Experience: I found my long-lost twin aged 49

A Life Unraveled and Rewoven: Finding My Twin After Forty-Nine Years

Wanderstayfinder.com – Forty-nine years of existence passed before I learned I had a brother—and not just any brother, but my identical twin, separated from me as newborns and living just a two-and-a-half-hour flight away in Brisbane. The revelation came on a July morning in 2024, when my daughter Brooklyn logged into a DNA testing website and announced with excitement that I had a brother named Glenn. I sat there, heart hammering, unable to process what she was telling me.

Operation Babylift and a Shoebox Journey

My story begins in 1975, when the Vietnam War was drawing to a close and thousands of orphaned children were being evacuated from the conflict zone. The American-led Operation Babylift became one of the largest airlift evacuations in history, transporting approximately 1,400 Vietnamese children to safety in countries including the United States, Australia, Canada, and France. My parents spotted an advertisement in their local Australian newspaper seeking families willing to adopt these children.

I arrived in Adelaide in April, crammed into a shoebox so small that my umbilical cord remained attached to my body. The document accompanying me listed my name as Le Thi Ha with a January birthday—information my parents immediately recognized as incorrect. Yet the chaos of the evacuation offered no opportunity to verify or correct the details. Despite my parents eventually divorcing when I was two years old, I grew up surrounded by love. An older sister, adopted at age five, and three brothers filled our home with warmth and companionship.

Hidden Heritage and Growing Questions

As a child, I never questioned my origins. My mother had been told my birth parents were likely deceased, and that staying in Vietnam would have meant certain death. My teenage years proved more challenging. I became the target of racial slurs and worked diligently to conceal my Asian heritage, covering my skin with tattoos and dyeing my hair in an effort to blend in.

Everything shifted in 1995 when I gave birth to my daughter Jade. For the first time, I held someone who shared my blood. I would stare at her for hours, struggling to comprehend that this tiny human was connected to me biologically. Looking in the mirror, I wondered: Jade resembles me, but who did I resemble before motherhood? These questions multiplied as I welcomed my sons and second daughter into the world.

The DNA Revolution

My first journey to Vietnam in 2004 brought me face-to-face with people who looked like me. I oscillated between joy at feeling these connections and depression over the endless questions that remained unanswered. Nine years later, in 2015, a gathering of Operation Babylift evacuees from around the world convened in Vietnam. We were offered DNA testing, and I eagerly anticipated discovering biological relatives.

The results revealed twelve cousins—a monumental finding. Unfortunately, they showed little interest in connecting with me. Then, in early 2024, I learned about a television program helping people solve family mysteries. Claire, the producer I contacted, sent me a new DNA test. The show subsequently lost its funding, and I forgot about my results entirely.

Glenn Appears

Months passed until July, when I remembered my test had never been processed. I asked Brooklyn to check the results. “Mum, you’ve got a brother,” she said. The name Glenn appeared beside the word “brother.” I began rocking back and forth, shouting, “Oh my God.” I couldn’t believe this was happening.

I searched Facebook and found a photograph of a man whose face mirrored my own so perfectly that I was rendered speechless. Scrolling frantically, I discovered his birthday. Both of us born in April—the same month I had arrived in Australia as a newborn—I froze. Glenn wasn’t merely my brother; he was my twin.

“The joy, disbelief and shock came with a million questions. How were we separated and why? How was it possible to be 49 and discover I had a twin who lived a 2.5-hour flight away in Brisbane?”

Reunion and Reflection

I messaged Claire, who offered to reach out to Glenn. The waiting felt torturous. Every phone ring made me jump. In November, he finally called. We spoke for two and a half hours. I was the one to tell him we were twins, and he found the revelation as extraordinary as I did.

Two months later, shaking with nerves, I traveled to meet him. Then I was in his arms, sobbing, unable to let go. We had shared a womb and were finally reunited. During those two days together, I could barely tear my eyes away from Glenn, constantly reaching out to touch him and remind myself he was real.

In the weeks that followed, we messaged and spoke frequently, but our communication gradually slowed. His wife reassured me that he was simply processing everything. I feel anger that no one has taken responsibility for our separation from our parents. I don’t know what the future holds. I’ve learned that reunions don’t always lead to neat happy endings. But I’ve also discovered how strong and persistent I am.

Last year, I delivered a speech at the Department of Home Affairs for Refugee Week. Sharing my story proved cathartic. I want other adoptees to know they matter. We all deserve to be heard.

As told to Kate Graham