Today marks fifty years since my adoptive mother, Pearl Berkowitz, passed away...
She died of cancer at the age of fifty-two. I was fourteen at the time.
It was my adoptive parents, Nathan and Pearl, who took me home from the hospital and raised me. They gave me lots of love and tried their best to provide me with a good home. They weren't perfect. No parents are. But they showed great patience as I tested their love to the limit with my bizarre behavior. At times they would weep because I was such a mixed up, troubled child.
Unfortunately, however, some forty years after my arrest there is still a lot of misinformation concerning the circumstances of my birth, and my adoption. This includes my relationship with my birth mother.
I have written about this many times throughout the years, including a number of entries that are scattered within my online journal. I've spoken about it publicly as well. Yet no matter what I do, both the media and those so called talking-head "experts" always seem to get it wrong.
I was born out of wedlock to a Jewish couple, Betty and Joe. At the time Betty was married to a man by the name of Tony Falco, but Tony had run off with another woman and abandoned my mother well before I was born. Later she'd meet Joe, a Jewish businessman with a wife and three kids of his own. They had an affair. It was a long-running one which lasted until Joe died, and their relationship had been going on for many years before my Mom became pregnant with me.
I was definitely NOT the product of a back seat of a car "quickie," as the media always portrays it in their many documentaries, including some recent ones. My mother was close to forty years old when she gave birth to me. She had her own apartment too where she successfully raised my half-sister, whom I didn't know I had until I met my Mom for the first time.
My sister was thirteen years older than me, and it was an indescribable joy to meet her, and to learn I had a sibling. I grew up an only child and always wanted a brother or sister. Now my wish had come true, albeit a couple of decades later.
In addition, I got to meet my brother-in-law for the first time, too. He was a friendly, hard-working husband and provider for my sister and nieces. As for my nieces, however, it was like seeing and meeting two angels. How I miss them!
Words cannot describe the pain, grief, and regret I have. I haven't seen any of them in close to forty years, as I have long been estranged from both my birth and adoptive families. I live in continuous anguish knowing that I hurt, disappointed, embarrassed and shamed all those who loved me.
More tomorrow...
D. B.
It was my adoptive parents, Nathan and Pearl, who took me home from the hospital and raised me. They gave me lots of love and tried their best to provide me with a good home. They weren't perfect. No parents are. But they showed great patience as I tested their love to the limit with my bizarre behavior. At times they would weep because I was such a mixed up, troubled child.
Unfortunately, however, some forty years after my arrest there is still a lot of misinformation concerning the circumstances of my birth, and my adoption. This includes my relationship with my birth mother.
I have written about this many times throughout the years, including a number of entries that are scattered within my online journal. I've spoken about it publicly as well. Yet no matter what I do, both the media and those so called talking-head "experts" always seem to get it wrong.
I was born out of wedlock to a Jewish couple, Betty and Joe. At the time Betty was married to a man by the name of Tony Falco, but Tony had run off with another woman and abandoned my mother well before I was born. Later she'd meet Joe, a Jewish businessman with a wife and three kids of his own. They had an affair. It was a long-running one which lasted until Joe died, and their relationship had been going on for many years before my Mom became pregnant with me.
I was definitely NOT the product of a back seat of a car "quickie," as the media always portrays it in their many documentaries, including some recent ones. My mother was close to forty years old when she gave birth to me. She had her own apartment too where she successfully raised my half-sister, whom I didn't know I had until I met my Mom for the first time.
My sister was thirteen years older than me, and it was an indescribable joy to meet her, and to learn I had a sibling. I grew up an only child and always wanted a brother or sister. Now my wish had come true, albeit a couple of decades later.
In addition, I got to meet my brother-in-law for the first time, too. He was a friendly, hard-working husband and provider for my sister and nieces. As for my nieces, however, it was like seeing and meeting two angels. How I miss them!
Words cannot describe the pain, grief, and regret I have. I haven't seen any of them in close to forty years, as I have long been estranged from both my birth and adoptive families. I live in continuous anguish knowing that I hurt, disappointed, embarrassed and shamed all those who loved me.
More tomorrow...
D. B.
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