While I officially began my search journey in the late ’90s, I only started documenting my experiences online in 2006. As I prepared to launch a blog, I reflected on those earlier efforts and noted a significant gap in my records from 2008 and 2010. The year 2008 was particularly difficult for me, as that was when my mother succumbed to lung cancer. I found myself in a deep state of despair, questioning why I should dedicate 20-40 hours a week to helping others reunite with their families when I could not bring my own mother back. Thankfully, I eventually emerged from that dark place. Then, in 2010, I embarked on an intense and unusual search that resembled a storyline worthy of an episode from 48 Hours Mystery. The fallout from that experience led me to scale back my search efforts for the following year.
The search began with a post from a woman looking for her two sons, who had been taken by their father in 1977 when they were just 1 and 2 years old. Though she had briefly sought them out in the ’90s, it astonished me that she could spend over three decades without knowing where her boys were, what their childhood was like, or how they had turned out as adults.
To protect their identities, I have changed all the names…
Lara, just 14 when she ran away from a group home with her older boyfriend, gave birth to two sons within a year. The man who helped her escape ultimately took the boys away, leaving her with years of heartbreak. Because Lara had lied about her name and age on their birth certificates, the police dismissed her claims and offered little hope of reunion. As time went on, Lara built a new life, marrying and welcoming a daughter and grandchildren. Her new family was aware of her past and encouraged her to search again, igniting her desire to know what had become of her sons.
The search kicked off with surprising speed, and things quickly fell into place. By this time, the boys were now men in their 30s. I found the older son, Steve, within just a day. Because he was named after his father, I had to carefully differentiate between them, especially since both had lived in the same area and had their own brushes with the law. In stark contrast to the life Lara had created in California, Steve was grappling with challenges in a struggling area of Tennessee. It was clear from his social media presence that his life was far from what Lara had hoped for.
After several days without success in locating the younger son, Davey, I reached out to Steve at Lara’s request. The conversation unfolded as I had anticipated. Steve informed me that his father had told him their mother was deceased, but he seemed unfazed by this revelation. He shared that he was not on speaking terms with his father at the moment, and as we discussed Lara’s eagerness to reconnect, I asked if he had contact information for his brother, to which an uncomfortable silence followed. I was blindsided by Steve’s response: “What brother?”
Though Steve had few memories of his early childhood, he vaguely recognized another young child in their household. He had questioned his aunts and uncles about Davey, but they offered no information. Once he processed the shocking news, Steve realized that, despite their estrangement, the only answers he could find would have to come from his father. After hearing the entire story, he requested that I speak to his father to see if I could help reunite the siblings. In the meantime, Lara and Steve began to connect over the phone, eager to catch up on the decades they had missed.
Steven Sr. was a complex character. Aware of his history of exaggerations and fabrications, I approached our conversation with skepticism. As the saying goes, there are three sides to every love story—his, hers, and the truth. Steven claimed that the young and reckless Lara had abandoned him and their two young sons. He recounted that after about a year, he packed up his white station wagon—he even provided me with the license plate number—and headed south to Florida. Along the way, he picked up a hitchhiking couple who quickly became friends, united by the dream of starting fresh in the rapidly growing state.
He shared tales of working as a day laborer at a dairy in St. Petersburg, and how the five of them shared cramped living conditions: sometimes in a motel room when funds allowed, and other nights in his white station wagon. Eventually, the couple suggested that their living situation was untenable, warning Steve that the authorities might take his children away. They made him an offer he claimed he couldn’t refuse: his car and the youngest son in exchange for a promise not to alert the police. Steven didn’t even provide the couple with a birth certificate or his youngest son’s birth date. Remarkably, this man, who could recall details of a license plate from three decades past, couldn’t remember the names of the couple to whom he’d entrusted his most cherished gift.
Steve Jr. was heartbroken. In the span of just one week, he discovered that his mother was alive and living in California, and that he had a baby brother whom his father claimed he had given away to protect him. If his father had been honest, the possibility of uncovering what happened to this child seemed bleak. There would be no joyful reunion. Not only did Steve Jr. lack his brother’s real name and date of birth, but it’s likely that his new family never shared the story of how they became his parents.
This search left me with a lot on my mind. I was overwhelmed by troubled feelings and numerous unanswered questions. Could I truly believe Steven Sr.’s account? Did he sell this child, or was something even more horrific at play? As for Lara and Steve Jr., I don’t know where the relationship will go in the future. In one of her last messages to me regarding her communications with her son, Lena expressed, “I wish I could do something to lift him up, but I can only offer advice, encouragement, and information to help him find his brother.”
I’m truly sorry, Steve. I would do anything to change the outcome of this reunion.