I Knew You'd Have Brown Eyes (14 page)

It wasn’t all bad news though, because attached to this very formal letter of the law was the most reassuring news that I had received in eighteen years.

Medical History: Asthma – otherwise excellent health
.

Reason for Objection: Thank you. I look forward to meeting you sometime later in life when I am older and wiser. Again, thank you for making the right decision
.

Tears and tears poured as I read and reread those lines, but soon I began to smile. What a clever boy he was! Sending me thanks – that means his parents must have been good people and it spoke of a happy childhood – and telling me that he would like to meet me sometime later, giving me hope. And finally, the words I had most wanted to hear from him –
you made the right decision
. It was a short message that conveyed tremendous implications. It occurred to me that I certainly would not have wanted two mothers when I was eighteen! I would not abandon my hopes but bide my time instead.

I successfully applied for a job as a community nurse in the Cocos Islands, a territory of Australia. It’s a tiny coral atoll in the Indian Ocean. Trevor and I encountered a strange culture among the public servants on Cocos. First, there was the issue of housing. Some had better views than others and this became the focus of some people’s lives. On one occasion we had a change of doctors and since the doctor’s house was very close to the ocean, one of the senior staff lobbied the Administrator to get it. He and his wife were so secretive about it that they moved during the night. They even raided other empty houses and removed the best furniture to furnish their new abode. This baffled Trevor and me. When we lived on Groote there were no special houses for anyone, not even for senior staff. On Cocos, one of the senior public servants lived in the nurses’ quarters and allegedly claimed a daily allowance from the government, stating that there was no suitable accommodation for him. It was beside the point that his fiancé was a nurse living in the same quarters. This could have amounted to entitlements of thousands of dollars over several years.

Then there was the issue of racism. The Cocos Malays lived on one island and the public servants lived on another island, which had the best services. We were fortunate that because of my job our family were housed on the Cocos Malays’ Island and we became part of that community. A senior official told Trevor that when a group of United Nations officials came to Cocos during the time when there was a choice for the Malays to elect to become part of Australia that, ‘We (the Australian officials) sorted ’em out. We just put a few brown faces behind the counters.’

My working career took several blows too. I blew the whistle on a dysfunctional health system, which failed an old lady who we were meant to be looking after. It caused me enormous stress and anguish. Later I wondered if I should have remained silent, but I couldn’t do that. On a visit to Perth I went to see the Chief Nurse of Western Australia, who was a tower of strength to me.

Trevor bought a boat and stayed at home with our girls. We loved the islands and we skied and fished and camped on my days off. After the stress of reporting one of my fellow workers I couldn’t settle into work. Trevor began to look for other opportunities. During my last weeks on Cocos there was a death of a two-year-old boy from meningococcal meningitis. It was very distressing to all the staff and residents so I employed a counsellor to fly up from Perth and help us out. One afternoon I took him out on our boat and he said to me, ‘I have never seen a more beautiful place, and never met so many unhappy people.’ One of the doctors I worked with on Cocos told me once, ‘When you fly over it, it looks stunning but in reality beneath the surface lies bubbling animosity and jealousies.’

I resigned after eighteen months.

In 1996 we moved to Jakarta, Indonesia, where we lived for three and a half years. They were busy years. Sam and Alex went to an international school and I was happy to have a break from work and spend more time with them. Before leaving Cocos I began studying a Masters in Public Health and Tropical Medicine from James Cook University in Townsville, and I continued this course while living in Jakarta. Before undertaking the course I briefly thought about studying to be a doctor. I opted not to because the training and ward work would have been difficult with two small children, but it was one of those moments when I wondered what my life would have been like had I not become pregnant when I was seventeen. As with all my previous studies, I enjoyed the challenge. I studied most of my subjects by distance education, with others undertaken in Townsville.

After the Asian financial crisis and the downfall of the Suharto government in 1999, we moved back to Perth. By then I had completed my Masters, which enabled me to get a job as a research assistant at the Institute for Child Health Research. The Western Australian government was building swimming pools in some remote Aboriginal communities. The minister in charge was a medical doctor and Aboriginal health, particularly child health, was a priority. My years of working as a Community Health Nurse in Aboriginal communities in the Northern Territory were also relevant to the part-time position. I coordinated the project for the next six years.

16

One evening I was listening to the ABC radio program
Nightlife
and I heard Tony Delroy interview Father Tom Frame, an Anglican priest who had been adopted as a baby. They were discussing Tom’s book
Binding Ties: An Experience of Adoption and Reunion in Australia
, published in 1999. It was the first account of a reunion that I had heard of and, as soon as I could get to a bookshop, I bought it.

I found it heartbreaking. It was well written. Tom is an academic and went on to become an Anglican bishop. He described meeting his mother and her refusal to tell him who his father was. On the front cover was a photo of Tom and it seemed to me that he was hoping that his birth father – or someone who knew his birth father – would see their likeness and they might find each other. This left me profoundly sad, and I wondered if Christopher had a yearning to meet his father too. This made me more determined than ever to find him and to give him the correct identity of his father.

The book spurred me on to apply for contact again but I decided that, should he not want to know me this time, it would be the last time I would try. I received a reply almost immediately, informing me that he had placed an objection to the release of identifying information and to contact. I was devastated. I could not entertain the thought that we may never meet. But I had to tell myself that it might just be the case that this long-awaited reunion may not be on the cards for me. I had to have a strategy to cope with this and I told myself that I now had two beautiful girls. I couldn’t let this setback interfere with my family. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

The departmental letter informed me that, should I wish, I could leave a personal letter on his file, leaving out my identifying information. It would be released, they informed me, in the event that he contacted the Adoption Services Unit asking to rescind the no-contact order. I wrote:

12 November 2002

Dear Christopher Anthony (the name I gave you)

It is nine years since I last attempted to contact you. You would have been eighteen at that time. I remembered the phone call when a lady read your words over the phone
…

I need to get out some emotion before telling you a little about myself. I hope that someday you will read this letter. There has never been a moment in your life that I have given up the belief that someday we would meet. In the early years I looked at every boy who was around your age thinking that I would recognise you, brown eyes was your feature
.

As the years went by and my life moved on it was the birthdays that caused me grief. I do not have an overwhelming desire to be fully involved in your life, though, if that were the case, I would embrace that also. It is more the telling of a story and a reassurance that you are well and happy and that life has been good to you. Perhaps even an inkling of the life you have had with your adoptive parents. I have often said to people over the years I would like you to know what sort of person I am and I want to know who you are, what makes you tick and makes you happy
.

I told him about the work I had been doing in the years since his birth and concluded with:

I don’t know where in Australia you might be (or elsewhere for that matter) but I do hope you will consider meeting me at some stage. I have had no contact with your biological father since soon after your birth, but I understand that he has thought of you often also
.

I send this letter in good faith having watched some ‘media reunions’ I know they don’t always work out but I am as sure today as I was twenty-seven years ago that someday we will meet
.

Kind regards
,

Mary

In the back of my mind I hoped that my letter would make its way to Christopher. If only he could read it and see why I had made the decisions I had. I understood his trepidation. Ours was not an easy situation.

Seven months after I wrote this letter, I received a letter from the department telling me that my son had revoked his objection to contact and that it was now possible to receive his name and address. My persistence had paid off but I was not entirely relaxed about it. I had no idea what he would be like and I was nervous. Had I been too optimistic?

My friend Desiree and I were in the habit of running along City Beach’s dog beach in the mornings before work. We were both regular triathlon competitors and this was our running training.

‘You might be a grandmother,’ she said to me, after I told her my latest news. ‘Maybe that’s why he’s changed his mind about meeting you.’

‘What if he’s a drug addict, like my brother?’ I said. ‘I could be opening a can of worms and this could be a disaster for my family. Maybe I was wrong about all this. I’ve wanted it for so long and now that it’s possible, I’m scared.’

But I knew, despite all those questions running around in my head, that if I didn’t make contact now I would regret it for the rest of my life. Within days I had the name of my son and his adoptive parents, though strangely no address. His adoptive parents called him Michael. I’d have to get used to that. Included in this official letter was advice on how to proceed with contact, the recommendation being that initial contact be made by letter and that we use a mediator. I looked up his parents’ names in the White Pages, found a postal address and, after a great deal of contemplation, and no mediator, I sent him a short letter.

26 August 2003

Dear Michael
,

I hope I have the correct person. Unfortunately the Adoption Services do not give out very clear information and have left me to do some detective work!

It has taken me some time to write this letter. It is not for wanting to get to know you but more a reservation that tugs at me; I guess a desire to get it right
.

I am keen to establish contact with you but am hesitant in case you might have second thoughts and I don’t want to intrude if that is the case. Last year about this time I wrote a letter and sent it to the Adoption Services. They have it on file but will not release it, unless you request it. I guess it explains a little about me and I would like to send it to you sometime
.

The booklet that I have been given on contact suggests that letters and photos may be the way to get started, so if you are willing to go ahead then we could start there
.

Can you please take some time to think about getting to know me and when you feel that the time is right just drop me a line. I can send you my letter and perhaps we can take it from there?

Yours in good faith
,

Mary

One night soon after this, when I had returned from a week away on a field trip and after dinner when our children were asleep, I asked Trevor if there had been any mail.

‘Oh yes, there are some letters for you. I put them by your bedside table.’

I went upstairs and flipped through the letters, mainly bills, and found his letter. I knew it was from him even though there was no name on the back of the envelope. With my heart in my mouth, I opened it and began to read.

I had hardly read the first half of the first page when I began to sob, and was so overtaken with emotion that I couldn’t read any further. Trevor came rushing up the stairs, calling, ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’

He found me sitting on the bed with the letter in my hand. I couldn’t get any words out.

‘Who is it? What’s wrong? Tell me.’

‘It’s a letter from my son. And look, two photos – that’s him, my son.’

Trevor held me tight. He knew what this meant to me, knew of my sorrow, and knew how I had waited for this day.

Dear Mary
,

Your detective work seems to have paid off – you have reached the right person! Phew, where to start, what do I write? Having spent the best part of 28 years trying to decide what I would say when presented with this contact, suddenly none of it seems quite right, or appropriate
.

Firstly, I think I should explain why I put the non-contact order in place, and why I rescinded it only recently. When I turned 18 I was not really in a position to initiate contact with you, as I was still living at home and I did not want contacting you to put any undue stress on my relationship with Mum and Dad. After moving in and out of home a few times (as most people my age seem to do nowadays), I thought often about rescinding the order, but unfortunately never quite put my thoughts into actions. When I received a message from the Department of Family Services this year that you had contacted them, I decided that it was time to rescind the order and make contact. Hence our correspondence!

I have a million questions I would like to ask, as I am sure you do too. So I guess I’ll just tell you a little about myself to start off with – I’ll start with the education aspect, which you will soon see has been the majority of my life thus far
.

I was baptised a Catholic and spent most of my formative years at St Flannan’s school at Zillmere and St Columban’s College at Albion. After this I went to St Joseph’s College, Gregory Terrace, for high school, where I majored in sciences. After high school I proceeded to the University of Queensland (UQ) where I completed a Bachelor of Science degree majoring in Microbiology. I then completed an Honours year in the Microbiology Department, receiving Honours Class I. Having decided to pursue a career in research I then enrolled in a PhD course, spending four years completing the research component of the degree (thesis still to be written unfortunately!). I then went out and got a job for a year, still working in research (and generally avoiding thesis writing). Having had a lifelong ambition to do medicine I spent this year, while gainfully employed, sitting the entrance exam and interview for acceptance into the postgraduate medical course (four years) at UQ. Lucky for me I was successful, and was accepted into the MBBS course at the start of 2002. I’m currently in second year and I have found my niche!

I have a passion for medicine, and more especially rural medicine. As such, I intend to spend the majority of my life being a rural doctor, whether it be in GP or specialist practice. I have a few rural scholarships that require me to complete them in regional areas when I finish, so I guess that is where my life is headed for at the moment
.

As for me, I am still single, and currently flatting with another student in Brissie. I’ll include a few recent photos in this letter, and I’ll get more from Mum and Dad for inclusion in future letters. At the risk of this sounding like a personal ad, I have a passion for cooking (love food), I love camping and getting out of the city whenever possible. I have a strong interest in all things related to cars, and as such I now co-drive rally cars as a bit of a weekend hobby. Apart from that I live the life of a typical 28-year-old medical student – working hard and playing even harder when I get the chance
.

This letter is turning into a bit of an epic (I’m not known as the greatest letter writer in the world). I’ve tried to keep this letter light, and give you a bit of a précis of who I am and what I am up to. Rather than bombard you with a million questions, I think I’ll just let our correspondence sort out the answers to the myriad of things I want to ask you (and I’m sure you want to ask me) as time goes by. I am very excited about corresponding with you, and maybe one day meeting you in person if we both feel that is the right thing to do. I have included my email and home address above for future correspondence
.

You mentioned in your letter that you have a desire to get it right; I too have a similar desire. You also mentioned that you don’t want to intrude – I can assure you that you are not intruding whatsoever, and I am genuinely excited about maintaining correspondence. I look forward to reading the letter you sent to adoption services (they informed me you had written a letter – thought they might have released it when I rescinded the no-contact order)
.

I hope this letter finds you well
.

Michael

In the days that followed I went around like a zombie. I carried on as usual and I was there physically, but not mentally. Instead of having the radio on in the car I would drive in silence and end up in places that I hadn’t planned to go. It was as if I were in a coma. I couldn’t think. My brain shut down. I was happy one minute and crying the next. The world was functioning around me. I thought that this must be what it was like in a decompression chamber. There was a lack of sound. I was in a trance. At work I stared out of the window, thinking nothing. At home I sat in a chair. No thoughts, just numb, sometimes crying and crying and crying. I didn’t know how to react. I had no reference point, no guide, nothing. And each time I read and reread his letter I took in another bit of information, Catholic – high school Gregory Terrace, Teresa’s boys, who were a similar age, went to that school – did they know each other? A rural doctor. Loves camping.
I am genuinely excited about maintaining correspondence.

When I finally partially came out of my numb state I contacted Michael by email and we began regular email contact, slowly getting to know each other. And that was when we discovered how much we had in common.

Since visiting Bathurst Island and Daly River townships while on a school trip, I have taken a keen interest in Indigenous health and have felt the need to do something personally to improve health provision in remote areas
.

And, after I told him I had recently attended the Rural Health Conference in Hobart and presented a paper on the swimming pools project, he wrote:

It was funny that you mentioned [the conference]. I almost attended that
.

Would we have recognised each other? He continued.

When I found out your name, the first thing I did was plug it into Google, and I saw some information on the pools in remote Aboriginal communities – and I thought how funny would it be if that were you!