'We felt complete'

Five years ago, Debra Alford began writing her autobiography.

It was a brief sketch, only a few paragraphs detailing her birth in Newfoundland, Canada, adoption by an American couple and quest to find her biological family.

Some of the pieces had fallen into place. She'd located her biological mother and sister in 2000, but their conversations only raised more questions.

From them, she learned she had a biological brother, given to the same Canadian orphanage a few years later.

His name had been Francis Young at birth, but no one knew what became of him.

Both adoptions were closed, and if Young was searching for his lost family, he'd given no indication.

Alford only learned of her brother's existence in 2000, but she felt like she'd been searching for him her entire life.

Adopted children carry with them a hole in their hearts, Alford said.

And though she'd reconnected with her biological mother and sister, the hole remained.

Alford never finished her autobiography.

To signify the unknown, she wrote at the end a row of periods – an ellipsis, like the hole in her heart she hoped someday to fill.

She kept searching.

Discovery

Alford had found her biological mother, Rowena Young, and sister, Coleen Loder, by entering what little information she had about her birth in the online Canadian Adoptees Registry.

Alford's adopted parents, Lowrey and Shirley Wilhite, adopted Alford at 13 months old from an orphanage in St. John's, Canada.

Lowrey Wilhite, an Air Force radar operator who retired as a Senior Master Sgt., was stationed at a U.S. Air Force base in Newfoundland at the time.

Because it was a closed adoption, the Wilhites were not privy to information about their daughter's biological parents.

Shirley Wilhite, however, caught a furtive glimpse of the biological mother's name on some adoption paperwork.

She remembered the last name, "Young," thinking that it might someday benefit Alford to know it. She also recalled that Alford's biological mother had an unusual first name.

The information proved sufficient. A representative from the Canadian Adoptees Agency contacted Alford in August 2000.

In closed adoptions, both the children and their biological families must give consent before any contact information is exchanged.

Rowena Young and Loder gave the agency the okay.

Through e-mail and phone conversations with her biological mother and sister, Alford learned some of her early history.

Young had raised Loder but given both Alford and son, Francis, to the same orphanage. She did not know whether he had been adopted.

Alford immediately began searching for her younger brother.

Given her previous success with the Canadian Adoptees Registry, she returned to the Web site, entered her brother's birth name and hoped for a match.

'Your little brother'

A year later, Alford had learned nothing.

After contacting the Canadian equivalent of the U.S. Department of Children and Families, Alford discovered that any information pertaining to her brother's adoption could be sealed until at least 2012.

The agency's representative did, however, sympathize with Alford. She took down her name and telephone number.

Alford tried to stay positive. "In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, 'This is not going to be good,' but still I had hope," she said.

"I prayed day in and day out that one day I'd be able to locate him, I'd be able to find him."

Seven years later, in 2008, Alford received a call from the agency. The representative asked if she was still interested in locating her brother.

Alford answered in the affirmative: "I've been waiting all my life to hear those words."

As in the case of her biological mother and sister, the agency would need her brother's consent before providing any contact information.

A week later, Alford received an e-mail saying her brother would like to have her name and address. A subsequent email provided his.

Named Francis Young at birth, Daniel Rodney Webber had been adopted by an American couple living in Canada.

Webber's father, like Alford's, served in the Air Force. Both were stationed at the same base in Newfoundland.

Webber now lived with his wife and three children in Phoenix, Az, almost exactly half-way between Alford and their biological sister.

Birthday Surprise

Alford wrote Webber a letter introducing herself and hurriedly placed it in the mailbox.

Before the letter made its way to Phoenix, Alford received a phone call. It was her 42nd birthday.

"Debbie?" the voice asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"This is your little brother, Daniel."

Struggling through her tears, Alford asked Webber a question she'd contemplated since the day she discovered his existence

"Do you want to know me?" she asked.

Webber did.

In the days and weeks that followed, Alford and Webber talked on the phone and sent each other frequent text messages.

They talked about meeting each other, but both had families and times were tight.

Before they knew it, a year had passed.

Last December, Alford checked in with Webber. She asked him what he got for Christmas, and what he'd wanted.

"I'd like to have had five tickets to Florida but I didn't get them," Webber replied. "Or I'd like to have my sister come out here."

Alford quietly resolved to surprise her brother on Jan. 17, his 40th birthday.

Conspiring with Webber's wife, Floyce, Alford booked plane tickets for herself, husband Jimmy, daughter, Brittany Beauchamp, son-in-law Adam and grandbaby, Zora.

In the weeks leading up to her Jan. 15 flight, Alford was overcome with nerves.

"I was afraid that it was going to fall through, that I was not going to be able to see him," recalled Alford, who could not shake an insidious doubt.

"In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, 'He might not want me to come.'"

The day finally arrived, and Alford vowed to tell Webber the surprise during her layover in Dallas, Tex.

But before she could call, she received a text from her brother, who suspected something was up.

"I could see it in his text that he was searching for information," said Alford, who replied that she was on her way to work.

Eventually, Alford ended the suspense. She called Webber and asked him to take a look around his house.

Were his mom and dad there, his wife and children? Was his wife holding a video camera?

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

"I'm on my way. I'll be at your house in two-and-a-half hours," Alford said.

No Goodbyes

Brother and sister united at the Phoenix airport.

No name cards were required to join them together, just the pull of familial love.

"I immediately knew who he was," said Alford. "I could've passed him on the street and known who he was."

The two embraced with tears in their eyes, and introduced each other to their families.

Through the weekend, they tried to fill in some of the years in between.

"There was just so much that we needed to talk about," said Alford, who was surprised by the number of parallels in their lives.

Webber's adopted mother and father were "very stable people" like Alford's parents, who retired to Howard Creek when she was five.

Both sets of parents adopted multiple children. Alford had a brother, and Webber, two sisters.

Webber's sisters found their biological families years earlier, but Webber resisted.

"He said he didn't want to get in anybody's life that didn't want him there," recalled Alford, who assured him her interest was true.

"He couldn't believe that somebody would love him even though they hadn't seen him," she said.

Webber and Alford felt at ease in each other's company. They celebrated Webber's birthday on Sunday and resolved to see each other more.

At the airport, they kept it short. No goodbyes, just "I'll see you later."

Alford would return to Phoenix, and Webber would bring the family to Florida in May.

Before she turned away, Alford told Webber she loved him and made him a promise.

"Daniel, you're in my life now. I won't ever leave you."

Though she has experienced an exciting new chapter, Alford has not yet returned to her autobiography, at least on paper.

"I left it with dots at the end because I knew there was more to fill in," said Alford. "I'm filling in the dots now I guess."

And that hole in her heart?

The moment Alford saw her brother, it filled immediately.

"When he looked at me and I looked at him, we felt complete."