FM: Basically. There wasn’t much I could do then, but yeah, that’s when I started looking. I had this book, like a journal? I hid it under my bed so my parents couldn’t find it. I called it my book of clues.
TJ: What kind of clues did you put in there?
FM: Hints my mother would drop sometimes. Like what the hospital had been like where they went to pick me up, though she wouldn’t tell me where it was. And she had a picture of me that was taken in the hospital, before, you know. Before my mother gave me up. I stared and stared at that picture. I even went over it with a magnifying glass.
TJ: So you didn’t have any other information about your mother? Only that you were born in Chicago?
FM: No. The adoption system . . . Well, I know there’s been some changes over the years because of all the advocacy groups, but when she gave me up? It was closed adoption all the way. I mean, I guess those records are somewhere, right, they’d have to be. But sure as shit they weren’t going to let me look at them. And once my parents died, I couldn’t even count on them to help me.
TJ: How old were you when they passed away?
FM: Eighteen. A stupid accident. My dad fell asleep at the wheel.
TJ: I’m so sorry.
FM: Thank you. It was . . . a blow. I was an orphan, but yet not, you know? It felt very . . . strange.
TJ: But you did end up finding your mother? Despite the closed adoption?
FM: Yeah, through one of the advocacy groups I belonged to. I can’t say much more than that . . . I want to protect their anonymity.
TJ: Is that because the way you found her was illegal?
FM: I don’t know about that. Is what Anonymous does illegal? Information should be free, right? I mean, look at it this way—should it be illegal to find out who your real parents are?
TJ: No, I don’t believe it should. But I am curious about how it all worked . . .
FM: Like I said, I can’t say. I found out; that was the point. And it’s one of the reasons I wanted to be involved in the Compensation Initiative.
TJ: How does one lead to the other?
FM: It’s all about advocacy. People think they know best, right? Like how everyone told my mother, my biological mother, that it would be a great thing for me for her to give me up. She was what, eighteen when she had me? That’s too young to have a baby; that’s what they said. And they’d find me a good family and all that other crap. And look, I’m not complaining. I get it. Taking all of that on when you’re that young, that’s a lot. And I did have a good home. My adoptive parents tried as hard as they could. But it wasn’t my family, you know? Not before I knew and especially not after.
TJ: So where does the advocacy come in?
FM: At these adoption support groups I used to go to, that was one of the themes. We’d had all these people make these major decisions for us—our biological parents—and then we weren’t even allowed to know who they were. I didn’t want that happening to the families of Triple Ten. Especially not the kids. Let the victims decide what they want, what they need. Not the government. Not the church. Not the celebrities falling all over themselves to appear on TV looking like they’re doing something to help.
TJ: That sounds like a worthy goal. But there’s been some controversy, hasn’t there? About who is allowed to receive compensation?
FM: You’re talking about the Identification Protocol?
TJ: Yes.
FM: Well, that was my idea, actually.
TJ: Why did you think it was important?
FM: Because people could lie, couldn’t they? There were all the people who worked there who died, sure, but there were also tons of folks going in and out of that building all day. And then those who were just around the building . . . Anyone could claim they were there, and no one would know for sure. Take Cecily Grayson.
TJ: What about her?
FM: She says she was on her way there, right? And we all know that’s true because we have the photographic evidence. You took it. But if she’d actually been in the building, what proof would we have?
TJ: Aren’t there entry logs?
FM: Not for guests. Not electronic ones. They were still using a paper system. That got lost, obviously. And you’ve heard about the cameras, right? Totally unreliable.
TJ: Are you suggesting that someone might make a false claim in order to get compensation?
FM: Don’t look so shocked. That sort of stuff happens all the time.
TJ: So the Identification Protocol . . .
FM: Requires irrefutable evidence that their family member actually died there that day in order for them to get compensation.
TJ: And I understand that your own . . . um, your biological mother’s family’s claim was refused?
FM: That’s right.
TJ: How did that happen?
FM: I can’t make special exceptions. We can’t, I mean.
TJ: Sure. But there’s some irony there, that the rule could affect your family in particular. You, even, I suppose.
FM: Yeah, but that claim is under review. You never know what might turn up.
7
HERE WE GO LOOP-DE-LOOP
CECILY
This is how I found out I was a fool.
It was six months before Tom died, as I was running around trying to make everything perfect for our upcoming wedding anniversary extravaganza weekend away! (I thought in exclamation marks back then, more often than I’d like to admit.) I received a text from Tom that said: I can’t stop thinking about last night.
Nothing so unusual in that. In fact, he’d texted me something similar a few years before, after we’d had a particularly steamy evening when both the kids were out with friends and we’d had a few glasses of wine and ended up having sex on the kitchen counter. I’d texted an emoticon back to that one (probably a smiley face, knowing me at the time), and we’d engaged in mild sexting for about an hour until it petered out.
But not this time, because this time—as far as I knew up until that moment—Tom was supposed to have been on the flip
