I couldn’t agree more. I’m an adoptive parent of siblings of my same race and nationality. They were both over five when we adopted them. My daughter (nine when she came to us in foster care) had been sexually abused by her birth father and had had to testify in court against him before he was sent to a state hospital. Her birth mother was only fifteen when she married. Both parents were drug addicts. My son, only five when he came to us, had only been neglected, not abused. He was happy to be adopted, though he did have some emotional baggage, as well. It was a totally different story with our daughter. She did not want to be adopted. She went along with it to stay with her brother.
Our family life was an emotionally rocky road with many joys and a multitude of sorrows. It lasted only nine years. After eight of these, our daughter ran away a few days before her 17th birthday so that she could carry on with a relationship to a man twice her age she had managed to hide from us even though we did all we could to keep track of her. But that’s a long story. She ended her own life when she was 34, in a common law marriage in Texas, estranged from us after she was 19.
She got in touch with us again only because her brother had died in a jet ski accident when he was 14. We stayed in touch on and off until she moved to Colorado and then Texas.
We let our children maintain relationships with any birth family member who wanted to communicate — most especially the paternal grandparents and half-brother who supported the adoption. Our daughter stayed in touch with her birth family after she abandoned us. Her birth mother commit suicide before she did. She relied on her aunts and paternal grandparents to help her after she left. Too much to put into a comment.