Tag Archives: Adoption

Tim’s El Salvador Blog

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We have been mentioned on Tim’s El Salvador Blog. Tim blogs about current news and events in El Salvador in an effort to inform other English speaks. He recently blogged about the Suzanne Berghaus story, Pro-Busqueda (the organization that reunited me with my family) and our blog.

“This story highlights the work of Asociación Pro-Busqueda, the organization, founded by Father Jon Cortina, which works to help Salvadoran families find the thousands of children kidnapped or otherwise ‘disappeared’ during the civil war. From Pro-Busqueda’s web site:

Pro-Busqueda was founded on the basis of a simple but brutal question that rips with pain the hearts of the mothers and fathers who live in anguish: Where is my son? Where is my daughter? From these questions the Association has over time evolved its mission to its now solid form of to “Search and locate children who disappeared as a result of the armed conflict in El Salvador, and once found, to promote the reunification and reintegration of the family unit. In this fashion the demands for truth, justice and reparation, which the victims have against the Salvadoran state, come to pass.”

Another of Pro-Busqeda’s success stories is story of Nelson (or Roberto when he was a baby in El Salvador). Nelson has set up a blog where his families’ stories are told called Ana’s Miracle. It’s dedicated to his mother, a guerilla fighter who was killed and her baby boy placed in an orphanage.”

Thanks Tim for mentioning us. My sister and I both appreciate it.

This is incredible, disappeared Salvadoran war child finds her way home

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This story was in today’s Boston Globe. Its so wried because her story is very similar to mine. She was separated from her family during the Salvadorian Civil War, adopted to an American family and even reunited by the same organization.

War child who ‘disappeared’ finds her way back – The Boston Globe: “CACAOPERA, El Salvador — The house was decorated with ribbons and balloons as Suzanne Berghaus walked toward it. The 26-year-old social worker from Wilmington, Mass., would later recall how beautiful the place looked with its colorful bunting and hand-lettered sign welcoming her home. ‘Te Queremos Mucho,’ the sign read. We love you very much.
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Valentín Argueta greeted her at the front gate. It was the first time he’d laid eyes on his youngest child in 24 years, since her kidnapping by government soldiers during El Salvador’s long and bloody civil war.”

A letter from my father – by Nelson/Roberto

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November 1997

Its 6:15 pm and its already dark out. I just got back from school and I’m the first one home. I dash up to my room and drop my bag. I fire up the computer and head back downstairs to get something to drink. As I go to the turn on the outside lights I bend over and pick up the mail. On my way back to the kitchen I start to go through it. Bill, bill, junk mail…but whats this?

Tossing the rest of the mail on the counter I’m starring down at a letter addressed to Roberto Coto form a Luis Coto. Its a letter from my father… When we got the original package from Probusqueda there was only letters from my aunt and grandmother. I take a second to look at it before opening it. Its three pages of neatly written cursive. I frown for a second. It all in Spanish and I can’t read any of it.

I head back up to my room letter in hand. Half an hour later my dad yells from downstairs “I’m home”

“Hi” I reply making my way out into the hall.

“How was your day?” he questions

“I got a letter from my dad.” I say excitedly

My adoptive father would tell me later these words made his heart sink because for 15 years he was the only one I called dad. There is a pause…”What does it say?”

“I’m not sure its all in Spanish”

Over dinner I show my parents the letter. My mom suggests that she could have one of her colleagues translate the letter for us. I tell her that I think some of my friend at school could translate it too.

The next day I stuff the letter in my bag as I head out the door. As I’m ride in on the T I stare at it I try to figure out what it says. All I can make out is “Dear Roberto,” So I just sit there staring out the window. I always sit in the the very first seat on the train. It has a window all to its self and I can get off the train quicker. I’ve made this 15 minuet trip for the past four years but today it seams endless. My leg is shaking in anticipation and everyone getting on the train is taking forever. Finally I arrive at my stop just in time to catch the last van.

I’m running late. Its 8:20am when I arrive and there is no time to find someone to translate. I’ll have to wait until lunch. I’m restless during my classes I pull out the letter every so often to look it over. I briefly show it to my friend Eric. Finally its time for lunch.

“Julia!” I call down the hall

She greats me with a smile, “Hey there”

“I got a letter from my father in Panama” I say pull the letter out of my bad

“Oh wow that’s so cool, what does it say?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t read it and I need to find someone who can translate it.”

“Maria might be able help you. She speaks some Spanish.”

“Really? Hmm I’ll have to ask her”

“She’s over there, Hey I got to run I’ll catch up with you later” She turns and walks off.

“yup, thanks I’ll see you later”

As she’s walking away she calls down the hall “Hey when are we gonna playing soccer?”

I smile “Anytime just let me know” I turn and head towards the lounge where Maria is sitting.

“Hey Maria are you busy?”

Maria look up “Not right now. Why whats up?”

“I got this letter from my dad and I have no idea what it says you think you could help me with it?”

“This is your father in Central America?” she ask examining the letter.

“Yup”

“Yea sure let me look at it”

Finally I’ll be able to find out what in the letter. Its loud in the foyer so we make are way in to the stair case and sit down on the steps going down to athletic office.

She sits and looks at it for a sec. She starts to read it to me but explains that its very hard with the writing and that he using some words she doesn’t know. As she tries to read it I realize that I’m not actually listening to what she is saying. I don’t think its the letter that I’m excited about. I can’t wait to see meet these people and see what they are like. For that I will have to wait, it will be another month before I get to meet them.

Looking into the past

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While I was writing my post about the orphanage I started to wondering if I could find the orphanage online anywhere.

Maybe someone working there would remember me and could tell me a little bit more about what I was like there. We know that I had to be fed first and that I really liked coke but not much else. Maybe they would have a funny story or something about me.

I did a quick google search and I found a news letter from 2003 from an orphanage with the same name but in a different location in Honduras. At the bottom was an email address of someone who I assumed worked there. I sent them an email asking if they did in fact work there or knew of anyone who was working there.

I got a response back earlier this week from a man who no longer worked there but was able to provide me with the email address of someone who does. I asked this person if they knew anyone who might have worked there during the same time period I was there. She said she did and was glad to help.

This morning I sent her an email that she could forward asking if anyone remembered me. I haven’t herd back yet but I’ll be interested to see if anyone responds.

The Orphanage – By Nelson Roberto

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When the gunfire stops a women lays dead face down in the door way. Two men have been shot as well. They lie slumped over rifles by there side. As the police go through the house I’m found crying in my crib. Next to me are two other girls. Social services is called in to deal with us. As I’m being as taken away a news paper photographer stops us to take a picture. One police officer is holding me while the male officer next her tries to get me to smile. It works. My face lights up in a happy little smile completely unaware of what has just happened and what is to come.

I’m taken to a private orphanage in Tegucigalpa Honduras. This will be my home for the next year. I will spend most of my days in a my crib straiting out of the window on the third floor of this clay building. I won’t learn how to walk or speak very well. I won’t eat very well either. But I will be fed.

During this time a notice is put into the paper asking anyone who might be missing a child to come forward and claim me. No one does, so six months after I arrive I am legally put up for adoption. I will wait another six month before I meet my parents.

It’s May 1980 and I have just turned two. My adoptive parents arrived in the country a few weeks earlier. Today we will meet for the first time.

My soon to be dad wakes up early and staring making coffee. My soon to be mom lays in bed a few more minuets for before joining him. They are tired from a long night of nervous sleep.

“What do you think he will looks like?”
“We will know very soon.” My mother replies.

They shower and dress quick anticipating what is to come.

My dad paces nervously waiting for the social worker to arrive. “Why do you think they wouldn’t let any picture be taken of him? Do you think might be something wrong with him that they don’t want us to know about?”

“I don’t know hunny we will see soon enough.”

“Where are they? They should have been here by now.” my dad says anxiously

“They will come try to relax” my mom replies trying to hide her own anxiety.

“I’m going to call to make sure” My dad hurries off to make the call. He return shortly. “She’s not home.” He reports disappointedly

Then the door bell rings. Finally the social worker has come to take them to the orphanage.

As they arrive they are greeted by one of the staff members. Not wasting any time my dad asks. “What is he like?”

“Hes a sweet little boy but he will cry and cry if he is not fed first.” She answers shaking her head

“Oh?” my mom inquires.

“Don’t worry hes really nice” she replies quickly “but he doesn’t talk much. He only knows how to say agua. That means water and he says it when hes hungry or when he needs anything else.”

As they walk through the rooms filled with cribs, some of the children poke their heads up to see the visitors.

“I wonder if we could adopt more than one.” My dad wonders aloud.

“Here we are.” The staff member stops at the last crib on the third floor. “Oh and one more thing…” she says as a smile crosses her face “he really loves Coke.”

This is the moment my had parents been waiting for. As they approach the crib they see me lying down in a cloth diaper and an old t-shirt. I look up with a blank expression on my face not knowing what to expect.

My mom hands me a Paddington bear with a blue raincoat and red hat. I play with it curiously. Its the first stuffed animal I’ve ever had. They pick me up and hold me. I’m not sure what to make of this. They takes turns holding me and playing my with long curly brown hair. But now they must leave to finalize the adoption.

They put me back in the crib and say good bye. They will be back for me tomorrow once it is official. As they drive away I watch from my window, holding my Paddington close, wondering who are these people and if I’ll ever see them again.

Part 1: The adoption, a leap of faith and a miracle reunion. – Nelson/Roberto

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I was adopted from an orphanage in Honduras in 1983. My adoptive parents had just started the adoption process and were probably about a year away from getting a child. Then one night they got a phone call around 9:00pm saying that there was a child available for them however there was no picture, no background information and they would have until 3:00pm the next day to decided. I don’t think this ever happens in adoption cases.

Thankfully, after a long night with not much sleep, they decided to adopt. They were living in the Boston area and had to rush to get everything ready before leaving for Honduras. It was the beginning of April and they had to be down in Central America by May. As they were getting ready to leave they found out that they would need FBI clearance in order to travel to Honduras. This normally takes 4 or 5 weeks and they only had one. To their surprise someone pulled some strings for them and Senator Kerry’s office was able to get them clearance in 2 days.

They flew down to Honduras where they were provided with a place to stay and a lawyer to help them with all the paper work. Again, this never happens. As the adoption went on the people involved where very hush hush and wouldn’t tell my parents anything. They mentioned something about a gunfight but wouldn’t say why I was up for adoption or why they were trying to get me out of the country so fast. My adoptive father speculated that I was illegitimate sun of the president or something like that. They did learn that our Mystery Politician was overseeing the adoption and this explained where all the political help was coming from.

They finished the adoption and took be back to the US with them. The judge who oversaw my case required that my father mail her updates every 6 months. My father diligently sent letters for almost 2 years. While talking to another parent about there experience he learned that these updates were not part of the normal adoption process and he promptly stopped. This seamed to the make the whole adoption that much weirder.

I grew up knowing that I was adopted (My parents are white and they always told me I was.) But they couldn’t tell me who my parents were or even when I was born. This was very hard for me growing up since it meant it would be next to impossible to find my birth family. My Adopted father had this newspaper article that someone had gotten for us. The article had a picture of a man who had been killed around the time that I went into the orphanage. As I was growing up he would look at the picture and try to see if there was any resemblance between us.

Then one day the impossible happened. My parents got another phone call at night in the summer of 97. A man called from an organization called Probusqueda that looked for lost children in El Salvador. It turned out I had been born there not Honduras and my birth family had been looking for me for 4 years. My parents told me soon after when I got home from summer camp. It was a huge shock for all of us.

The organization sent us pictures and letters from them written to the lost child Roberto(that’s me.) After a blood test to confirm that hey were indeed my family we started to make arrangements to fly down. In truth they really didn’t need to do the blood test. I look exactly like my birth father and a lot like my older brother.

That Christmas we flew down to meet them the for the first time. My adopted parent were nervous that I would want to stay with my birth family but that never really crossed my mind. Since then I have been down about twice a year to visit them and we have become one big family. Its been truly an amazing and I’m so lucky to have had such wonderful adoptive parents who supported me all these years and when I went to meet my birth family.

Part 2: My Origins, how I was separated from my family.

Being Adopted – By Nelson/Roberto

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I think adoption is one of the most wonderful and at the same time one of the most difficult things I have experienced in my life. The joy of adoption can best be described by the quote that begins this blog.

Losing ones family obliges us to find ones family. Not always the family that is our blood but the family that can become our blood.

However, no matter how great my adoptive parents have been, growing up as an adopted child was not always easy. The most difficult emotion I have ever had to deal with was the uncertainty that came from being adopted. I imagine that most if not all adopted persons go through a similar experience sometime during their life.

Perhaps in my case these feelings might have been harder to deal with. For my parents did not even know birthday never mind how I came to be adopted. Today I could not imagine my life without my adopted family but back then having them was not enough.

There is just something about your birth-mother/birth-father that you can never forget or completely let go of. You want to know what they look like, if you look like them and what kind of people are they. But most importantly you want to know: Why was I given up?

To this question there is no easy answer. It is something that I struggled with and watched my friends struggle with. Some were more vocal than others but you just knew even the quiet ones were thinking about it too. You wonder how can the people who gave you life simply give you away? Well I’m sure it’s never that easy and I’m sure they never forget either.

I used to sit at night staring out of my window wishing I could just see my my mother. I thought if I could just see her, she would make everything better. These feelings never went away, no matter how hard I tried to fight or ignore them. But that all changed when I met my birth family.

Being reunited with them was incredible to say the least. I went from not knowing my birthday to having three new siblings and a huge family that had been looking for me all along. It seamed to answer all my questions about who I was and if I looked like my parents (I’m practically a carbon copy of my father.)

However I feel like I am very lucky in this respect. I have herd a few stories of people who went looking for their birth parents only to find they had nothing in common and could not relate to each other. I wish I could say “Don’t worry one day you will find your birth parent too and everything will be alright” but I know that’s not always the case. Not every adoption story has such a happy ending.

In the end I wonder how much finding your birth parents really matters. Yes finding them did answer a lot of my questions and it did take away the awful feeling of uncertainty but I don’t think that’s what mattered most. I think what mattered the most was the family that we have became.

I hardly think of it as my adopted family and my birth family anymore. When people say “oh you found your real parents” I say no I found my birth parents. I don’t even like to make the distinction between them. I just like to think I have two sets of parents and one BIG family.

Family is more than just being related because sometimes even our own blood doesn’t treat us as they should. Family is about caring for people and loving them unconditionally. Family is what we found in them and what they found in us.

Not always the family that is is our blood but the family that can become our blood…

My Birthdays – Nelson/Roberto

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Yesterday was a friend of mines birthday. We went out to eat for 3 hours and had lots of fun. I love getting together like this for birthdays and my birthday. However this wasn’t always the case. Growing up I never knew my real birthday and it always bugged me that everyone else knew there’s. Some people even knew the exact time of birth. I had no idea. I used to look at calendar and feel like it was blank.

I did have a birthday that my adoptive parents gave me when I was adopted. Growing up this is what we celebrated but it always felt so …hollow and fake. Even thought we had cake and everything it never felt like it was mine. Don’t get me wrong I still enjoyed my birthdays and of course loved the presents…who doesn’t?

Looking back on it now I think those feeling of emptiness were really part of something bigger. Your birthday while not being terribly important to the in larger scheme of life is an important part of your identity. Its something so simple that people take for gran it. Whenever someone asked how old I was I would say something like “I’m 15…I think” It was that little bit of uncertainty that bothered me so much. I could be 15 or 14 or 16. I never knew.

Now that I know when my birthday is, I developed a sense of pride when I tell people. After 16 years of uncertainty it feels so good to be able to look someone in the eye and say I was born on may 22, 1981 at 2pm in San Salvador. I think that why I make such a big deal of it now and the fact that I have two birthdays. I’ll joke with friends and say “today is my second birthday what did you get me?” Of course they always come back with “you only get one” Hey it doesn’t hurt to try.

They Never Forgot – by Nelson/Roberto

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2001 was a really hard year for me. I had finished my first year and half in college and hadn’t done very well. Every course I took I was on the verge of failing even though I tried very hard in some of my classes it just wasn’t enough. I decided to transfer schools because I just couldn’t keep up. I felt like I was failing out. I had pledged in a fraternity and while it probably didn’t help academically it was my saving grace socially. I had lost touch with everything I liked to do. I was missing Carolina, my love interest all the time, and I just wanted to go see her again. Our relationship was a little…dysfunctional to say the least and it was really getting to me. Not only did she live in another country but she had a boyfriend. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking. Needless to say it was not an easy time for me.

I went down to panama as usual for Christmas. I was really down and my family could tell. They tried to cheer me up as best they could but nothing really worked.

One night I was sitting outside looking at the star and my stepmother Miriam came to talk with me. We talked about some of the stuff we I was going through. Between her broken English and my broken Spanish I’m surprised we talked about as much as we did. She sat there dictionary in hand and comforted me as best she could.

I’m not exactly sure what we were talking about but I remember her telling me how much my family cared for me. She said Eva, Toto and Estefany grew up knowing about their brother who had been lost. Luis had learned through some friends that I had been adopted to America. He had no idea where in America but he was saving money to come look for me. Those words cut right through me and I broke down…they never forgot about me. Even though I was lost for 15 years they never forgot. I was completely overwhelmed by that.

I’m not sure why it meant so much to me and why it still does. Maybe it has to do with being adopted. One question that I think every adopted child asks him or her self at some point is why was I given up? Even if the situation was for the best you can’t help but feel like you were forgotten. So hearing those words was like an answer of my payers or something. I have no way of describing it.

Even now as I sit here reading my sister post about how my grandmother never stopped looking for me I’m overwhelmed by a feeling I can only describe as joy. However that does not even come close to the feelings that I have. To never be forgotten. There are no words. I have to be one of the luckiest people in the world. So many people are neglected and forgotten about. Not only did I have a wonderful family here in America but I also had a family in Central America that never stopped thinking about me, never stopped looking, and never stopped caring.

No matter how lost I was to them or even to myself they never EVER forgot about me…

Introduction

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“Losing ones family obliges us to find our family. Not always the family that is our blood but the family that can become our blood”
Sean Connery – Finding Forester

The other day I saw the movie Freedom Writes. Its a story inspired by the real lives of long beach teenagers during the early 90’s. The film was really good and it made me think about my own family and our story. In the movie the students kept diaries so that their could write about their life experiences. This made me want to write down some of my own experiences.

For those who aren’t to familiar with the story. My parents were both revolutionaries in the civil war in El Salvador. They both were fairly important in the group that they fought with. During the war I was separated from my family and adopted to the US. 15 years later I was reunited with my birth family thanks to efforts of my grandmother. That was in 1997, since that time we have become a big family. I frequently visit my family in central America and they have come to the US on several occasions to visit me as well.

I’m writing this blog with the help of my siblings to tell our story. We want to write our thoughts and feelings about the things we went trough. We also want to help my mother as she writes a book detailing the events that brought us all together. We have been through so much over the years and we are so lucky to have found each other.

This year marks an important year for our family and our story. It was 25 years ago that I was separated from my birth family and this Christmas it will be 10 years since we were reunited. A lot has happened during that time and it has not always been easy but now we can look back and reflect on these incredible events.

My birth mothers name was Ana Milagro Escobar. Milagro is miracle in English and is the inspiration for the name of this blog. This is our story, this is Ana’s Miracle…

Part 1: The adoption, a leap of faith and a miracle reunion.