When Stacy Medina, 59, took a DNA test to find her biological mother, she uncovered her own heartbreaking past
WORDS: VERONIQUE HAWKSWORTH, KATE GRAHAM
Tearing into my birthday presents, I was so excited to see what my husband Mark had got me. It was my 57th birthday in January 2021 and as I peeled back the paper, the words 23 and Me peeped out underneath. ‘I thought you might want to give it another shot,’ Mark smiled. It was a DNA test – I’d done one from a different company a couple of years before to try and find my biological mum, but hadn’t been successful. Maybe this time I’d have more luck. The next day, I put some saliva in a container, sealed up the kit and popped it in the post, full of hope that I’d finally find my long-lost mum.
Growing up, my parents Rochelle and David were very open with me about the fact I was adopted. I always felt loved but couldn’t help feeling as though something was missing.
I often wondered about my birth mum and if I was like her. Then, when I was 16, I fell pregnant with my daughter Sara, and I gave birth just before my 17th birthday, in January 1981.
Despite my parents’ initial shock, they helped me raise her, but it was tough. I was still so young myself and often felt overwhelmed. ‘I wonder if this is how my biological mum felt when she had me?’ I wondered. I longed to find out the truth about why she had given me up for adoption.
HEARTBREAKING DECISION
Then, when I was 21, I fell pregnant again after a fling. Straight away I realised couldn’t keep the baby. I was just about managing to look after Sara, but knew I wouldn’t be able to cope with another child. By now I had a job filing documents and money was tight. But terminating the pregnancy wasn’t an option for me – I couldn’t bear the thought. So, with my parents’ support, I made the heartbreaking decision to go to an adoption agency.
‘I want my baby to have a good life,’ I told the adoption specialist, while I clutched my stomach. They let me choose my baby’s new parents, and I found a couple with good jobs who I hoped would give my baby the life they deserved, just like Rochelle and David had given me.
In November 1985, I gave birth to my son. As I held him, I felt that same overwhelming love that I had for Sara, but this time I felt devastated too.
Handing him over was incredibly painful and I had to keep reminding myself that it was the right decision. ‘This is for him,’ I told the representative from the adoption agency, handing over a
