Beside me stood my sister Anna, then seven; Jonah, six; Grace, four; and Benji, three, with the red toy truck in his hands.

I knew where Anna and Jonah were.

We had found each other as adults after years of records requests and phone calls.

We exchanged holiday cards and sometimes talked for an hour, sometimes not at all.

We loved each other, but the missing years sat between us like a river.

Grace and Benji remained missing from my life.

I knew they might be living under different names.

I knew that searching had to respect their privacy and their choice about contact.