When a newspaper cutting revealed something shocking about my past, I went in search of answers. By Leah Foulkes, 29
As I sat in a restaurant with my family, Mum raised a toast.
‘Happy anniversary, Leah,’ she said.
My parents, Debbie and Andrew, had adopted me when I was three months old, and every year, we celebrated the day they’d brought me home.
They’d give me a card and treat me to a meal out.
And they did the same for my older sister Eleanor, who was also adopted.
Our parents loved us unconditionally, and our childhood was filled with fun and family holidays.
But celebrating my birthday, a couple of days before New Year’s Eve, was always bittersweet.
Something always niggled at the back of my mind.
I thought, This is the day I was abandoned.
I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d come from, and when I was 12, Mum and Dad thought I was ready to hear the truth.
Dad handed me an old newspaper clipping.
‘This is what happened to you,’ he said.
The headline read, Baby abandoned in hospital toilets.
‘That baby was me?’ I asked.
My parents nodded, and my heart sank.
I thought, How could my own mum have left me like that?
As I read the article, I learnt that a cleaner had found me on the cistern of a toilet near to the maternity ward.
She’d alerted a nurse called Mabel, who’d checked me over.
Mabel was pictured cradling me in her arms.
I was a few hours old.
No one knew how I’d come to be left on a hospital toilet, and, with it being just after Christmas, staff had named me Hollie.
My parents had changed my name to Leah, but Mum explained, ‘That’s why we kept Hollie as your middle name.’
The article revealed that police had tried to find my birth mother, but had been unsuccessful.
Time passed, and I went on to become a mum myself.
My son, Caleb, was my world, and it got me thinking more about my birth mum.
Why did she give me up? I wondered.
As years went by, I tried to put it to the back of my mind.
Police at the time hadn’t been able to track her down.
So, I believed I’d no chance of finding her myself.
But, as I grew older, I became more desperate for answers.
I contacted the adoption agency and requested my records. But so little was known about my birth that my adoption record was just a single page.
I requested information on the police investigation at the time to try to find my birth mother, and I discovered new details.
I learnt that police believed my mum had given birth somewhere near to the hospital and had concealed me under a jacket or blanket to smuggle me into the hospital toilets.
I was found wrapped in a towel and wearing a babygro and a tutu.
It brought comfort to know my birth mum had loved me enough to make sure I was wrapped up warm before she left me.
I made a public appeal, in the hope someone would come forward with answers, but no one did.
Feeling disheartened, I decided to put all of my energy into raising my son.
But my cousin Carla went on to become a documentary maker, and when Caleb was six, she approached me with an idea.
‘Why don’t we make a documentary about you finding your biological family?’ she asked.
Mum and Dad approved.
So, I said, ‘Why not? It’s worth a try.’
The documentary was commissioned by the BBC as part of their series called Our Lives: Finding My Family.
Carla researched DNA websites and sent off a sample of my saliva.
I didn’t want to get too excited, but I hoped it would prove fruitful.
In time, my results showed a match for a third cousin.
But there was no way of tracing back exactly how we were related, and I was no closer to finding my immediate biological family.
Our search came to a dead end, and I felt so disappointed.
Time passed, and I gave birth to a second son, Rueben.
I’d all but given up hope of ever finding my birth parents.
Then, an online database matched me to a first cousin once removed, which led us to one of my birth dad’s aunties.
We were delighted to learn that she lived down the road from me, and she put Carla in touch with who she thought could be my grandma – her sister Christine.
Christine agreed to a DNA test and after five weeks of anxious waiting, the results finally came in.
‘She is my grandma!’ I shouted.
Carla smiled.
‘You should call and tell her,’ she said.
My hands were shaking as I picked up the phone.
When I told Christine, she sounded over the moon.
‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘We’ll have to meet up and have a chat.’
Christine had four sons, which meant that one of them was my biological dad.
It turned out that one of Christine’s sons, Lee, had passed away.
But her other sons agreed to take a DNA test.
By process of elimination, Carla discovered the identity of my dad.
She sounded sad as she broke the news to me.
‘It was Lee,’ she said.
I cried.
‘We were too late,’ I said.
I learnt that Lee had suffered a fatal seizure before he’d reached his 40th birthday.
Finally, I knew the identity of my birth father, and I worked out that he would have been 19 when I was born.
But it was bittersweet, as I’d never be able to meet him.
And it felt even more heartbreaking to discover that, for most of my life, we’d been living just six miles apart.
A few months later, Carla and I travelled hundreds of miles from my home in Manchester, to meet Christine at a hotel near her home.
I felt nervous and hoped we’d get along well.
Should I call her grandma? I wondered.
I settled on calling her Christine.
But as soon as we hugged, all my worries melted away.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she said.
As we talked about my dad, she said: ‘You look a lot like him.’
She told me he’d loved drawing and painting.
‘They’re my hobbies too!’ I said.
When Christine showed me old pictures of my dad, I couldn’t believe the resemblance.
She explained that she and Lee hadn’t known about me, and it confirmed my suspicions that my mum had had me in secret.
Christine handed me a beautiful gold bracelet.
‘I want you to have this,’ she said. ‘Lee bought it for me.’
We both cried, but knowing I was accepted by Christine meant the world to me.
Unfortunately, she had no clue who my birth mum could be.
Soon, I began meeting up with Christine’s sister regularly, as she lived closer to me, and it was lovely forming a relationship with her.
Now, it’s been two years since I connected with Christine.
A geneticist is working hard to try to find my birth mother. But it’s like a needle in a haystack.
I still experience a
mix of emotions as I celebrate my birthday in the run up to New Year’s Eve.
But this Christmas will be a special one, as Christine and her sister will be coming to visit me during the festive season.
Having them in my life and being a part of their big family is more than I could’ve wished for.
Picture credit: BBC