Separated at birth: ‘if I kept my child, I could never return home’

The B.C. Catholic begins a multi-part series exploring Canada’s little-known history of forcing single mothers to give up their babies to adoption. In Part 1, Bernadette Dumas-Rymer shares her story. See links to additional stories at the end. Next week, the Senate report that called for an apology, and a new documentary that examines one of the biggest secrets in Canada’s history.

In 1970, I lost my only child to forced adoption.

This experience at age 19 had a pervasive and lifelong impact on me which determined the course of my life. I am now 70 years old. The loss of my baby and subsequently the loss of my grandchildren haunts me to this day.

My family lived in Sydney, Australia. We were a large family of 11 children, our parents being wealthy, devout Catholics. At the time, my two oldest sisters were married and were in the early stages of their first pregnancy. As I was not married, my parents were horrified and shamed by my pregnancy. If they had sent me away alone somewhere, it would have looked very suspicious. So to keep my “situation” a secret, in November 1969 they brought all nine of my unmarried siblings to Vancouver for a five-month “holiday.”

Within days of arriving in Vancouver, my parents took me to the United Church Home for Unmarried Mothers in Burnaby, where I stayed until the birth of my child. They did not place me in the Catholic maternity home because “someone might find out.” They did not want my baby, and they did not want anyone to know about my baby. They forbade me from talking to anyone about this situation. They also made it adamantly clear to me that if I kept my child, I could never return to Australia, and I could never again contact my family or friends.

Life in the maternity home

Life in the maternity home was very restricted: visitors, mail, and telephone calls were censored, and rules, regulations, and schedules were strict and rigid. I was instructed to use my first name only and prohibited from revealing my last name, sharing any identifying family information, or developing friendships with other mothers. I was obliged to buy a cheap “wedding ring” and always wear it outside the maternity home so that no one would know my “shame.”

In accordance with Canada’s post-WWII forced adoption mandate, the social worker from Catholic Charities who visited me once a month, maternity home staff, and my parents were relentless in their insistence that I place my child for adoption. Healthy white babies were a hot commodity on the adoption market and many childless couples were waiting to adopt my baby. Adoption was presented as the only option. 

I felt ashamed, guilty, scared, confused, rejected, abandoned, isolated, unworthy, and dehumanized.  I was extremely sad and very lonely because I could not share these feelings with anyone, ever. 

Information withheld and information given

No information was ever shared with me about my human or legal rights, for myself or for my child during my pregnancy, at her birth, or afterwards. I had no legal representation. I was never informed of B.C.’s mandatory revocation period, which allowed me to revoke my consent within 30 days of signing the adoption papers and which also made adoption valid only if the baby was at least 10 days old when consent was given. Nor was I informed of programs and services that were available to single mothers at that time.

It was repeatedly emphasized that because of my sins and the shame I had brought on my family for having a child outside of wedlock that my forgiveness and redemption could only be achieved by signing the adoption papers.

The messages were delivered through constant reinforcement:

• My baby was never referred to as “your baby” but rather as “it” or “the baby.”
• I was told “the baby” deserved better than me and needed two parents; I was “not fit to be a mother” and “not capable” of caring for the child.
• I would be selfish and immature if I kept “it.”
• It would be like having my appendix out. “It” would be gone, and I would never think about “it” again.
• I could never tell anyone about this because “You are damaged goods and if any man finds out he will never marry you.”
• One day, they said, I will marry and have “real” children and then be a “real” mother.
• The only way to redeem my sins was to sign the adoption papers.

A social worker from Catholic Charities promised me that “the baby” would be adopted by a happily married Catholic couple who would be able to provide for all her needs; she would become part of their family as if she was born to them; she would never know anything different; she would never remember me and never know she was adopted.

All these messages and promises made were in contradiction to the information and research available to health-care providers and social workers at the time (research dating back to since 1928) detailing the severe and long-lasting emotional and psychological consequences of forced separation on both mother and child:

• Mothers always remember and grieve for their babies.
• Most adoptees wonder why they are different from their adoptive parents and feel that they don’t fit in with their adoptive families. Many adoptees admit that they always knew they were adopted even if it was never revealed to them.

During that time period, social workers were directed by their authorities to not share the above information with expectant mothers, and to convince them to agree to adoption.

Injustices at birth

Without my permission or knowledge or being informed of my rights, I was subjected to multiple injustices which today would likely be considered “crimes against humanity.” These injustices included but were not limited to:

• Observation and physical examinations by numerous medical students during every pre-natal visit.
• Being left alone during my 25-hour labour. A nurse checked on me only every few hours.
• Being physically restrained on the delivery table.
• Only being permitted to hold my baby briefly before she was taken from me. I screamed for my baby when they did not bring her to my room as I had requested.
• Having psychotropic medications administered to help me “feel better.” (Years later I found out that these drugs were barbiturates administered to induce a twilight zone response and therefore reduce my opposition.)
• Having cancer-causing (DES) lactation suppressants administered and having my breasts bound tightly with breast binders to prevent lactation.

After leaving the hospital, I cried all day and night for my baby. I was not allowed to return to the maternity home to visit with the other women. My few belongings were packed in a bag and left outside the front door. There was no further contact with anyone at the maternity home.

During the signing of the adoption papers, the social worker covered up all information on the document except for the one line on which I was to sign my name. I asked the social worker if I could read the information, but she refused to show it to me.

In 2010, I was finally strong enough to apply for copies of my child’s adoption papers and was able to read the adoption documents, including the statements which the social worker had covered up with her hand and refused to show me: “Bernadette has no interest in raising her child,” and “Bernadette does not want the baby’s father to know about the baby.” Both these statements, and others in the document, were false as I had many times tried to tell my parents and the social worker from Catholic Charities that I did want to keep my baby and I did want her father to know about her. 

I was stunned and re-traumatized by the inaccurate and false information in the adoption document, which was certified as true information on a legal document. This revelation caused me to question other information included in the adoption document, as well as comments made by a few people and events that I gradually recalled over the years. This revelation set me on the path to seek and find the truth of the events surrounding my baby’s adoption.

Life after adoption: the terrible truth 

Immediately after signing the adoption papers, we went to the airport to return to Australia.

Grief counselling was never offered before, during, or after my child’s birth. There was no further contact with the social worker from Catholic Charities in Vancouver.

The day we arrived back in Sydney was the hardest day of my life. The event is emblazoned in my memory and in every cell in my body. When I tell this story to my friends in the adoption loss community, they are moved to sobbing.

On that day were the baptisms, which I was obliged to attend, of my nephew who was eight weeks old, and my niece who was four weeks old. My daughter was two weeks old. When standing in the driveway before entering our house, my father directed me: “Go into the house, congratulate your sisters and be happy for them. And remember never, ever tell anyone, for you are damaged goods.”

Like a programmed robot, I followed his direction.

The instant I saw those two beautiful babies laying side by side, my heart exploded with pain and I retreated into a glass telephone booth which became my sanctuary for 38 years: no one could reach into me and I could not reach out to anyone.

I returned to family life in Australia trying to live “as if nothing had ever happened.” I was in shock and I was traumatized from the loss of my baby and the harsh and inhumane treatment during that time.

No one ever talked to me about my child or my experience. My loss and grief were never recognized by anyone. I developed PTSD and I was suicidal for years. I lived in terror that if I had another child someone would steal that baby too. So, I made a conscious choice to never have another child.

My life was a lie. I lived in shame, guilt, and secrecy which had profound ramifications on my life. Until my mid-40s I was unable to develop any meaningful relationships. My only way of survival was to remain insulated inside that glass telephone booth and bury my grief and trauma so deeply inside myself that I could not, dared not, reach down into it for 38 years.

The promises that I would forget all about my child and never think about her again were false. I never forgot my child, not for one moment, or one day for the past 50 years.

In 1972, my family immigrated to Canada. Over the years I watched in numbed silence as my siblings married and had children, growing our extended family to 55 grandchildren – not including my child, because to the rest of my family she did not to exist.

The 55 recognized grandchildren included seven children adopted into our family. I was continually dismayed and further traumatized as I observed how the adopted children were wholeheartedly welcomed into our family, while my child was not welcome and never referred to again.

While I am happy for my siblings that they have wonderful and fulfilling family lives with their children and grandchildren, every encounter I have with them is a daggered reminder that my child and now my grandchildren were taken from me without my informed consent.

In 1991, I was reunited with my daughter. She told me that although her adoptive parents never told her, she always knew she was adopted. She met her first family and my siblings and many of her cousins, and she attended several family events. After one family event, my daughter asked me about my parents (her grandparents).

She asked: “Of all their 56 grandchildren, why was I the only one who was not good enough for them? Why was I the only one they threw away?”

Tragically, eight years ago my daughter decided she did not want me in her life anymore.     

In the past 12 years, three of my nephews have died in tragic circumstances. Relatives and friends travelled from all over the world to attend the funerals. It was right and loving that my nephews’ lives be celebrated and honoured, and that my siblings, their parents, and families received this support during their time of grieving.

However, throughout all these three events I kept thinking: “Of course, we should offer support and love to my siblings and their families during this tragic time. But I lost my child too, and not one person – not one – ever recognized or acknowledged my loss. This is called “disenfranchised grief,” or grief that is not acknowledged by society.

The healing

My healing journey began in 2008, when I attended my first adoption loss and grief support meeting with the B.C.-based Forget Me Not Family Society.

Over time and after years of monthly support meetings, self-education by reading books and research articles, and attending many adoption-related conferences, I came to the realization that my story and my child’s story was also the story of hundreds of thousands of other mothers and adoptees in post-Second World War Canada. My heart broke again when I realized that the lifelong trauma, loss, and grief of forced adoptions were experienced by so many adoptees and mothers.

Since 2008, I have been actively involved in a worldwide web of groups and organizations whose mission is to educate and support those impacted by loss, grief, and trauma of forced adoption in Canada, the U.S., Australia, and several other First World countries.

As part of my healing process and to help others seek and find their truth and their path to healing, I have developed and presented many formal and informal seminars and workshops to university students and professors, social workers, prospective adoptive parents, and many other groups.

I have written numerous articles for magazines and newspapers and participated in online discussions and radio interviews. My story was featured in the documentary Mum’s the Word: Uncovering Canada’s Dark History of Forced Adoptions in March.

Throughout this healing process, I developed a relentless urge to seek truth, justice, and reconciliation, not just for myself and my child, but also for the hundreds of thousands of other mothers and adoptees who were forcibly separated by Canada’s official adoption mandate.

I have come to realize that in order to truly heal, I must speak, act, and live my truth, which involves telling my story and supporting other mothers and adoptees in their search for their truth and in telling their stories, so that together we can seek justice and reconciliation.

“If you don’t live your truth, it will eat at you and it will find you, whether you want it to or not.” — Anonymous

Bernadette Dumas-Rymer is a retired speech-language pathologist and currently vice-president of the Forget Me Not Family Society. She is a passionate adoption truth and transparency advocate, dedicated to educating and supporting those impacted by adoption in their healing and reunion process. She lives in Williams Lake, B.C.