I met Stan at a Caldwell/Nampa High School football game the Fall of 1965 when we were junior high students. During his eighth grade basketball season at Jefferson Junior High, Stan gave me his "ring".  We were one another's first love--a love that has stood the test of time and trials. The summer after my junior year (Stan's sophomore year) I gave birth to our son at the old Nampa hospital.

Prior to my pregnancy becoming "public", I sewed empire-style dresses with center front panel fullness to cover my increasing size.  Pre-pregnancy I was a very thin 5'7. I remember one day in class my breasts began to leak--wetting clear through my bra and dress fabric. My classmate Steve B. (seated alphabetically we were often seated one in front of the other), tactfully and very kindly made me aware of the problem.

Once my family discovered my pregnancy, dad told me adoption was the only option.  My two older sisters were supportive during this time; but my younger sister, naturally, was embarrassed about my pregnancy. She was in the same class as Stan. Shopping by myself that summer, I bought two sleeveless maternity blouses and one pair of polyester pink shorts. I have bittersweet memories of those clothes and the dreamsicle bars Stan would buy me.

Adoption was not my first choice. I had every intention of keeping my child even after my father had made his decision. Spring and Summer of 1968 were filled with daydreams of a future for my child and me. Eventually, though, reality set in. The attending physician said he knew of a couple wanting to adopt and the adoption process was set in motion. As my time neared, I knew adoption would be best for our child.  However, knowing it didn't ease the pain of losing a child or letting go of my dreams of a future together.

Friday evening, July 19, 1968, Stan's sister, who was home from college, and his mother visited me at my parents' residence. Stan's sister brought me a magazine with an article about "open" adoption. After they left, I sat up in bed reading in earnest the adoption story. At some point during the night, I began to experience lower back pain.

At the Nampa hospital I remember lying on a table and being completely naïve about what was happening to my body. The nurses discussed me as if I wasn't even there. When my water broke, one nurse commented that "today's" girls were so knowledgeable about the process. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Water gushing from between my legs was a big surprise to me. I don't remember ever conversing with anyone or crying out. I do remember my father holding my hand until I began squeezing his very tightly and they wheeled me away.

Baby Boy Buettgenbach came into this world on July 20, 1968 at 6:45 a.m., weighing seven pounds. I clearly remember the nurses guessing at the time because they had failed to record it. After repeatedly asking to see him, my son was finally brought to my room. He was a beautiful baby with very short, light brown hair lying neatly on his sweet little head. Holding him and knowing I was losing him was totally overwhelming. Bursting into tears, I abruptly handed him back to the nurse. She was annoyed with me and commented that I never should have seen him. The next day, believing I had my emotions under control and desperately wanting to hold him once more, I asked to see my son. I was told I would not be allowed to see him again. I was crushed. I went to the nursery a few times, but his bassinet was apparently out of view.

About a week after giving birth to Baby Boy Buettgenbach, my parents arrived to take me home. I had been given curlers to set my freshly washed hair and a new sleeveless orange and cream checked culotte dress to wear. During the drive to Caldwell where we lived, dad made a stop I hadn't expected. It was a courtroom or an attorney's office and I was given papers to sign. I remember being humiliated that I was in curlers, devastated that I was signing away my child, and unable to face anyone in the room. I did glance up at one point peering through my tears at a woman who I assumed would be the mother of my child.

Stan and I married on December 31, 1970. Our children were told about their brother, Baby Boy Buettgenbach, when we felt they were old enough to understand.

I thought I would never forget anything about the day when I gave birth to my first child. The pain of losing my son was often too much to bear. As time passed, some information has grown fuzzy. Also with time, the pain has dimmed...

After acquiring our first internet capable computer, I began posting on as many search and reunion sites as I could find. I grew frustrated that there wasn't a single site for Idaho adoptees and birth families. In May of 2003 I decided to create the Idaho Registry for Adoptees and Birth Families. Searching for my son, I asked for help from adoption/reunion sites and obtained a list of possible names with his date of birth. I wrote a letter to each of them. A couple of the letters were returned with no forwarding address. One very kind young man wrote to say he was definitely not adopted but wished me luck. I received one telephone call but, after speaking with the adoptee's wife, it was obvious he was not my son. I gave up hope of ever finding my son and then I discovered Search-Finders of Idaho.

Lois of Search-Finders and I emailed numerous times during the end of June and early July. And then she called! She told me my son had been located and indicated that he was given my name and telephone number, but I shouldn't expect a call from him until the next day.

There are no words to cover the gamut of emotions I experienced, but clearly I was ecstatic! By noon the next day I was sure he wouldn't call. I paced and my husband Stan did his best to calm me. And then I worried. What would our son think of us? We had nothing to offer him but our love. Feeling defeated, I went outside to work in the backyard. Finally, about four in the afternoon the phone rang.

     Hello?

     Hi, my name is Doug...

     Yes...

     I guess we have a lot to talk about.

At this point, I jumped in with both feet! I remember I told him I loved him and always had. As I continued to talk, I could see my husband waving his arms wildly and giving me concerned looks. I am quite sure Stan thought I had lost my marbles, but I needed to tell Doug how I felt. I know I spoke rapidly--afraid Doug would hang up before I got it all out. I asked if we could meet--our home, his home, or somewhere neutral. Doug said he would bring his wife and son to our home that same afternoon. I couldn't believe it. He was actually willing to come to our home!

I can tell this story now with amusement. I stood in the living room, front door open, looking out the storm door. I watched as a young man, a woman and a boy walked up our driveway. And seeing this young man, I thought, oh my god, they’ve made a mistake! This isn’t my son! And then he opened the door, walked in and enveloped me in a bear hug. He seemed to know who I was even if I didn’t know him.

For almost 35 years I have had this image of what our son would look like. He would look like his brother--a Buettgenbach, my side of the family. Upstairs hanging on the wall, I have a framed print I bought. A blurred image of a young man I had always assumed resembled our birth son. Since the beginning the Registry I had counseled adoptees and birth mothers to not have any preconceived ideas or expectations of their lost ones. Obviously, I was not listening to myself. The funny thing is at the same time I was deciding there was a mistake, my husband, standing behind me, probably looked like he was seeing a ghost!

We moved to the family room where we seated the young family side by side on the couch. Sitting across from them, I remember them looking overwhelmed and lost. Or maybe just uncomfortable as my husband and I sat and stared at them. It quickly hit me that this young man was not a Buettgenbach, but he was definitely a Spence! Doug looks more like his Grandfather Spence than his dad or his Uncle Steve do!

Poor Doug! Stan and I began with the questions. Okay, maybe I was the only one firing questions at him.  Doug’s wife Anne, when Doug would falter, confidently responded to each question as if daring us to disapprove of anything about her husband. Or maybe just, this is who we are, accept us or… I admired her for it.

I hauled out a stack of family pictures and quickly realized they had no meaning for Doug. I inundated him with information that afternoon. My only excuse is I loved him without question and wanted to "get it all out on the table". My own "this is who we are, accept us or…" Well, please just accept us for who we are!

Before long our daughter Stacia and granddaughter CaitLynn arrived. More hugs and more staring! We discovered that Doug and his family only lived a short distance from us. His son Randall and Stacia's daughter CaitLynn knew each other from school. Stacia had immediately seen the family resemblance. As we sat and talked, Stacia was amazed at the similarities between her father and her brothers, Doug and Jed. Stan, Stacia and I were all struck with the eerie likeness of Doug’s eyes to his brother’s. In the days to follow we would comment on how Doug had his brother’s eyes and Doug would retort that, actually, his brother Jed had his eyes!

During the next week Doug came over and we talked just the two of us and I cried. To Doug I expressed my belief that we needed to be honest with one another even if it hurt sometimes. And sometimes it hurt… My grandson Randall would also come over and I loved my visits with him. I was impressed with Randall's openness and thrilled that he appeared to accept me as his grandmother.

The weekend after our first meeting, we celebrated Doug’s 35th birthday at our home. His sister, niece, maternal grandfather, step-grandmother, an aunt, a cousin and her spouse and their son also attended. I was so proud of Doug and wanted all of my family to meet him, but I felt a few at a time might be easier for him to handle. My birthday gift to my son was a notebook with pictures of his maternal and paternal grandparents, his birth parents and his siblings.

One evening as my husband and I sat in the family room, my husband appeared to have an epiphany. Forgive me Stan if these aren’t the exact words, but I believe he said, "You know, he is our son." My response was, "Well, duh!" I realized then that while I have missed my baby for 35 years, it was not as real for Stan. He never saw our son. He never had the intimacy of carrying him for nine months or holding him. I had been so absorbed in finding my son that it never occurred to me that Stan might never have felt the loss of our son. But now here Doug was and Stan loved and accepted him as our son.

Over the next couple of months if a few days would pass and I hadn’t heard from Doug, I was sure that he no longer wanted a relationship. And then he would come over and give me one of his bear hugs and all would be right with the world. I love his bear hugs! But I would be up and down. He likes me. He doesn’t like me.

I had prepared myself for the stages they say a reunited adoptee might go through. I was not prepared for what I felt. Overwhelming guilt. Guilt that I had robbed my son and his siblings of all those years together. Overwhelming anger. Anger that I had been robbed of my beautiful baby--my son--for almost 35 years. Feeling so much guilt and so angry with myself, I am became very depressed. I struggled. I am a lucky woman though. During our marriage my husband has seen me through more than one bout of depression. He has always been there waiting for me to work through it. And this time, I believe my birth son understood my depression and remained accepting and loving. I can’t change the past, but we have a future. I am learning to forgive myself.

And we are creating a past. We now have "memories" of our first Thanksgiving dinner together that also included a step-granddaughter, her spouse and three great step-grandchildren. Christmas Eve our son and his family joined us in opening one package, "jammies"--a family tradition. And waking Christmas morning together wearing those jammies, we opened presents and shared our traditional Christmas breakfast.

On December 31, 2003, Stan and I celebrated our 33rd wedding anniversary. We have three children—two sons, Douglas and Jared, and a daughter, Stacia—all of whom we love dearly. Stan and I are also the very proud grandparents of CaitLynn Muriel and Randall Wayne. And last, but never least, we have a beautiful daughter-in-law Anne who has brought to our family step-grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

We spend a lot of family time together now. We attend Randall's football games and wrestling matches and CaitLynn's basketball games. We are planning two vacations together this summer.

Finding my birth son has brought me such great pleasure. I love that big bear of a man--my baby! The time we spend together now can never be taken from me. I truly feel blessed!