I searched for my biological mom for years. When I finally found her, she had just been diagnosed with dementia.

• I was adopted in 1966 but had little information about my biological parents.
• I searched for them with DNA tests, and eventually found my mom's identity.

Born in Iowa to a mother from Wisconsin and a father from South Dakota, it's no wonder my early searches for my birth parents resulted in disappointment. With little information about my adoption in 1966, I would have never found my family without the help of DNA testing.

And even with genetic testing, the process was long and frustrating. Three years into my search and three DNA tests later, I still had no close relatives as matches.

I wondered why no one was searching for me

I knew there was no guarantee I'd find my birth family; still, the pain of rejection was difficult to deny as I stared at the absence of anyone closer than a second cousin on each DNA site profile.

Watching the number of deaths grow exponentially in 2020 due to the pandemic made the possibility of never finding my birth parents an even stronger potential reality.

Finally, I sent a message to multiple second cousins on every site I'd used, and within days I heard back from people who wanted to help. Two cousins and two phone calls later, I discovered the identity of my birth mother.

I found her, but she had just been diagnosed with dementia

I also learned she had recently been diagnosed with dementia. I'd wanted to find my birth parents and obtain my health history, but nothing prepared me for this information.

Hearing of the diagnosis but knowing no exact details was frightening. My birth mother was waiting for my phone call, and I was trying to figure out how her medical situation would impact our reunion. And what it meant for me as her biological daughter.

Our first and subsequent conversations were full of tears, laughs, and love. She told me of her dementia diagnosis but not specific details. She wanted to deny the existence of the disease as much as I did.

Shortly after that first conversation with Mom, I spoke with my newly discovered half-sister. "I'm so glad you found us," she'd repeatedly say as we talked over one another, excitedly sharing the details of our lives we'd each missed out on sharing.

The joy in her voice disappeared as she relayed the details of our mom's diagnosis only a few months earlier: frontotemporal dementia, primary progressive aphasia.

We finally met in person

I finally had the facts. This disease was nasty, and neither of us could imagine what we'd face together as Mom's disease progressed. We focused on the present and made plans to meet, despite the country-wide lockdowns and rising pandemic deaths. Two weeks later, I journeyed from Minnesota to Oklahoma, where my mom and sister lived.

When I saw my mom for the first time and embraced her as our tears flowed, it felt like coming home. And I knew this was all that mattered.

After that first meeting, I continued to talk to my mom on the phone, often asking questions I'd wondered about all my life. She provided answers I needed to make sense of most things, including sharing the identity of my birth father. Something I'd feared her disease would prevent her from remembering.

We've shared time on video chats, where she first met her grandchildren, and we've had additional time in person. My favorite memory is of having my daughter travel to Oklahoma with me and enjoying a gathering of all our family's genetically related females.

That trip was a year ago; Mom's disease has progressed, and her light has dimmed. We'll make the journey again soon, although we're preparing differently this time. Mom no longer recognizes my sister, who visits her frequently, so it's unlikely Mom will know her eldest granddaughter or me on this visit. And that's tough to accept.

If only I had reached out to my second cousins earlier.