We watch three little girls playing. One of them stands with her arms open, while the other girl has her back to her. I can hear her yell, ‘Now, do it now!’ The girl falls back into her friend’s waiting arms without fear or hesitation. They do this over and over. When it’s the smallest girl’s turn, she refuses.
‘I can’t, I just can’t,’ she says, on the verge of tears. ‘What if no one’s there to catch me? What if I fall?’
One of her friends puts her arm around her.
‘I always hated those games, I could never let myself fall like that. I wish I could just pick that little girl up, she looks so sad,’ I say.
James smiles at me gently.
‘She’ll figure it out.’
‘I know,’ I reply, ‘it just takes time.’
‘Look, Zara…’ Terry is still looking in the children’s direction.
I turn back to the group of kids. The little one is watching while the two older ones turn, run, jump and start falling forwards into each other’s arms, laughing in delight.
I hear them say, ‘Come on, Molly! You can do this.’ I watch her pause, take a deep breath, then running forwards, she dives into their outstretched arms.
‘You see? I told you she’d figure it out – we all do in the end.’
‘It takes a lot longer for some, though,’ I say ruefully.
‘Especially you, Zara. You’ve taken years to sort through all your crap. Half a century now, isn’t it?’ Terry nudges me as we start to walk down the hill.
‘Yes, Mr Wiseguy. Some of us are sicker than others. I’ve had you guys to walk the path with so no wonder it’s taken me so bloody long! I’m just an extra-large onion. I have a lot of layers, and I’m okay with that.’
A couple of years back, James had finally met his biological daughter. He had called me constantly during his search: ‘Zara, was your father’s name Judge S. Solomon?’
‘Yes,’ I answered, curious as to what he was going to say next.
‘You’re never going to believe it. Your father was the judge who oversaw my daughter’s adoption.’
I couldn’t speak; I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.
‘Zara, you need to tell him he did the right thing. Her mother was an addict and I was an alcoholic – I couldn’t take care of her at that time in my life. Zara,’ he said quietly, ‘your father saved my daughter’s life.’
I’m so choked up, I can barely speak except to say: ‘And you, dear James, saved mine.’
* * *
Tomorrow it’s time to head back to New Jersey. We have had the most wonderful Christmas. I receive a lovely text from Allessandro and I find myself weeping in the car. I wonder what it would have been like to be raised with a little brother. I imagine him as a little boy and me as the protective older sister. I wonder what it would have felt like to grow up with brothers and sisters who were on my side, who cared about me, who didn’t bully me. But that was not my childhood. I need to focus on what I have now. I’m an auntie to Pat’s grandchildren. I love watching them grow up; I love being ‘Auntie Wawa’. I get a chance now to be with family members who will always have known me. I cherish every moment with them.
Saying goodbye to my family is never easy, but for the first time I have a different feeling: I now have family in both Britain and America. I’m beginning to understand the path that the universe has laid out for me. I was always meant to come to America, I just never understood why until now.
In some ways, nothing has changed. I’m still split down the middle, part of two families. Having two sets of parents is complicated, but I can live with it.
Maybe living between two countries has been comfortable for me because the split life is something I already know. Divorce is a split life, too. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to live any other way – I find a strange sense of safety in it.
I continue to go to meetings and put my sobriety first. I have learnt that I will always have moments where my disease wants to lead me back down the path of self-destruction. But I owe everything I have today to my sobriety and I’m so grateful to the friends who supported me through it.
I go to an adoption group meeting in New Jersey each month to share experiences and really, to just hang out and have fun. I am now so grateful for this community who are always there for me. I feel so much more connected to this place now that I know my birth father lives here.
At first it’s hard for Pat and my sister to adjust to me having found Antonio. They worry they will lose me. My adoptive mother had the same fear. Adoptees are always having to reassure our families our hearts are big enough for all of them.
My sister Michelle and I have had yet another revelation. We were looking back through old emails when she found one she had sent to me three years ago. We had somehow both forgotten about it. My friend Nicole, who knew her birth mother, had pushed her to contact me. We read the email:
Hello,
My name is Michelle. Cindy gave me your email address. She thinks we may have a connection through Antonio.
He’s my birth father and he’s from Rome. Cindy met him in the Channel Islands in 1966. I was born in November that year, and then put up for adoption.
I have spoken with Antonio but not met him. He lives in New Jersey. He is about 71 now. I don’t know if he ever lived in London.
Is this helpful at all? Do you think there’s any connection?
Best,
Michelle
We are both stunned. The only reason she remembered that she had sent it to me was that it came up on a thread in her emails. Four years ago, I had had his name right there in front of me. Four years ago, I first performed my one-woman show, Beneath My Father’s Sky. The timing blows my mind. But three years ago, I was in a difficult place: I was about to get divorced. I understand now why I had to wait so long – it was indeed all part of a greater plan.
I often think about my adoptive mother. I still miss her so much it can physically hurt. I wonder what she would think about how my life has turned out. I feel that my relationship with my mother didn’t die when she did, that it continues to grow. Her passing has allowed her to understand what I always needed: she helped me to complete my circle.
I had a clear memory the other day of how much I hated the dark when I was small. Maybe the darkness reminded me of what I didn’t have. In the blackness I would strain the inside of my eyes to see their faces, but they were always moving – noses, eyes and mouths shifting, melting away before I could see them. My mother would hear me calling in the dark, a slight panic in my voice, to turn the hall light on and she would open my door halfway so I could sleep in the safety of the light.
* * *
Today is 29 January 2017. I’m driving home from Antonio’s – I was invited for lunch with him and Lisa. It was the first time I had been back to the house since we surprised her a few months ago. Again, she welcomed me with open arms. Her generous heart stuns me. I spend the afternoon looking at photos of Antonio’s family. Over the last year he has called me regularly and I still feel excited when I see his name come up on my phone. He is a kind, loving Italian man. His wife texts me to check in and share news. We have visited each other a few times. Slowly, we are figuring out how to make each other part of our lives. My new sister and brother and I are in touch. I still have yet to meet a few more siblings but I’m okay with it taking more time – my presence has been a surprise for everyone.
When I go to London I spend time with Pat and my siblings. I now have three nieces, who I love spending time with. I’m so happy that I am getting to see them grow up from birth.
My adopted father is now eighty-seven years old. We are both amazed that he outlived my mother by so many years and we joke that she would be as surprised as us. We continue to talk about Mum and we miss her. I gently tell Dad the work that I do within adoption, but I still protect him from my truth and I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe I’m still worried that he will reject me the way I was worried my mother would when she knew
that I had found Pat.
I think of my mother’s big suitcase full of family photos and how she would sit on the floor and show them to me. I believe that was her way of making me feel connected to the family. I loved to see them, but I never told her that I didn’t really think of those people as my family, they were her family to me. I realise though that since I have found my birth family I can now feel more connected to my adopted family. The not knowing of my story left me feeling disconnected to everyone.
My birth family’s acceptance and love for me has made my birth story so much easier to cope with. I think I’m finally shedding this core belief that I was not wanted and not meant to exist because I always thought of myself as a mistake. And when I look at my children they are my reminder how perfect they are, that no child born is ever a mistake.
As I drive, I run through a mental checklist. All three kids are thriving – they stretch out their wings more and more every day. My son and I have had an honest conversation about how we feel, and we’re in touch a lot more. The love I have for these children continues to expand my heart. My ex-husband and I are getting along much better, although the grief still resurfaces sometimes. I can’t deny that I still wish things had been different, but I’m grateful for what we have now. New and beautiful relationships are blossoming every day.
Many people have asked me over the last few months whether I feel whole now, complete. I find it hard to answer. All I know is I want to bathe in the energy of this new family. I feel more complete than I ever have before. Fully complete? I’m not sure as feelings of loss still rise to the surface. As I drive home, I sob the same way I did every time when I left my birth mother during those early meetings. I know it’s just all part of the grief and joy of reunion, I know from experience these things take time; I also know that the feelings won’t kill me.
For the first time in my life, I’m no longer searching: I have found. I know my story. I have seen their faces. I have heard their voices. I have been welcomed and embraced, and my heart feels still.
Acknowledgements
There are so many people to thank! I want to thank all my adoption peeps, who are so dear to my heart: the NJ care group, AAC – thank you, I adore you all. I would have to write another book to truly explain how you have all individually helped me. You are my soul family.
To my peeps: Sarah Elizabeth Greer, Tom McGee, David Petruzziello, Lisa Cooper, Kelly Ann, Kathy Coley, Kathy Costantino, Andrew Majkovich, Joe Pessolano, Pete Franklin, Judy Foster, Pam Hasagawa, Paula Monson, Nicole Burton, Lois Destefano, Pam Dixon Kroskie, Thomas Park Clement, Ron Nydam, Delores Tellor, Marilyn Waugh, William Kollar, Andrew Witt and Daryll McDaniels.
Thanks to Concerned United Birthparents: Mimi Janes, Karen Vedder, Trish Lay, Brian Stanton.
To Conram Baaf for publishing my first book, and particular thanks to Shaila Shar, Miranda Davis and Michelle Bell.
To Nicky Campbell for all your support and for writing the Foreword.
To Nimmy March.
To Marlou Russell for her wisdom and support.
To Lori Cooke and The Hyde School.
To Gabor Mate for all your support and wisdom.
To my wonderfully patient DNA search angel, Gaye Sherman Tannenbaum, who I know I drove crazy.
To Eliza and Eric Roberts, who directed my play, thank you for all your support and love over the years. To Keaton Simmons for the years of friendship.
To my dearest recovery friends, words do not express the gratitude and joy I feel for being lucky enough to trudge the road with you guys: Serena Roe, James Macaffrey, Terry Dove, Anita Nurse/Chellemah, Lisa Climie and Leslie Channon. To Paul Pickard (who I miss so much).
To my dear friend Penny Anderson for our daily talks and your encouragement and love.
To the Yanks in my life: my partner-in-crime Andrew Cohen, Elisa Stearn, William Kollar, Jimmy Ferrante, Marica Gloster Ammeen, Julie Jones, Diana Jones, Doug Feinstein, Elizabeth Rush, Carrie Cantor and Jane Schriener.
To Sandy Kugleman, I miss you.
To Lynne Oyama for all your support.
To the Brits in NJ. Yomi, Kofi, Michelle, Jemma and Deborah P.
To Melanie Redmond for the years being my singing sister and to Pete Briquette.
To my neighbours from childhood, my sisters, my friends, Katie Lachter, Roberta Rose and Debbie Roberts. Our street was insane but I never would have survived it without you all.
To Virginia Weissmuller, Janie Moore, Dani Medlin and Simon Hall for years of friendship.
To my fourth child Nina Sepal.
To Anna Ickowitz for your endless acceptance and love.
To Ronnie Paris, for the friendship and music.
To Richard Thompson for all your love and support. I’m so grateful you are in my life.
A special thank you to Bob Geldof for introducing me to Mark Cowne, and to Mark for not giving up on me and for setting up the meeting with Adrian Sington.
I would like to thank Adrian Sington for his support and encouragement for me completing this book and urging me, carefully and compassionately, to be as honest as I can.
To Bonnier and John Blake Publishing, and to my editor, Ciara Lloyd, for her patience and commitment to this book.
To my biological sister Roberta and brother Orlando, and their beautiful children, Georgia, Sienna and Poppy who I so love being an aunt too – thank you for embracing me.
To my new American sister, Michelle: I am still so overwhelmed by the kind, gracious person you are. I feel like I won the jackpot!
Thank you to Allessandro and your wife and children, for opening your door to me and my children as soon as you knew about my existence.
To Antonio’s wife, Lisa: how can I ever thank you for your open welcome arms? Your generosity has changed me.
To my ex-husband: thank you for making me a mother and being such a solid father for our beautiful children.
And of course to my babies, Zachary, Kayla and Arden. How do I put into words this kind of love? You have made my life – you fill my heart till it bursts with joy and pride.
To my birth mother, my birth father, my adoptive mother and my adoptive father: for being born and being raised, I thank you. I’m part of all of you, woven together in the finest threads.
This book is especially for anyone who has been touched by adoption: may your hearts be healed and your voices heard.
Helpful Information and Further Reading
Adoption UK – A national charity run by and for adopters
www.adoptionuk.org
Coram BAAF – Supporting agencies and professionals who work with children and young people
www.corambaaf.org.uk
* * *
Bond, Henrietta, Control Freak, Losing Control and Remote Control (2010, 2012, 2013)
This series of hard-hitting novels for teenagers helps crack the stereotype of care leavers as feckless or hapless victims struggling to get their lives together.
Brodzinsky, ‘Being Adopted, the Lifelong Search for Self’
Burton, Nicole, Swimming Up the Sun
Cairns, Kate and Brian, Attachment, Trauma and Resilience (2016)
Another bestseller, this remarkable book uses the authors’ personal and professional experience to illuminate some of the realities of family life with children who have lived through overwhelming stress.
Campbell, Nicky, Blue Eyed Boy
Eldridge, S., 25 Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew
Elliott, S., Love Child: A Memoir of Adoption, Reunion, Loss and Love
Fessler, Anne, The Girls Who Went Away
Harris, Perlita (ed.), Chosen: Living with Adoption (2012)
Thought-provoking writings by over 50 UK adopted adults born between 1934 and 1984.
Harris, Perlita (ed.), In Search of Belonging (2006)
A highly original anthology of poetry, prose, artwork, memoir and oral testimony that gives voice to over 50 transracially adopted children and adults.
Lifton, B.J.,
Journey of the Adopted Self
Lifton, B.J., Lost and Found
Mate, Gabor, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts
Mulholland, James, Special & Odd (2007)
This revealing and witty memoir tells of how the author met his birth mother 29 years after being given up for adoption.
Pannor, Baron, Sorosky, The Adoption Triangle
Robinson, E. Adoption and Loss
Russell, Marlou, Adoption Wisdom
Schaefer, Carol, The Other Mother
Verny, Thomas, The Secret Life of the Unborn Child
Verrier, Nancy, The Primal Wound (2009)
Bestseller (first published in 1993) exploring the wound when a child is separated from her or his mother and the trauma this can cause.
All available from corambaaf.org.uk/bookshop
About the Author
Zara H. Phillips began her professional career working as a backing vocalist for Sir Bob Geldof when he recruited her for his first solo projects after he departed the chart-topping UK band The Boomtown Rats. Zara’s musical career quickly blossomed from that point, as she continued her work on tour, in television and videos with UK artists such as Matt Bianco, Nick Kamen, David Essex, Bananarama and the solo project from Dire Straits’ John Illsley.
Born and raised in London, Zara loved to sing and dance from a young age and enjoyed spending hours in her room writing all the lyrics to musicals and performing each part. Zara moved to Los Angeles in 1996 where she continued writing new songs and performing solo. In 2005, Zara finished work on a new CD entitled ‘When the Rain Stops’, produced by Grammy award winner Ted Perlman.
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