Ken’s birth parents: Vita and Lee O’Brien.
In a world full of bad news and hopelessness, it’s always refreshing to hear a “feel good” story that brings joy and optimism, and restores your faith in a God who answers prayers. Here’s a true story of hope.
In 1978, I met my husband, Ken Woodward. Upon meeting, we began to talk about our childhoods. He told me that he was born in 1950, and weighed only 2 lbs. It’s a miracle he survived, because back then, the technology used today didn’t exist.
Unfortunately, Ken’s biological parents chose to put him up for adoption. At six months old, he was adopted by a very special couple, who loved him dearly and raised him in a stable environment. They lived in Lafayette, La. He was told he had other siblings, but they were put up for adoption, also.
Life happened. Time went by. We were married, and had three beautiful children. Ken’s adopted father passed away in 2000. Ken was going through his dad’s belongings when he came across his adoption papers. Ken discovered that his name wasn’t actually Ken Woodward, but Patrick O’Brien, and that his birth parents were from New Iberia, La., such a short distance from Lafayette, where he grew up.
This sparked Ken’s curiosity, so he tried to find his parents. Much to his dismay, they had already passed away. We went on with our lives, raising kids, being involved with our church. We really didn’t talk about the past much. There was nothing left to pursue in regards to his birth family — or so we thought.
In the fall of 2014, Ken was mowing our lawn. It was just another day. There was a new family that had moved in across the street from us, and the man of the house, Glenn, came over to introduce himself. He told Ken he was originally from New Iberia. Ken then told him about his adoption, and that his birth parents were O’Brien’s from New Iberia.
Glenn said he knew some O’Briens, and that he would mention it to them and see if they knew the particular family Ken told him about. They shook hands, and went on about their business.
Three days later, the phone rang. The caller said, “Ken, my name is Frances. I am your sister!”
We were floored.
Ken’s late brother Leroy O’Brien (left) and Ken.
Our new neighbor had been raised with Ken’s biological siblings. Ken now had two sisters and a brother. Ken’s siblings weren’t put up for adoption, as he’d been told, and they’d always wondered what happened to their brother. For some unexplained reason, they were given no information about his adoption, but he was never forgotten.
One week later, Ken was reunited with his two sisters, Frances O’Brien Pete and Suzette O’Brien Lussen. Sadly, his brother, Leroy O’Brien, had passed away four months earlier, but we were able to meet his wife, Jeanette.
Numerous stories and pictures were exchanged, and many tears were shed during this reunion, 64 years in the making. Our small family of six grew to a whopping 25 and counting.
And it all started with a simple, friendly conversation between neighbors.
Our new family gets together often. When we do, it feels like we were never apart. Our lives will never be the same.
Comments are closed.