A woman heard a baby crying on her neighbor’s porch and adopted him. Years later, she told him the truth about being adopted and decided to find his birth parents. That’s when an unexpected truth came out.
I was walking home from my shift when a baby’s cries rang through the night, and I frowned. I looked toward my neighbor Ellie’s house and saw a stroller on her porch. With wide eyes, I approached and saw a baby with a tear-streaked face and flailing arms inside the stroller. I rang Ellie’s door several times, concerned, as I tried to get the baby to stop crying.
“Hey, Judy. What –?” Ellie answered the door, and her eyes also bulged at the baby.
Ellie, what’s going on? Why is there a baby on your porch?” I asked, appalled.
“I have no idea.” She shook her head.
“Didn’t you hear him screaming bloody murder?”
“No, I was watching TV in my room. My doorbell is the only thing I heard,” Ellie continued. “Should we call 911? What should we do?”
“Well, I guess,” I shrugged. I had never been in this situation, and it seemed right out of a movie, so the only solution was to call the police.
The cops took the baby to the shelter but told us they would investigate the matter to try and find the parents.
A few days later, my husband, Justin, and I decided to go to the shelter. After discovering the parents had yet to be found, we discussed it in detail and thought it would be a good idea to adopt the baby. Luckily, they approved us for fostering, and we got the baby boy. We named him Tom.
Our lives were complicated, and being new parents was not a walk in the park, but we managed. Unfortunately, Justin died when Tom was eight, and he took it pretty hard. They had been best friends. But thanks to therapy and bonding, Tom and I got through it together.
I was so proud of my boy and happy I heard him on Ellie’s porch that night.
I was fixing up the house after Tom’s 13th birthday, which was a blast. But having a bunch of young, loud teenagers was hard. They ate like crazy and had tons of energy. I also had to entertain the moms, so I was exhausted, but my boy was happy, and that’s all that mattered. That was until I stepped into my bedroom and saw him ruffling a bunch of documents.
“What’s this, Mom?” Tom asked and looked at me with the biggest cartoon eyes ever. “Am I adopted?”
This was not how I wanted him to find out, but it was done. So I sat with him on the floor and told him everything from hearing him crying at Ellie’s house to Justin and I going to the shelter and arranging everything.
“I want you to know that this doesn’t change anything. You are my son, and Justin was your father. We loved you like nothing else in the world. Do you believe me?” I asked, worried.
Tom cried a bit, telling me he missed his father. But he seemed fine after that… until a few days later when he approached me carefully.
“Mom, can I talk to you about something?” he asked, looking down.
“Of course. Sit down and tell me.” I gave him an assuring look, and we sat at the kitchen table.
“I want to find my birth parents,” he blurted quickly. He told me he loved me and his dad too. But he wanted to know more about them, have some kind of relationship, if possible, and form a bond, hopefully.
I obviously couldn’t say no to him, although I worried about it. “There’s a chance we might not find them because we had almost no information about them. The police couldn’t find them 13 years ago, but I will do my best. However, they also could refuse to meet you. Do you think you can handle that?” I asked him carefully.
Tom thought for a few minutes and finally nodded. “I think so. If not, we can work through it with Dr. Bernstein,” he answered, grinning slightly.
“Ok. I’m proud of you, son. Let’s get the laptop and see how we can find them,” I told him, and we went to his room.
We started searching about reunification, and I even called the shelter to see if they had any helpful information. Apparently, some organizations were dedicated to reuniting birth parents with the kids they sent for adoption, but the adults had to sign up for it.
Still, we tried every avenue. I created a post on Facebook and shared it on Twitter, detailing what happened the night I found Tom and how he was interested in seeing his parents. I also asked our neighbors to share the post because the incident had happened in our neighborhood, after all.
However, our search was fruitless for a long time.
One day, I was at Ellie’s house, complaining about the entire situation. “Tom is so sad about it. I don’t think we’ll ever find any leads.” I sighed, drinking tea with my friend.
“Why does he want to find his birth parents?” she asked, her eyes concerned.