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Open Adoption in the News

We Are Family: Baby Lauren illustrates the latest trend in adoption, a level of openness that makes some uncomfortable.

Sunday, October 27, 2002
Stories by Brian Willoughby
The Columbian

The child had a private name: Belle, given in utero, whispered by Marcia Foster, a 28-year-old Portland-area single mother who knew she couldn't care for a second child.

"She's my love girl," Marcia said, late in pregnancy, patting her broad belly.

Then, at birth, the child was given a public name, Lauren, chosen by Paul and Judi Bulski of Felida, the baby's adoptive parents. Marcia chose the middle name: Alana.

"There's no real name for me yet," Marcia said, saying "birth mother" sounds too awkward and "aunt" doesn't feel quite right. "I don't know what I'm called."

No name, but certainly a place.

"Marcia is part of the family," Judi Bulski said. "She'll be part of Lauren's life forever."

Joining Lauren Alana Bulski's extended family are an adoptive sister, Brianna, 5, who was born through in-vitro-type fertilization due to Paul and Judi's infertility problems; and a half-brother, Dakota, 5, who is Marcia Foster's first child and remains with her.

This is open adoption at its most open.

Since about 1980, open adoptions have begun to displace traditional adoptions, especially for infants adopted through agencies or private attorneys. In open adoptions, birth mothers - and, less commonly, birth fathers - have knowledge of the adoptive parents.

Various studies indicate between 60 percent and 69 percent of adoptions now have some level of openness. Sometimes, it's nothing more than paperwork that describes the adoptive family. Often, it includes the annual exchange of letters and photos. Increasingly, it involves an ongoing relationship between birth parents and adoptive parents, as in the case with Marcia Foster and the Bulskis.

"It's a genuine relationship," said Shari Levine, executive director of Open Adoption and Family Services Inc. in Portland, the agency that handled Lauren's adoption. "I'd say 20 percent of open adoptions are like that, much more than one picture and letter a year."

Marcia Foster said she wouldn't have chosen adoption if openness weren't an option; she needed to know something of her daughter's future.

Robin Elizabeth Pope, an Oregon attorney and expert in open adoption, said that view is common among birth mothers here: "I tell (potential adoptive parents) if they're going to adopt, they better be prepared for them to be open adoptions."

Family choices

Five years ago, when Marcia Foster was faced with an unplanned pregnancy, the news was not unwelcome.

"My friends always knew I'd be a mother and always knew I wouldn't be married; I'm too independent," she said. "I knew I'd be alone, but that was OK."

With the help of family, working full time at a variety of jobs, moving into nicer apartments as her situation stabilized, Marcia has made a good life with Dakota. Still, some months, it has been difficult to make ends meet.

So on the day after New Year's this year, well into single motherhood and faced with a second unplanned pregnancy, Marcia had a different reaction.

"It was very bad," she said. "Having Dakota, I didn't know what to expect. Having a second child, I understood exactly what it would mean for all of us - for the child, for Dakota, for me."

Marcia's mother, 48-year-old Marcia Weimer, recalled her own response: "I thought, 'Oh no. What will happen to Dakota?'"

Marcia said she considered abortion, "but that's not something I could do." She also couldn't imagine raising two kids as a single mother, facing with paying $1,000 in monthly day care costs or quitting her job and going on welfare.

"Even if I had money, I still couldn't do it," she said. "I'm not what this baby needed. This child deserved a family, and I couldn't give it one."

In choosing adoption, Marcia had to overcome some family history.

In 1969, as a teenager in Montana, Weimer had given up her baby daughter - her first child, before Marcia - with no idea of the life the girl would have.

In the late 1980s, when Marcia Foster was in high school, the adopted daughter found Weimer in Oregon.

"It was not a good reunion," Weimer said, calling the secretive adoption process "not a good way."

Paul and Judi

College sweethearts who met on a recreational volleyball team, Paul and Judi Bulski grew up in Wisconsin. Engineering jobs brought them to the Pacific Northwest.

When it came time to start a family, the Bulskis ended up in a fertility clinic. Doctors used a procedure called intracytoplasmic injections to fertilize Judi's eggs with Paul's sperm.

Facing 50-50 odds, Paul and Judi got lucky on the first try, giving birth to Brianna after an uneventful pregnancy.

When Brianna turned 2, Judi said, "We though, 'Oh well, we'll just do it again.'" The simplicity of Judi's words belies months of pain: "Three tries, three fails."

With two good jobs, the Bulskis could afford the $10,000-per-attempt cost. The emotional toll, though, was too great.

"I wanted to keep it to a finite number of tries," Judi said. "I didn't want this to become our obsession."

So after the final failed attempt, Judi refocused her plan: "I have to have a mission; that's how I deal with grief." That mission: adoption, a notion that at first troubled Paul.

"To me, having someone else's child did not feel the same as my own children," he said. "That's babysitting for life."

As Judi dived into books, visited Web sites and interviewed adoption agencies and attorneys, she began to discard the picture of adoption she had learned about in her youth- babies given away in silence, with no contact between birth families and adoptive families. In its place, Jude grew more comfortable with the idea of open adoption.

Paul dealt with it mentally: "I finally realized that what I wanted to do was raise children. I didn't want to just give birth to a child; I want to raise a child."

"We took different paths, but we arrived at the same place," Judi said.

So it would be adoption, and it would be open.

"I didn't want lifelong secrets," Judi said. "I didn't want a child to have to grow up with a mission to find the hidden past."

'Dear Birth Mother'

Judi and Paul chose Open Adoption and Family Services in Portland.

Judi worked diligently on the paperwork- setting up home visits, having family photos taken, writing autobiographies, completing financial and reference checks, undergoing criminal checks- and it still took several months to complete. Costs eventually passed $18,500.

Finally, the Bulskis' "Dear Birth Mother" letter was added to the book given to pregnant women seeking homes for their children.

Such letters, a hallmark of open adoption, can be found on numerous Web sites. They paint pictures of happy couples- mostly straight, some gay, with a handful of single people also seeking to adopt- touting their lives, their homes, their stability and their love.

Experts say there are about three couples seeking adoption for every couple who adopt, so waiting often is part of the process.

Paul and Judi began waiting in the middle of the summer of 2001. By late winter of this year- nearly the length of an actual pregnancy- Paul was certain no birth mother would pick them.

Paul's doubts coincided with Marcia's certainty: Unbeknownst to the Bulskis, Marcia had chosen them as the people who would raise her baby, continuing the paperwork with the agency that would lead to a meeting between Marcia and the Bulskis in the spring of this year.

Marcia said she chose Paul and Judi based on their stable careers, record of parenting with Brianna, their active lives and Paul's love of sports and outdoor activities.

Judi, Paul, Marcia and Marcia's mother met in late May, when Marcia was about six months pregnant.

"When I didn't know who the birth mother was, I pictured her as being a problem in our lives, someone who might hurt us," Judi said. "Then I met Marcia and my fears dissolved. She wasn't someone to be afraid of; she was someone who could be a friend, someone I'm proud to know."

Marcia, too, felt the bond.

"At one point in that first meeting, I said something about Dakota's going to be a big brother, and they said, 'He will still be,'" Marcia said. "I started to get teary-eyed on that."

With the choice made, state health care covered Marcia's medical expenses, while the agency provided support services and counseling for Marcia and the Bulskis.

The families continued to meet, hosting barbeques and other gatherings. Judi began attending Marcia's medical appointments, and everyone focused on the late-August due date.

From one to another

On Aug. 24, the day after Lauren's birth, Marcia Foster snuggled with the newborn at the hospital, pressing her face into the girl's cheek, skin against skin.

"I leaned in close and told her she was my love girl, just kept whispering it in her ear," Marcia said. "She slept with me all night; I wanted to be as close to her as I possibly could."

Judi, Paul and Brianna were at the hospital when Lauren was born, meeting the baby moments after delivery.

Judi said friends and family were worried about Marcia having contact with the baby during the weekend. "They said, 'You mean the baby's with her all that time? Aren't you afraid she'll decide to keep her?'"

For Judi, though, the feeling was just the opposite. "That was Marcia's moment. I have a lifetime; she just had three days."

Marcia calls this the most difficult year of her life, and those three days were the most difficult days of this difficult year. Still, she found a level of peace.

"I saw the love in Paul and Judi's eyes the first time they saw the baby, and I knew for sure I was doing the right thing," she said. "I wouldn't give my baby to anybody else in the world."

Still, Marcia's pain filled the room Sunday, the day Lauren would leave with the Bulskis; everyone felt it.

Marcia had wanted to strap the baby into its car seat, a symbol for her of sending Lauren safely into her new life. But the buckle was difficult to snap, and Paul stepped in to help.

"Paul kinda took over," Marcia said. "I know it's his daughter, and he wants her to be safe- and I want him to want that- but I wish that would have been different."

Paul's emotions, too, were clear that day; his concern about the difference between a biological child and an adopted child had disappeared. "I looked at Lauren and knew this had nothing to do with DNA. I was completely in love with her."

Judi, while overjoyed about Lauren, was terribly sad.

"I felt like I had torn out Marcia's heart and stomped on it," she said, recalling the moment a few weeks later. "I still do."

'She's the mom'

In the first seven weeks of Lauren's life, Marcia has visited the Bulskis seven times. They've had lunches, dinners and afternoon teas.

At every gathering, Marcia makes a point of acknowledging Judi as Lauren's mother. She's the mom," Marcia told one waitress who asked about the baby.

Judi says there are awkward moments- "I still don't know how to accept parenting advice from Marcia"- but she knows those will smooth over as routines become normal.

Both Judi and Marcia say they are surrounded by people who don't understand the notion of open adoption.

"I finally had to tell my mom hat she needed to do some reading about this- and my mom and I are close; we don't speak that way to each other," Judi said. "She had all the fears people have, but now she understands much better."

Marcia doesn't deal with other people's fear but rather their judgments.

"They say all the right things, but I know they're thinking, 'How could she do that? How could she giver her baby away?'" Marcia said. "They think it's a weakness in me, but I know what a strong thing I did."

"Marcia has the hardest part here," Judi agreed. "Her strength amazes me."

While all are certain the adoption will be finalized by the courts before the end of the year, some loose ends remain. Lauren's birth father has signed all the necessary paperwork for the adoption to proceed; however, he remains an unknown factor, having already canceled one planned meeting with the baby.

"I do worry about him, about his ability to hurt Lauren, to promise something and then let her down," Judi said. "That's something we'll be watching closely."

For Marcia, the pain remains. She cries sometimes when she sees other mothers with babies. She aches each time she sees Lauren, and she remembers how hard it was in the hospital, giving her away.

"That literally broke my heart, but it also repaired it," Marcia said. "There's no doubt in my mind that this is the best choice for Lauren.

"Some people call pregnancies like this a miracle," Marcia added. "This was never a mistake. This was suppose to happen, with Paul and Judi and Brianna and Lauren and Dakota and me; it happened exactly the way it was meant to be."

Openness can help adoptions succeed.

Robin Elizabeth Pope, a Portland attorney and expert on open adoption, speaks to many groups of prospective adoptive parents. A good portion of her work is calming fears.

The No. 1 fear is that a birth mother will change her mind and want to keep the baby, and that does happen. But Pope says the more open the adoption is, and the more counseling and support services that are provided, the more likely the adoption will be a success.

Open adoptions fail between 10 percent and 20 percent of the time, usually shortly before birth, at birth or shortly after birth.

When things proceed as planed, a "certificate of irrevocability" is signed by birth parents at the hospital, with a final "judgment of adoption" coming in three to six months. Such agreements can be terminated based only on issues of fraud or duress, with a one-year statute of limitations. After placement, fewer than 2 percent of open adoptions are terminated.

Pope recalls a time in the 1980s when laws didn't support open adoption, prompting her to create what she called "moral agreements" between birth parents and adoptive parents. Now, the law fully supports open adoptions, making them as binding as any other type of adoption.

Views vary on open adoption, but the trend continues

Columbian staff writer

For some, open adoption is a loving and humane change to old-fashioned adoption practices veiled in secrecy and shame.

But one national critic calls it "ethically impermissible human experimentation."

Others say it's a system, like any system, that can knowingly or unknowingly be harmful or damaging.

"There are good and bad examples" of any type of adoption, said Rita Simon, an adoption expert and professor at American University in Washington, D.C. Success, she said, is tied to the level of love and nurturing given to the child.

Confidential adoption and sealed records began early in the 20th century. By the early 1950s, almost every state had adoption statutes that called for complete anonymity for the birth parents.

Open adoption arose in the late 1970s, prompted by a variety of advocacy groups working on behalf of adoptees and birth parents. The stated goal was to break down walls between birth mothers and adoptive parents.

"Shame prevailed and (birth mothers) were held in really low regard," said Jim Gritter, a child welfare supervisor in Traverse City, Mich., who is considered a pioneer in open adoption. "They had broken the mores of the community, and adoption was the price they had to pay for their transgression."

Gritter, though, found birth parents to be "really outstanding people." He added, "I began to feel like I was an accomplice to a process that was really destructive."

Gritter and others started bringing birth and adoptive parents together to discuss each child's future.

The relationships were powerful, Gritter said, because the two groups "discovered a common ground of loss"- losses brought about typically by an inability to conceive on one side and an inability to parent on the other.

"These two groups that one were treated like oil and water developed a mutual respect that was almost instantaneous," Gritter said.

Nowadays in private agency and independent adoptions, between 60 percent and 69 percent of birth parents have met the adoptive parents. In some cases, contact ends there. Beyond that is a spectrum of openness, from exchanges of annual photos to annual meetings to regular contact.

Those uncomfortable with such openness often choose other forms of adoption, including going overseas, a process that remains rooted in the world of traditional adoptions- though it, too, has begun to change, with some open adoptions now happening in South Korea.

Opposing views

While open adoption advocates tout it as a humane and caring approach, critics see it otherwise.

William Pierce is the national critic who called open adoption "ethically impermissible human experimentation."

Pierce, who like Gritter, has three decades of experience with adoption policies, said closed adoption serves children well and the benefits of the "so-called openness" of open adoptions have yet to be proven.

"With traditional adoptions, in terms of outcomes for those children, they do very, very well," he said. "You don't find a lot of sad, unhappy, dysfunctional people who are talking about the fact that they don't have a sense of identity."

Pierce said open adoption leads to confusion for children.

"Children do not understand adoption," he said. "We are asking children to understand the concepts of birth mothers and unplanned pregnancies- not just the mechanics of sexual reproduction but the human context of broken hears and illegitimacy. Little kids don't understand those things. Even among adolescents, it takes a pretty bright person to really understand those things."

Mary Beth Style, a Virginia social worker in the adoption field for 22 years, agrees with Pierce.

For birth mothers, Style said, ongoing contact with the adopted child reopens wounds and doesn't allow the birth mother to grieve properly and move on with her own life.

For children, Style said, the openness of open adoption introduces a complex concept "way too early in a child's life. The child ends up with fears, often unspoken; if (the child) could lose one parent, (he or she) could lose another."

Gritter, one of the open-adoption pioneers, disagrees: "If I'm up against something tough, I'll cope with it way better being informed than if I'm in the dark. It cannot be in the best interest of kids to routinely keep them in the dark. How can that be a child-honoring practice?"

Dawn Smith-Pliner has been in the adoption field for 20 years in Vermont. As director of Friends in Adoption, she oversees 40 to 50 open adoptions each year.

"You take away the fear (of adoption) and replace it with reality," she said. "Then you let the adults determine their own comfort with their relationship. If fear still exists, it's not a good match."

Does that mean open adoption is perfect?

"Absolutely not," Smith-Pliner said. "No one can look into the future and predict what might or might not happen. There are tough years, and these things can fracture in a heartbeat. With adoption, as with anything, you need to enter with your eyes wide open and take off those rose-colored glasses."