Cara's Story

My adoption story began in May of 1973.

My birth mother was just 19 years old and still living at home with her parents. When she became pregnant, my birth father chose not to be part of my life and enlisted in the Navy. My birth mother, Leslie, scared and alone, initially tried to take me home and raise me on her own. But after a few weeks, she realized she could not give me the life she believed I deserved. In an act of profound love and sacrifice, she surrendered me to Catholic Social Services in Cincinnati, Ohio, when I was only a few weeks old.

At the time of my birth, Leslie named me. After I was adopted, I was given a new name. My adoptive family welcomed me with open arms and gave me a beautiful life, one Leslie simply could not provide at that time. Because the adoption was closed, my parents knew very little about the circumstances surrounding my birth, other than that my birth mother was very young.

Growing up, I always knew I was adopted, but I had very few details, and I longed for answers to questions my parents simply could not answer. Although I had a loving and wonderful childhood, there was always a part of me that yearned for something I could not fully explain. I wanted to know why I existed, where I came from, and who I looked like. At times, that longing was lonely.

One of my greatest comforts was my best friend growing up, who was also adopted. Through our childhood, we spent years dreaming about the day we might be reunited with our birth families, not because we were not deeply loved by our adoptive families, but because there was always something missing. That feeling is incredibly difficult to explain, especially to family and friends. It was particularly painful for my mom and dad to understand why I needed to know more.

My search for answers began in my late twenties, during a difficult divorce. It felt like the right time, not only to seek answers, but also to learn important medical information about my birth family. I wrote to Catholic Social Services and requested information about my adoption. Within a week, I received a letter containing non-identifying information about both of my birth parents.

At the very end of the document, they shared heartbreaking news that my birth mother had passed away at just 32 years old. I would have been only 12. That revelation rocked me to my core. In an instant, every hope I had of someday asking her why, hearing her story, or simply knowing her vanished.

But my search did not end there. I realized I could reach out to Leslie’s siblings, who still lived in the same city where I was living. I reunited with them and their children, and over the years, we have formed an incredible bond, one built on love, connection, and shared history.

Throughout my life, I have never felt anything but immense love for Leslie. In my heart, I have always known she made the best decision she could at that time, giving me the chance at a better life. What an incredible sacrifice, and what unimaginable pain she must have carried.

When I was first reunited with her family, we looked through old photographs and came across a picture of Leslie standing on the shore of Lake Erie after being diagnosed with cancer at just 28 years old. I was immediately struck by that image because I had a photograph of myself standing by the ocean on my honeymoon in Hawaii, and another of my daughter standing in a remarkably similar pose at the beach on vacation.

Three generations. Three women. Three strikingly similar souls.

Those photographs remain deeply meaningful to me, a beautiful reminder of how connected we all are. Leslie, my daughter, and I share similarities not only in appearance, but in spirit and demeanor.

One of the most difficult parts of being adopted is never seeing your face reflected in someone else. When you finally meet the people who are genetically connected to you, when you see your features, expressions, and spirit mirrored back, it is profoundly powerful and deeply comforting.

I could write endlessly about the years I spent yearning to understand why I was here and where I came from. But now, at 53 years old, I have closed that chapter and found peace in the beauty of both my birth and my adoption.

I am forever grateful to Leslie for the life she gave me, and to my parents for the life they made possible.