From Coventry to Georgia: My DNA Journey That Rewrote Our Family Tree

I was born on February 6, 1956, at Gulson Road Hospital in Coventry. I weighed just 4 pounds 10 ounces and was given the name Sandra Dawn Morris. But the name I’ve lived most of my life by is Jill Lloyd — and I had no idea that decades later, a DNA test would lead me to a sprawling American family, a reunion across oceans, and the rediscovery of a birth story long kept in the shadows.

My early life began under difficult circumstances. My birth mother, Sheila Morris, was 19 and unmarried — something that carried a heavy social stigma at the time. I spent my first weeks at St Faith’s Shelter, a home for unmarried mothers near Coventry’s train station. That’s where Joyce and Verdon “Jim” Baker found me — a loving couple who couldn’t have children of their own.

‘We chose you’

On April 21, 1956, I officially became their daughter. Joyce and Jim raised me with warmth, honesty, and a deep, unwavering love. When I was 8 years old, Joyce sat me down and told me the truth — that I was adopted, and that my birth mother had been very young and wanted me to have a better life. “You’re special,” she said. “We chose you.”

My childhood was happy and secure, filled with extended family who never treated me any differently. Still, over time, quiet curiosity about my roots began to grow. A few years before Joyce passed away at the age of 99, we talked about the idea of searching for my birth family. With her encouragement, I took a MyHeritage DNA test — a decision that changed everything.

Connecting with cousins

The results revealed a British heritage with links to the Southern United States. The matches that came up intrigued me: Ocena Hasty and Daphne McCormick on my birth father’s side, and George Burford on my birth mother’s side.

Ocena, a third cousin, was the first person I reached out to. By sheer coincidence, she was just finishing a cruise in Southampton and flying home via Heathrow. We managed to meet at the airport — a spontaneous, hour-long reunion that felt like reconnecting with someone I’d known all my life.

Jill and Ocena. Photo enhanced by MyHeritage

Next, I got in touch with Daphne McCormick Brown, a second cousin. Her father, Billy Mack Brown, turned out to be my first cousin. Although he was too ill to speak, Daphne was eager to help. Through conversations and clues, we were able to trace my birth father: Albert Edgar Brown, an American serviceman stationed at Upper Heyford during the Korean War.

When I saw a photo of Albert, the resemblance was striking. That resemblance was confirmed when one of his daughters, Celia, took a DNA test — and the results were undeniable: we were half-sisters.

It was an emotional, validating discovery. Celia and her sister Robyn welcomed me with open arms. Their other sister, Barbara, was more distant, but during a later visit to the U.S., I had the chance to connect with her too.

Finding Steve

My journey didn’t end there. Digging deeper, I discovered that my birth mother, Sheila, had emigrated to the U.S. in 1962.

She’d remarried and taken the name Sheila Azevedo, and in 1963, she had a son — Steve. Finding Steve wasn’t easy. He’d lived in nearly every state and was hard to track down. But when we finally spoke, so much suddenly made sense. He even remembered a childhood visit to Coventry. Though hesitant at first, he welcomed our connection.

Steve’s life had been challenging. He endured a turbulent childhood and was estranged from his own children. Sheila struggled with alcoholism and passed away in 2005. The contrast between our lives was stark. While he grew up facing instability, I had known love and safety thanks to my adoption.

A powerful and emotional first meeting

In 2023, my husband Steve, our daughter Harriet, and granddaughter Daisy traveled with me to Florida to meet my newfound sisters. It was a powerful and emotional first meeting — especially when Celia and Robyn surprised us at the hotel. That trip was full of unforgettable moments: a magical day at Universal Studios, a warm family dinner with cousin Daphne and others, and even a private concert by cousin Brian, a country musician.

Later, we traveled to Thomasville, Georgia — Albert’s hometown. We visited his grave and met members of the extended family at Laurel Hill Cemetery. It was bittersweet, but brought a deep sense of connection and closure.

Jill visits her birth father’s grave

On Easter Sunday, we all gathered at Celia’s beautiful century-old home in Palatka, Florida. Children played, puppies ran about, and there I sat — once a tiny baby given up under difficult circumstances — now surrounded by the family I never knew I had, embraced and loved as one of their own.

This journey has been more than a search across continents. It’s a powerful reminder of how DNA testing and genealogy can piece together lives separated by silence, stigma, and time. Each record, each message, each call helped knit together a family I hadn’t known existed.

And as I continue to uncover more about my story and connect with new relatives, one truth becomes ever clearer: family isn’t always defined by who’s been there from the start. Sometimes, it’s about who chooses to be there in the end.

Many thanks to Jill and Steve for sharing their story with us! If you’ve also made an amazing discovery on MyHeritage, we’d love to hear about it. Please send it to us via this form or email us at stories@myheritage.com.