Today, I wrapped up a week-long search for Brenda Goldstein (all names and places have been changed to protect family privacy). It all began on one of those nights when I felt particularly focused on myself, and I recognized the need to do something kind for another person. I visited one of my favorite websites that features stories of individuals seeking lost friends and loved ones. I often wonder how much faith these seekers have that the person—or someone who knows them—will actually see their message on the site. After careful consideration, I chose to help Peter, who was searching for his sister. It seemed he hadn’t seen her in years; the last detail he shared was the name of her high school, from which she graduated in 1962. The name was not very common, and he provided a middle name, which drew me in even more.
I was thrilled to discover that the Springman High School Class of 1962 had just celebrated their 50th reunion. As I researched the class, I noticed it was a small, close-knit group, yet there were five graduates with the same first name. I began comparing the photo of Brenda from 1962 with the images of these classmates, who had documented their lives on Facebook over the years. I thoroughly examined two possibilities, but their birthdays and life experiences didn’t align with what I knew about Brenda.
Over the next couple of evenings, I uncovered home telephone numbers for several classmates who appeared prominently in the reunion photos. It seemed they had played vital roles in organizing the event. I enjoyed lovely conversations with them, but unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to locate Brenda for the reunion—or even at past reunions. No one knew if she had moved away or if she had married. I felt stuck but appreciated the opportunity to connect with some wonderful members of the 1962 graduating class.
Just when I thought my efforts might be in vain, Peter mentioned a detail in his email. Some time ago, someone suggested the last name Stevens, maybe a George. Peter had reached out to a Stevens family but hadn’t received a response. This small piece of information became the key to finding Brenda Goldstein.
In the following days, I located a Stevens family. While it wasn’t the same one Peter had contacted, it was indeed the family of Brenda Goldstein Stevens. Once I realized I was on the right track, my determination intensified; I felt a close connection to this family. A typical search entails countless hours sifting through various websites, from Google searches to property records, as well as platforms that specialize in obituaries and gravesite listings. It was during this process that I discovered not just Brenda but also her beloved husband, Max, had passed away just a year before Brenda in 2005. If you’ve ever had the wind knocked out of you, you can imagine how I felt reading those details over and over, desperately hoping for a mistake. It was late, and I knew I needed to wait until the next day to continue.
The following step was to locate the children mentioned in the obituaries. Now adults with families of their own, these children had lost their grandparents long before their time. Facebook showcased the special moments, graduations, and weddings that Brenda and Max had missed. I sent messages, holding on to the hope that Peter could gain some closure about what had transpired with his sister over the fifty years they had been apart. At that point, Peter had asked me to reach out to them directly, eager for any news.
I had initially sent several Facebook messages, but my impatience got the best of me, leading me to make some phone calls as well. Often, the numbers I find are outdated, but I felt hopeful when a woman answered. At first, she hesitated to connect me with her husband, but once I explained the purpose of my call, she willingly handed the phone to Jeff—Brenda’s son. After extending my condolences for the loss of his parents, I confirmed that I had indeed found the right family. Jeff was open to hearing from his “uncle,” marking a bittersweet conclusion to another Search Angel story.