. I believe in this statement with all that I am. We don’t have to be biologically related to be parent and child, brother and sister. Adoption proves this day after day. Yet, in the creating of a family through adoption, we should not forget that the biology of identity may matter to your adoptee. It has always mattered to me. My DNA had been given to me by my birth parents. The rights to knowing of my DNA heritage were taken from me upon their abandonment. As an international adoptee, I had been offered a new identity, a new heritage, and a new story. Still, I longed to know the one story that ran through my veins. I longed to sing that tribal song. I longed to feel the pulse of my ancestors. My childhood was lived out before DNA direct-to-consumer testing companies like 23andme,, and came into being. In other words, I had no way of accessing genetic information for myself. No way of finding out about my ancestry information, at all. In addition, I had no way of learning of any medical risks I might face or of finding biological relatives. I was a mystery. And, I didn’t have a clue to help me open up the locked doors of my ancestry. Even after reuniting with my birthmother, as a teenager, most of those doors of information remained locked. So, as an adult adoptee, I made the decision to take the DTA (direct-to-consumer) DNA tests named above. I did this mainly for ancestry information. What I found is that the results of every test were very similar. For the first time, I had an idea—a picture—of my ancestral story. It was empowering. I began exploring all the different facets of my genetic mapping... Read my full blogpost, here: [img][/img]

October 9, 2018
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September 27, 2018
My name is Rose Marie Mortimer Huddleston Nelson Cleveland. I am 38 years old and looking for my birth father Robert Mathew Mortimer. I have not seen him since I was 4 years old. I was placed by him in the care of a couple in 1980 to 1985. He was last seen in Fort Wort,Texas and is from San Francisco California. The story that he told everyone was he was a truck driver and his wife left him for another man. She supposedly just left me but took all my things. Now I am not sure if that is really what happened. But in 2004 I was reunited with my birth mother and she told me my father was not a truck driver as he said. He was a mechanic for the truck stop where we lived in a travel trailer. I have my original birth certificate and it says my father is from Little Rock Arkansas. I have looked his information up and that is not true at all. He has a cousin in the family that I have talked to once or twice but she does not know anything about him. I know that my father's parents are both deceased and my grandmother's maiden name is Terrell. I believe that my father is to be living in Springfield, Oregon. He does have a facebook page and i have sent a friend request and have not heard anything from him. If there is anyone that can help me I would appreciate it. [img][/img]

Loren Bullitt
September 24, 2018
Hello Everyone! My name is Loren. I'm 30 and I live in New Orleans. I was adopted in closed adoption as an infant from Edna Gladney Adoption Agency in Fort Worth, Texas. I have been very blessed. I have the best family in the whole world. I always felt loved and wanted. When I was 25, I met my biological mother. She gave me up because she was only 18 and wanted a better life for me. She had no regrets. We get along very well and are close. I am very much pro-adoption. However, I am writing an argumentative essay for my college English class and I have to defend my pro-adoption viewpoint. In order to do that, I need help seeing the unethical, immoral, or even just the reasons that you personally don't like adoption. Please take a few minutes to participate & help me out! Please be respectful and thanks in advance for your help!

Michelle MadridBranch
September 12, 2018
I remember the day when I stood in the home of my birth mother and held her. We were in England and she had pulled me into her bedroom to “speak privately.” Mum looked me in the eyes and said, “I never wanted to let you go. And, I need you to know that.” She then folded herself into my arms and we both began to cry. It was just a few years ago, yet I recall the moment like it was yesterday. Mum handed me the original papers of my relinquishment. I had always possessed a copy. But, now I was staring at the actual document. Stained with her tears. The piece of paper that had been signed by my birth mother on the day she gave up her rights to parent me. How I hated that piece of paper. One slip of paper that sent me away on the journey I continue today: the adoptee journey. I didn’t want that piece of paper. I didn’t ask for it. Yet, there it was in the hands of the woman who signed it and then disappeared from my life. “I just didn’t know what to do with the first me, Mum. I never knew what I was supposed to do with the girl you left behind. I’ve missed her. I’ve mourned her. And, there she is—her name on this piece of paper is proof that she exists. Proof that somewhere inside of me, she still lives. Different names. Same girl. Adoption is hard, Mum. It’s hard…” I’ve never shared those words before. Growing up, I kept hidden my innermost thoughts and feelings about being adopted. I didn’t want to risk being rejected by my adoptive family. Or, anyone else for that matter. Rejection was always a real and constant threat. There was too much to lose. I couldn’t bear witness to just how confused and sad I felt inside. It was lonely. There were many times when I cursed the feeling of isolation. I didn’t have an adoption community to reach out to, one with other adoptees who would be willing to hear me and, in turn, allow me to hear them. Today, though, with the many avenues of social media to explore, adoptees are reaching each other. Our network is expanding. We’re mobilizing and connecting in powerful ways. Read full blogpost, here: [img][/img]

Izzat Essa
September 9, 2018
My name is Ezzat And age 19 From a poor family living in Palestine I want to complete my studies at the college where I was studying I am studying in a medical support college He is a specialist anesthetist and anesthetist I did not complete my studies because of the poor material conditions My father is a renal failure patient with diabetes and stress and I also have 5 younger brothers And whoever wants to adopt me is fully prepared to obey him as my father and if I need to travel to those who adopt me, I am ready to build a second family like my family I hope to give the adopter no

Michelle MadridBranch
June 13, 2018
I’m not an adoption professional. What I am is an expert on how it feels to be adopted. I’m an international adoptee. I hold a wealth of knowledge and understanding about living in the skin of adoption. I was born in England. Not in London, but in a smaller place known as Bury St Edmunds. Bury St Edmunds is a town in West Suffolk on the River Lark. It is of an ancient ruin and is said to have been the site of a Roman villa and later a royal Saxon town. Bury St Edmunds is named for Saint Edmund—king of the East Angles—killed by the Danes around 870, and is buried there. I tell you this not because I’m a historian, but because I hold a deep sense of pride in where I am from and from where I was adopted. My bio mother delivered me into this world on a cold January morning. My bio father wasn’t at the delivery. He didn’t see the tears my mum cried; tears streaked with the heavy emotion of a mother preparing to relinquish her daughter to foster care. I wasn’t taken from my mum there at the little hospital in Bury St Edmunds. No, Mum cared for me for several days after my birth. Imagine, holding your baby, rocking your little one to sleep, touching tender-soft skin, smelling the sweet scent of your new child—all along knowing there would soon be a difficult goodbye. Imagine, feeling the touch of your mother and then having that taken from you. A child remembers these things, from a central and core place within. The severing is never forgotten. From the arms of my bio mother, I was placed into the arms of my foster mother. I have notes from my foster mother that I read to this day. Notes that are written in blue ink, on soft blue paper, neatly folded and placed into matching envelopes. My foster mother wrote of how I didn’t like my baths but loved being outside. She noted that I seemed to be content dressed in the beautiful sweaters and booties that my bio mother had knitted, during the months that I grew inside of her. My foster mother’s role was a temporary one, but also a critical one—offering stability and love to children like me who didn’t yet have a family to call their own. I’m told that she shed a tear when I was taken from her care. I’m told that she said she would miss me. Read full blogpost, here: [img][/img]

May 20, 2018
I was born in the Philippines in 1976 and adopted by an American military couple stationed at Clark Air Force Base (at the time of my adoption). I'm looking for my biological parents (which I do have this information- not sure of the creditable information). Does anyone know if there is a way to locate someone in the Philippines? I'm not sure if they are still alive. I also had older (2) siblings, according to one of many birth certificates. In addition, I would like to located them as well; however, I have no information on them. I would appreciate any information anyone might have. Thank you in advance.