New York adoptees waiting for original birth certificates to arrive may be getting impatient. Well, there’s a good reason for the hold up.
Today I learned the New York State Bureau of Vital Records is experiencing significant delays in processing orders from adoptees and their descendants.
The news came from the New York Adoptee Rights Coalition. The coalition received an update from the New York State Department of Health Pre-Adoption Birth Certificate Unit. The update only applies to the areas of New York outside of New York City. Adoptees from the city follow a different process to apply for their OBCs.
State offices are operating with reduced staff and resources, the result of the state’s COVID-19 public health emergency.
Thousands of New York adoptees have ordered copies of original birth certificates.
How Orders for Original Birth Certificates Are Processed
As of August 5:
The bureau had completed the majority of applications received during the month of January.
Employees were processing requests that came via mail and VitalChek during the week of February 10-14.
Employees handle applications in the order in which they are received. They try to prioritize orders from senior citizens.
The bureau is working with the Office of Children and Family Services to develop a process for people born outside New York but adopted within the state. Applicants who fall in this category can expect to receive a letter from the Department of Health in a month or so.
Since New York’s historic adoptee rights law took effect January 15 of this year, thousands of New York adoptees have ordered copies of their original birth certificates. As of July 31, the bureau reported processing nearly 6,300 of the more than 9,700 applications received.
If you already applied for your OBC, do not contact the Department of Health for updates. Do not submit another application. Be patient.
Now that they have the legal right, New York adoptees are demanding their original birth certificates.
January 15 marked the start of a new era of adoption openness in the Empire State. On that day, a new law that gives adoptees the right to their original birth certificates took effect. Unlike other states that have unsealed birth certificates for some adoptees, New York provides the right to all adoptees, with no restrictions or conditions.
Since the law went into effect, the response has been overwhelming. Like a stampede, thousands of adoptees from all around the state have requested copies of their OBCs. By Jan. 17, the New York State Department of Health had received more than 3,600 requests for certified copies of OBCs, and that’s not counting the hundreds, maybe thousands, of requests from New York City adoptees.
New York adoptees finally gained the right to their original birth certificates under a new law that went into effect on January 15, 2020.
In the first two months since the law went live, more than 10,000 requests have been sent to the state and New York City combined.
Given that more than 19.4 million people call the Empire State home, it’s no wonder the law caused a major pileup.
Patience is required, my friends. It takes longer than a New York minute for birth certificate requests to be fulfilled. I heard a couple of people who submitted requests for birth certificates on Jan. 15 received their documents about one month later.
How To Request Birth Certificates from New York
At this time, New York City and New York State are not taking walk-in requests. On its website, the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene noted the need to limit the number of people gathered in one place as a protection against the coronavirus.
If you haven’t already requested a copy of your birth certificate, here’s what you need to do:
If you were adopted in the state of New York but not in New York City, the quickest way to apply is online at VitalChek’s website (www.VitalChek.com). You can also call the VitalChek Network at 877-456-7747. Warning: I called and the friendly recorded voice informed me that the wait time for connecting with a human being could be lengthy. For faster turnaround, New York State encourages everyone to use the online system. If you must fill out a paper application, go to the New York State Department of Health’s vital records site. Fill out the application and mail to: New York State Department of Health Bureau of Vital Records, PAC Unit PO Box 2602 Albany, NY 12220-2602. The fee is $45. If you have questions, send an email to AdopteeBillPublic@health.ny.gov
If you were adopted in New York City, you can request your birth certificate from VitalChek. You can learn more about the process at the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene’s website. According to the site, online orders take 10 to 15 business days to process while orders by mail can take up to 90 days. The fee for an online order is $15 for each certificate, plus an $8.30 processing fee for each order.
Adoptees Treasure Original Birth Certificates
You cannot put a price on the importance of these documents to adopted folks. Remember that many adults do not have their pre-adoption birth certificates because laws keep the records sealed. The most determined people have obtained court orders or taken other drastic steps to get their birth records.
OBCs are important because they reveal facts about birth parents that state governments and adoptive parents had concealed.
For other adoptees, birth certificates are not full of revelations. They simply confirm known facts, which in no way diminishes the document’s value. People who already know who their birth parents are and the circumstances that led to their adoptions still appreciate having the official document. Getting the birth certificate is like savoring the icing on a piece of cake.
For example, I know of a man who is happily united with blood relatives. While he probably didn’t learn anything new from the New York birth certificate, just obtaining the piece of paper made him feel “whole.”
New York adoptees are fortunate. Many states continue to treat adoptees like second-class citizens by keeping original birth certificates sealed. Unlike other states that have unsealed birth certificates for some adoptees, New York adopted a clean law that provides access to all adoptees, with no restrictions or conditions.
Big Reveal for Late Discovery Adoptee
Receiving the original birth certificate was my big “a-ha” moment, a revelation if ever there was one. On an unforgettable day in 2012, the OBC from the state of Illinois landed in my mailbox. Nervously I carried the thin white envelope to the kitchen, the sunniest room in my house. I wanted to see the truth under bright light. Tom was just as curious as I was. He and I stood together at the kitchen table, not knowing what we were about to find out.
Holding the document with both hands, I scanned it for a name. Seeing my birth mother’s name didn’t ring any bells. My first mother had not been a member of Mom’s family or anyone I’d known from school or the neighborhood. The birth certificate provided other details, each one fascinating, new and precious. My birth mother’s signature was not so much a fact as a detail that made her feel human and real.
I think of that day as the great unveiling. It was like a kindly stranger from Springfield, Illinois took me by the hand, walked me to a heavy curtain, lifted the curtain and showed me, for the first time, a truthful if incomplete picture of the first day of my life.
That was eight years ago. In 2020, people who were adopted in New York are having a-ha moments like I did. They are ripping open envelopes and marveling at the facts before them, or just enjoying the satisfaction that comes with having their birthright.
For adoptees searching for blood relatives, DNA tests can be powerful tools. I never would have confirmed my biological father’s identity without the benefit of DNA tests.
Yet these tests have limitations.
DNA tests don’t always work to prove Native American ancestry.
I may have a Native American ancestor. My birth mother, Lillian, told her children she had an Indian ancestor and showed the kids how to do what she said was an Indian rain dance.
Whether or not they are true, these tidbits pique my curiosity. Michelle, Lillian’s oldest daughter, thinks our mother looked somewhat Indian.
Just look at those high cheekbones, the dark hair and eyes, Michelle said. Gazing at pictures of Lillian, I see a white woman with high cheekbones, dark hair and eyes. I don’t see a Native American. Lillian’s ancestors came from Ireland.
My birth mother, Lillian, claimed she was part Indian.
I identify as the adopted child of two parents whose ancestors came from Poland and Germany and the biological child of two other parents whose ancestors came from Ireland and possibly Scotland.
Only recently did I learn about my biological parents. As an adoptee searching for my biological roots, I took two DNA tests from Family Tree DNA and Ancestry.
According to Family Tree DNA’s Family Finder test, 90 percent of my ancestry comes from the British Isles, with 9 percent from Southeastern Europe. Maybe I inherited only Lillian’s European DNA. Perhaps the Native American ancestor is a myth.
Indian Rumor Lives On in My Birth Mother’s Family
No doubt my birth mother, Lillian, heard the Indian story from someone in her large family. Whether or not they are true, stories like this take on a life of their own. At the Arvin-Armstrong family reunion in southern Indiana, one of my Arvin cousins mentioned the rumor about the Native American ancestor. None of the family genealogists have been able to prove it.
I added to the rumor by sharing a story about one of my blood relatives who is part Indian.
An Oklahoma City native, John and I are related on my maternal side. John’s parents were a mix of Irish, Scottish and Native American, his mother being part Choctaw and his father being part Muskogee. Their respective tribes accepted John’s parents as members. “Both of my parents had Indian roll numbers,” John said. “We all have black hair.”
John popped up as a match on Family Tree DNA’s Family Finder test. The test uses autosomal DNA, which is the blended mixture of genetic material that a person receives in equal amounts from both parents. Each person’s autosomal DNA is unique.
Perhaps my Native ancestry amounts to a few drops from a distant ancestor.
Indeed, that is what Elizabeth Warren discovered when she had her DNA analyzed. Warren retained an expert to dig deeper into her roots and the analysis concluded that she has an Indian ancestor. Warren’s pure Native American ancestor appeared to be “in the range of six to 10 generations ago,” said Carlos D. Bustamante, a Stanford University professor and DNA expert.
Proving Native American Ancestry is Tricky
Parents pass stories down from one generation to the next, leaving relatives to believe they have a Cherokee ancestor in the family. Yet DNA tests don’t always establish the Native American link. Genealogist Amie Bowser Tennant explains why DNA tests don’t reveal Native American ancestry.
As Henry Louis Gates Jr. and genealogist Meaghan E.H. Siekman point out, proving Native American heritage can be complicated. Each tribe is a sovereign nation with its own requirements for accepting members.
If my DNA tests had revealed a little Native American blood, I would have found it interesting, a tidbit that I could share at parties or at the next Arvin-Armstrong family reunion. Having Native ancestry would not change my sense of ethnic or racial identity.
I’d love to hear from adoptees who have discovered their Indian roots. Post comments on my blog!
Reading my birth mother Lillian’s letter is like looking inside a window to Lillian’s soul.
Eight months before she died in 1983, my birth mother wrote a six-page letter to her beloved sister, Donna. Lillian and Donna were not biological sisters but the absence of blood didn’t make their emotional connection anything less than strong.
Donna was one of the first people I called five or six years ago after I’d learned my birth mother’s identity. Donna spoke kindly of Lillian. After we talked, Donna sent me a big brown envelope containing photos of Lillian taken at different periods in her life.
Last month, Donna, her husband and I got together on my last night in Indiana, where I had traveled for a family reunion. As we sat and talked in the lobby of my hotel near the Indianapolis airport, Donna offered me Lillian’s original letter, which she had saved and photocopied. I took the copy, thinking Donna should keep the original since it was her letter and she had saved it all these years. I showed Donna photos of my biological father, Steve, thinking she might have met him on one of her visits to see Lillian in Northbrook. Donna didn’t recognize my biological father in the pictures.
We talked about Lillian’s difficult life in Indiana and unhappy years as a wife and mother in the suburbs of Chicago. I thanked Donna and her husband for meeting me and walked them to the door. We hugged. “I’ll call you next week,” I said, thinking I would have questions about Lillian’s letter.
Back in my hotel room, I read and re-read the letter. What the letter said and what it didn’t say intrigued me in equal parts.
Reading my Birth Mother’s letter
In neat handwriting that slanted to the right, Lillian gave Donna a glimpse into her world at the beginning of 1983.
She wrote about the horrible car accident that had left her youngest son, my brother, Fritz, with brain damage.
After being struck and dragged 75 feet by a car in July 1981, Fritz slipped into a coma that lasted for three weeks, Lillian wrote. When he came to, doctors discovered he had brain damage on the left side of his brain. Fritz spent five months in a hospital.
“He had to learn to walk, talk and eat again,” my birth mother wrote. “He’s doing pretty good now (but) his coordination on (his) left side (is) not too good. I’m trying to get him into a rehabilitation training center so he can learn to do things for himself. All in all it has been pretty rocky…”
Lillian wanted to visit Donna in Indiana but she felt like she couldn’t leave Fritz.
“I’d love to visit you all but I can’t leave Fritz alone and he has a tendency to get on people’s nerves, that aren’t used to him,” she wrote. “I was never too strong on patience but I’m sure learning all about it now.”
They had moved out of their longtime home on Alice Drive in Northbrook to escape “all the trouble,” Lillian wrote. The trouble included a fatal shooting in their old neighborhood followed by a robbery of the victim’s home. Lillian desperately wanted to get Fritz away from his old friends and drugs.
Back in the day when students learned penmanship…my birth mother had beautiful handwriting
My Birth Mother’s new home
Lillian and Fritz had moved to a home in a wooded area, with a big lake across the street. I think it was Slocum Lake in Island Lake, Illinois. Lillian, who grew up in rural Indiana, probably felt safer in a smaller town and maybe the lake appealed to her. After all, my birth mother fished occasionally.
Twice divorced, Lillian worried about money. She didn’t have a phone. While Fritz was hospitalized, she racked up a huge phone bill that took a while to pay off.
“I was doubtful I’d ever get the thing paid,” Lillian wrote. “I just got the last payment made on the house in Northbrook so that is done so now maybe I can get to other things that I couldn’t afford before such as a phone.”
Lillian offered newsy updates on Mike and Michelle, her other children, her granddaughter Chris, her friends and ex-husband, Howard. She asked about Donna’s family. My birth mother expressed awe that Donna’s daughter, Kim, was old enough to drive.
“She was a tiny little girl when last I saw her,” Lillian wrote.
My Birth Mother, the Indiana farm girl
As girls, Lillian and Donna lived together on a farm near Odon, Indiana. Lillian was a foster child. In the 1930s and ‘40s, Lillian’s struggling parents were too poor to take care of their big brood – around 12 children. Authorities placed Lillian and her siblings in the homes of foster parents in southern Indiana.
During her teen years, the late ‘40s and early ‘50s, Lillian lived with Donna’s family. Donna’s stern mother, Ruth, made it clear she expected Lillian to do housework and look after Donna, who was 13 or 14 years younger than Lillian. Ruth had her hands full with two other children and relied on Lillian to help out. My birthmother stepped up to the plate. Lillian took care of Donna like a mother and they formed a deep bond. After Lillian moved to Northbrook, she and Donna visited one another, usually with their families along.
My birth mother, Lillian, looked young and beautiful in this undated photo
Lillian confided in Donna when she learned she had breast cancer. The cancer was in an advanced state when Lillian was diagnosed a couple of years or so before she died. A surgeon removed a large tumor in my birth mother’s right breast along with lymph nodes in her arm. After surgery, my birth mother was unable to use her right arm normally.
Metastatic breast cancer had been eating away at my birth mother, causing discomfort, fatigue, depression and who knows what other symptoms. Lillian never mentioned her health in the letter. Maybe Lillian had accepted the prospect of dying with stoicism and was steeling herself for death and didn’t want to talk about it in the letter.
“I have thought of all of you so often and do love you all (but) just hate to write when there are problems and I usually have a one-track mind when there’s trouble,” she wrote. I “can’t think of anything else until I get that solved and don’t like to lay it on anyone else.”
Feeling connected to my Birth Mother
I knew my birth mother’s childhood had been difficult. Now in Lillian’s own words, in her own handwriting, I saw how difficult the end of her life had been. In 1983, I didn’t know I had another mother. My adoptive parents kept the truth about my adoption and my biological family hidden from me. I never had a chance to meet or get to know my birth mother. That’s why I find every detail about her life so fascinating. I feel connected to my birth mother.
Reading the letter, I felt sympathy for my birth mother’s situation. Sitting alone at my desk with the letter in front of me, I blinked my eyes and tears rolled down my cheeks. Several days later as I wrote this piece at my desk, I had to stop writing to take a walk across the hallway. Tears flowed.
My birth mother, Lillian, in an undated photo
Perhaps my birth mother would have told Donna more if they had talked on the phone. I think my birth mother wanted to talk. Lillian gave Donna an unlisted phone number for her friend, Nancy, in case Donna needed to reach her.
“I expect to get a phone in the next month but if for any reason before you would want to reach me, call Nancy,” she wrote.
My birth mother had given me up for adoption almost 20 years earlier. I don’t know if she ever thought about me over the years or in the final months of her life. She never mentioned me in the letter.
Donna wrote back to Lillian but the letter was returned. My birth mother was just 48 when she died at Lutheran General Hospital in November 1983. Fritz passed away in a nursing home in January 1985. He was 23.
[contextly_sidebar id=”JQm00X1vnKoMLvGeMPpWLwZKYoVACMqW”]I was a bundle of nerves as I drove to JFK to meet my sister, Stephanie, and niece, Rachel, for the first time. We made plans to spend three days together several months ago and while I felt good about these people, they nevertheless were strangers, unknown blood relatives that I found through DNA testing.
My search is over. A DNA test has confirmed the identity of my biological father.
I was beyond thrilled when I got the email from a woman I suspected was a close relative based on countless hours of detective work. She had taken a DNA test at my request.
“Tom, I found my biological father,” I told my husband, who was under the covers at 6 a.m. “Congratulations,” he murmured.
As an adoptee, I’ve been on a journey to uncover the truth about my original family. As I look back on 2015, meeting my sister, Michelle, and niece, Chrissy, stand out as high points.
Meeting a Newly-Discovered Half Sister
The reunion came about after many phone calls. During those calls, Michelle spoke candidly about her childhood, revealing the unvarnished truth about growing up as the only girl, with three brothers, a beloved father, Dick, and Lillian, our hard drinking, hard living bipolar mother who struggled to keep everything together. They all lived in a modest house in Northbrook, a leafy suburb 35 miles north of the bungalow where I grew up on the southwest side of Chicago. Without going into all the details, Michelle survived a lot of hard knocks.
I’ve heard adoptees searching for family should fish in many ponds so I’m casting my line in Ancestry’s pond, hoping I might net some clues about my blood relatives, especially those on my father’s side.
While most people were getting psyched for the Super Bowl on Sunday, I shopped for a DNA test from Ancestry.com.
I dove into the DNA pond a couple of years ago, purchasing the Family Tree DNA FamilyFinder test. The results did not turn up a father, brothers, sisters or first cousins, just distant cousins, hundreds of them. My experience is fairly typical. Very few people find a parent or sibling match directly through a DNA test.
Checking out my DNA matches at the kitchen table
Still, every week or so, Family Tree DNA uncovers a few new cousins and sends me their names. Which side of my family these relatives hail from and where they belong on the family tree is usually unclear.
Analyzing the results can be frustrating and time-consuming. Why didn’t I pay more attention to the genetics discussion in high school biology? If I had, maybe I’d have my DNA cousins sorted out. (Actually, all I remember about biology is the fetal pig dissection, which I delegated to my lab partner.)
The truth is I have not spent enough time with my test results. Too busy with my everyday life.
Despite my lazy approach, I have confirmed relationships with a number of cousins on my mother’s side, including several second cousins. I had the pleasure of speaking with Shannon, my second cousin once removed, on the phone recently. You have to be adopted to understand why it was exciting to speak to a blood relative, only the third one I’ve talked to in my entire life.
My biological son, Jake, is the only bio relative I’ve hugged and kissed in real life. My half-sister, Michelle, and I have never met in person but we talk frequently by phone and end each conversation by saying “Love you.” But that’s it for my blood relatives.
If you’re adopted and searching for family, you should give DNA testing a chance. Unlike me, you may have been riveted by your high school genetics lecture so sorting through DNA matches might come more naturally. Or maybe you have the time and patience for parsing the test results.
DNA tests cost around $99 each. While they are affordable for many of us, it never hurts to save a few bucks if you can. Through a Google search, I found a free shipping offer, which saved me almost $10 off the cost of the Ancestry test. Every penny counts, especially since I’m sure this won’t be the last DNA test I purchase. My fishing trip continues.
I am preoccupied with names. As an adoptee of course, I wonder what my name would have been if I had been raised by both of my natural parents.
I could have been a Winter had I grown up with Lillian and her husband as parents. Winter sounds kind of elegant, less common than Miller and not a name you associate with beer. (My high school geometry teacher used to greet me by saying “It’s Miller time.” That’s all I remember about geometry.)
Winter wasn’t my natural father. I think bio dad was some other guy, a nameless, faceless fellow who may remain a mystery to me forever.
Every time I log into my Family Tree DNA account, I look for new names among my living cousins and their ancestors. My bio father’s surname is in here somewhere but how to find it? Could he be a Smith, a Jones or a Wilson? Those are the top three surnames among my DNA matches.
Is my bio dad’s name here?
One of my new cousins contacted me recently. She comes from a family with many Millers and wanted to know about me. Bob Miller was my father but he adopted me so we don’t have any biological connection, at least not one I know about.
I have at least eight Millers among my DNA matches. If everyone explored their ancestry long enough, wouldn’t we all find at least a handful of Millers in the family? Seems likely. But wouldn’t it be funny if I found out there actually was a bio connection between me and Bob?
Either way, I like having a name that’s easy to say and spell. Miller reminds me of my wonderful father, the dad who drove me to school, played tennis with me and helped me learn to drive. Miller sounds friendlier and more approachable than Winter, don’t you think? Winter reminds me of Rebecca de Winter from the 1940 Hitchcock movie, Rebecca. The late Mrs. de Winter was beautiful and glamorous but more than a touch cold.
If you are not adopted, you take your birth certificate for granted. It’s a piece of paper you’ve had forever, with facts about your parents and your birth that you’ve known about all your life.
But if you’re adopted, the original birth certificate is like a piece of gold. I just got mine two years ago and feel lucky to have it. Without it, I would be completely in the dark about my birth mother Lillian’s identity, which is part of my identity, too.
That’s my original birth certificate
Many adopted adults can’t get their original birth certificates because of old-fashioned state laws that keep those records sealed. That’s not fair. I think other adoptees should be able to learn about their origins without having to jump through a million hoops or spend gobs of money.
I signed Sandy Musser’s petition, which would restore original birth certificates to adult adoptees. Sandy, an adoption reform activist, wants to take her petition straight to the White House. She hopes to convince President Obama to enact an executive order, which would restore the OBCs to every adult adoptee in America “in one fell swoop because it is a civil and constitutional right.” I’m with you, Sandy.
If you’re reading this, take a moment to add your name to Sandy’s petition. The more signatures, the more likely this drive will make a difference.
