The first time Diane Wheaton ever laid eyes on a biological relative, she was thirty-one years old. The relative? Her newborn baby daughter.
All her life, Diane wondered about where she came from. She wondered who she looked like. She wondered what her ethnicity was.She wondered where her love of art and writing came from. She looked into the faces of women she encountered, wondering if they were her birth mother. She writes, “I felt unrooted. I could’ve been born under a rock or more importantly, from another planet.”
Then she met her birth family, and she was able to stop wondering.