I didn't know I was adopted until I was 34 years old. The day I found out the truth was the day I began to find some sense in the world.

My brother called me up, and told me he'd found out some things. The strangeness and silence in our family had led him to ask some questions. He'd figured that he was the product of an affair, but he discovered he'd been adopted. He told me that he'd tracked down his records, and he said he'd never suspected it.

I was shocked. Then, my brother told me that he'd found out that I was adopted as well. This was an epiphany for me. Suddenly the world came into focus.

We told our adoptive parents. I searched. I found my birthmother, quickly, and we met.

Our meeting was friendly, but a little uncomfortable. No birth mother wants to hear that perhaps her decision didn't turn out so well. They want to believe that the ideal of a wonderful loving adoptive family and a better life for their child came true. When the truth is something different, there are problems.

My birth mother and I have persisted in our attempts to become friends. In the six years since that fateful call from my adoptive brother, we've gotten to know each other better and we see each other regularly. We aren't terribly close. I've also met my birth father, and I have another brother whom I've seen a few times.

It's not easy, but it's real.

Margaret Crane is an adoptee.