An Adoptee’s Perspective: Written in January, 2013

Author: Rebecca Tillou

The baby was taken into a foster home in Ridgewood, New Jersey and stayed there for a month. On February 9, 1980 in Ellicott City, Maryland, the Kulak family received a phone call from an adoption agency. There was a baby girl waiting to become part of a family and showered with love. On February 14, 1980, commonly known as Valentine’s Day, that baby girl became part of the Kulak family. That baby girl was me.

At the age of 4, I gained an understanding that my adoptive mom Debbie Kulak did not give birth to me, but the Kulak’s were still my family. The middle school years were when I began to question who I was, and who my birth parents were. I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about being adopted, but certain events triggered questions. My birthday and Valentine’s Day were two days that I was very thankful for my family, but hints of wonder and sadness would enter my mind. I would wonder, “Does my birth mom think of me on these days? What is she doing now? Why did she give me away? If I weren’t adopted, how would my life be different? ”

As major events have happened in my life, these questions have been in the forefront and have become more prominent as I have gotten older. At my school graduations and at my wedding, I couldn’t help but wonder what my birth mom would think.

I have had conversations with people that don’t understand why these thoughts are so prevalent in my mind since I was adopted at such a young age. No matter what age you are adopted, the facts remain the same: Your birth mother made a choice to give you up. You may know why, you may not. If you don’t know, you may wonder your whole life. In some cases, as in mine, you don’t know your medical history, who your biological family is, or where you got your physical traits from. I feel like a puzzle with pieces missing.

My two young sons are the only two genetic ties I have ever identified with. One day, maybe I will discover genetic ties to my birth family. Until that day, I will be thankful for the wonderful family I was adopted into, and the selfless choice my birth mom made in the early hours of January 12, 1980.


An Adoptee’s Perspective: Written in January, 2013 Author: Rebecca Tillou The baby was taken into a foster home in Ridgewood, New Jersey and stayed there for a month. On February 9, 1980 in Ellicott City, Maryland, the Kulak family received a phone call from an adoption agency. There was a baby girl waiting to become part of a family and showered with love. On February 14, 1980, commonly known as Valentine’s Day, that baby girl became part of the Kulak family. That baby girl was me. At the age of 4, I gained an understanding that my adoptive mom Debbie Kulak did not give birth to me, but the Kulak’s were still my family. The middle school years were when I began to question who I was, and who my birth parents were. I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about being adopted, but certain events triggered questions. My birthday and Valentine’s Day were two days that I was very thankful for my family, but hints of wonder and sadness would enter my mind. I would wonder, “Does my birth mom think of me on these days? What is she doing now? Why did she give me away? If I weren’t adopted, how would my life be different? ” As major events have happened in my life, these questions have been in the forefront and have become more prominent as I have gotten older. At my school graduations and at my wedding, I couldn’t help but wonder what my birth mom would think. I have had conversations with people that don’t understand why these thoughts are so prevalent in my mind since I was adopted at such a young age. No matter what age you are adopted, the facts remain the same: Your birth mother made a choice to give you up. You may know why, you may not. If you don’t know, you may wonder your whole life. In some cases, as in mine, you don’t know your medical history, who your biological family is, or where you got your physical traits from. I feel like a puzzle with pieces missing. My two young sons are the only two genetic ties I have ever identified with. One day, maybe I will discover genetic ties to my birth family. Until that day, I will be thankful for the wonderful family I was adopted into, and the selfless choice my birth mom made in the early hours of January 12, 1980.
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