Reviewed by Paula Shaffer Robertson
Posted on: April 12, 2023
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Author Candi Byrne begins her memoir with this Alex Haley quote: “In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage—to know who we are and where we have come from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness.”
Byrne’s memoir poignantly examines—not as a child, but as a woman in her late 50s—the “disquieting loneliness” she experienced as an adoptee not knowing her biological parents or natural extended family. Byrne felt disconnected from her adopted family from an early age. She says, “We were a Frankenfamily, the seams evident and ill-fitted together. It always felt like we [she and her two adopted siblings] were the obvious evidence our parents’ branches could not bear their ‘own’ fruit.” Byrne felt she stood out from everyone she knew outside of her immediate family, since none of them were adopted.
Byrne spent years trying to find out who her biological parents were, to no avail. Since she was surrendered at birth through a closed adoption, the adoption laws prevented her from finding out much information. Most state laws require that at least one parent gives explicit permission or they are deceased before an adoptee can acquire pertinent and wanted information. Byrne’s parents did not give that permission. Eventually, Byrne gave up, feeling she had exhausted every avenue. And she felt righteously vindicated in ceasing her search. If the woman who carried her for nine months didn’t want her, then she certainly didn’t need to find that woman who gave her away to strangers.
Until she received that fateful, unexpected telephone call in 2010 from her adopted mother’s 90-year-old sister, Aunt Delores, who had adamantly exhorted Byrne to find her birth mother. “Promise me you’ll never give up!” she exclaimed. That was an earth-shattering moment for Byrne; she obediently acquiesced to Aunt Delores’ plea.
Byrne’s memoir details her arduous search, which led her on a solo road trip across her state line, an emotional quest with the expectation of finding and confronting her birth mother. This woman, known as “Mary,” had given her away and tried for years to not be found by Byrne.
Byrne’s self-reflections radiate throughout her memoir. She is very open and candid with the details of her journey—both the road trip and the mental explorations. The twists, the turns. Some unexpected, demanding rapt attention. No rosy photo-finish here. She is often self-deprecating. Often humorous in her own wry way about feeling outnumbered, overwhelmed. Cheated.
Byrne uses language that unpaints the vibrant, happy colors associated with tear-jerking, made-for-TV mother-daughter reunions. She examines the dark, muted gray side she encountered, as have many in the same predicament, bound by archaic and insensitive laws. Every human being enters birth achingly needing its mother, for survival’s sake alone. An emotional bond is an additional perk. Byrne went in search of that unguaranteed bond. In the process, she grapples with self-identity and finding her sense of belonging, an insatiable needing to be a part of many.
Was searching for her mother worth Byrne’s journey? Reading her story in all her colorful language addressing that “disquieting loneliness” certainly is worth the journey.
