On my mother’s side of my family, the Wickware/Watling side, we have two adoption stories. One began in 1950, and the other in 1994. The former was a secret until 1997, and the latter was recently documented in Deborah A. Brennan’s book Labours of Love: Canadians Talk About Adoption.

My maternal grandparents, Bernice (Bernie) Wickware and Eric Watling, grew up in Pembroke, Ontario. While very much in love, the two were forbidden by their parents to marry, because Bernie was Catholic and Eric was Protestant.  When Bernie became pregnant in 1950,  she told her family (except for two of her sisters, who knew the truth) that she was moving to Kingston for a job, and instead went to stay at a home for unwed mothers.  After her baby boy was born, Bernie went home to Pembroke and the child, named on the birth certificate as Lawrence, was put up for adoption.

Against their parents’ wishes, Bernie and Eric eloped in 1953, and for 5 years struggled to conceive, with no luck. In 1959, though, my mother, Cyndy, came along, followed by Lorie, Leslie, Bill and Lisa. Bernie and Eric had 5 children in six years. The Watling family grew up mostly in the Toronto area, with the children never having any idea that they had a long-lost brother.  In 1983, when my mother was a few weeks pregnant with me, Bernie and Eric were killed in a car crash as they were returning from a visit to Pembroke.  Devastated, over the next few years my mother and her siblings all settled down in the GTA, sticking close together in the wake of my grandparents’ untimely deaths.

When I was around seven my mother told my sisters and I that one of our great-aunts had told my Auntie Leslie that Grandmother and Grandaddy had given up a baby for adoption in 1950. Mum and her siblings debated whether or not to look for the man who was Baby Lawrence, but ultimately decided to let him find them, should he ever need or want to.

One day when I was in grade seven, I came home from school dying to use the phone, but was unable to because my mother was on it for what seemed like hours. When she finally resurfaced, it was to break the happy news that her long lost brother had found them! Renamed Hugh as a baby, he grew up an only child in Stoufville, about 45 minutes from where all of us lived. Uncle Hugh did not find out that he was adopted until he was 47 years old, and the only reason he ever did was because he overheard a phone conversation of his father’s. He tracked down my great-aunt Grace, who had the sad task of telling him about Bernie and Eric’s accident, but also got to break the happy news that the man who was an only child now had 5 full siblings. The six Watling children, with spouses and children in tow, had a very emotional first meeting in the Fall of 1997, and have been close ever since.

As Deborah A. Brennan wrote in Labours of Love:

“It is hard to imagine an adoption story that has no loss or pain, or any unanswered questions connected to it.”

My Uncle Hugh’s adoption story has all of the above, but my cousin Caroline’s story is the exact opposite. To read about the incredible story of how she came to be a part of my family, check out the chapter of Brennan’s book called “Destiny’s Child: The Watling Family, Markham, ON”.