Uncovering My True Origins After Losing My Parents

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Finding the truth hidden in our DNA can be life changing, but is it always worth knowing? Insight speaks with those who’ve made discoveries hidden in their genes, unpacks what DNA testing has meant for adoptees, and explores how some families are choosing between preventative genetic screening and life insurance. Watch DNA Doesn’t Lie Tuesday 13 May 8:30pm AEST or live on.

Forty three years after I was born, I discovered I was adopted.

It was a revelation that would change my understanding of my entire life and unleash a complex set of emotions for me to process.

In 1987, I overheard my relatives at a party talking about the fact that my sister was adopted.

I asked my mother about it. She admitted it was true but swore me to secrecy.

“But what about me?” I asked her.

“No, definitely not,” she replied. “You were mine. I had you back in 1960.”

She was adept at keeping secrets. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, her family grew to include nine children, though only three were her biological siblings. The other six were left by parents who went in search of employment and never came back.

Three adults stand outside for a family photo. One is holding a puppy.

Glenn only discovered the truth about his origins after his parents died in the early 2000s. Source: Supplied

When my parents passed away in 2002 and 2003, my sister, who had long suspected she may be adopted, found the truth.

Among the paperwork she received was an affidavit stating my parents had applied to adopt a second child to be a sibling for their adopted son.

That son was me.

My mother thought she’d lost me forever

With this revelation, my journey of self-discovery began.

My uncle, who had visited me and my mother in hospital soon after my birth, was in complete shock and insisted that I couldn’t be adopted. My mother had convinced the hospital to allow her to stay for a day so visiting relatives could meet ‘her’ newborn son.

In a time without social media or digital records, none of my mother’s circle had any reason to doubt her story.

Determined to find answers, I sought counselling and began searching for records related to my birth.

I obtained my original birth certificate, which listed my name as Peter. A journal entry from the Presbyterian Sisterhood Home in Melbourne, where my biological mother had stayed before giving birth, confirmed what I now knew: my adoptive parents were not my biological parents.

With this information, I reached out to my biological mother.

I wrote her a letter, and to my amazement, she responded quickly, arranging to meet me.

Her reaction was one of shock; upon being discharged from hospital, her father had told her that I had died at birth.

She had spent decades believing she had lost me forever.

I wrote my mother a letter, and to my amazement, she responded quickly.

Glenn Wilson

I cannot imagine the pain my biological mother must have endured, leaving her family in country Victoria, staying in Melbourne, and then returning home believing that her child had not survived.

The weight of that loss must have been unbearable.

Since our reunion, we have stayed in touch. I have met four of my half-siblings, and my world has expanded in ways I never could have anticipated.

Searching for my father

My biological mother spoke little about my father, though I was given the impression he was from England.

A journal entry from Presbyterian Sisterhood Home recorded his name. Despite my efforts, I have never been able to locate him through records like the electoral roll. Did he return to England? Was he even aware that I existed?

These are questions I thought would never be answered.

I had nearly given up hope when 12 years later, with the advancement in technology, I did a DNA test.

I shared the results with a Facebook group called Search Squad. Within a couple of days, a search angel from England contacted me to advise that he had located my father. He was still alive, in his 80s, and living five hours away from me in Victoria.

We met for the first time in May 2024.

We keep in regular contact and visit each other when we can. I also have met three more half-siblings.

People often ask me how I felt upon learning the truth about my origins at 43.

The emotions were complex: sadness that my parents hadn’t been able to tell me themselves, gratitude for the life they gave me, and a deep sense of loss for the years I didn’t know my true story.

My adoptive father had passed away with both Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, which led me to wonder if I or my three sons would inherit those conditions.

It reinforced to me the importance of knowing one’s family medical history.

‘My world has grown’

Now at 64, I feel a sense of closure. My journey of discovery is complete.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have found both my biological mother and father, who are still alive in their mid-80s, and to have been welcomed into an extended family that I never knew existed.

In addition to my sister who I grew up alongside, I now also have seven half-brothers and sisters in total from my biological parents’ other families. One of my half-sisters even attended my son’s wedding recently — it was a moment that symbolised just how much my world has grown.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know this: the past has shaped me, but it does not define me.

I move forward with gratitude for both the family that raised me and the family I have found along the way.

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