ADOPTION... My Story: Part 2

I've composed myself now... ready to write more. I left off telling you about receiving the first letter from my grandmother.

Her photograph was that of someone who looked like a loving grandmother. I dialed her phone number and we spoke for an hour - all the while her photo was in front of me. I had her letter in hand & asked questions. Some questions were answered, others were quickly glossed over. The questions she didn't answer were really the ones that I wanted answers for... and it was then that I figured out she must be either holding out on me until she knew that I really was okay to divulge information to or she was covering up information. During the phone call I learned that I had two half-brothers and a half-sister. Of course, they didn't know about me & she said she'd have some explaining to do. By the end of the phone call she had invited my husband & me to have Thanksgiving dinner at her home.

Within a short time I got to speak with my new sister on the phone. I exchanged letters with both my sister and grandmother waiting anxiously for Thanksgiving to arrive.

During one phone conversation with my sister I got my grandfather's address... on the condition that I would not tell our grandmother that I got it from her or that I was going to try to find him. I sent him the same generic letter I'd sent in the beginning & waited. Days passed with no letter in my mailbox. I came to the conclusion that he wanted nothing to do with me. Then on November 9 my phone rang... it was HIM! We spoke for close to two hours & really hit it off! My two half-brothers were living with him at the time and I got to know them over the phone. Soon my mailbox would be flooded with letters and old photographs from my grandfather. Weekly phonecalls became the norm.

At Thanksgiving my grandmother was a gracious hostess - she was a wonderful cook! I got to meet my sister & we hit it off! By the end of the first night we were finishing each other's sentences! We had fun looking at old photographs and I hung on my grandmother's every word - hoping for any shred of information she might share about my birthmom. The only thing she really told me was that she (my birthmom) had disappeared when she was about 26 years old (the same age I was) - leaving her three children at the daycare - just disappeared. She claimed she'd not seen my birthmom since then. Red flag!!

My grandparents had been divorced before I was even born & hadn't spoken in as many years. For this reason I felt compelled to share with my grandfather things that my grandmother had told me. I understand that divorced people don't always get along & often have different stories. My grandfather refused to say anything bad or mean about my grandmother - except that her version of the truth was pretty far-fetched!

It was obvious to me from what both grandparents told me that at the time my birthmom was pregnant with me there had been a lot of family drama as she was making what would be a life-changing & heartbreaking decision.

The summer after I had found my grandmother she came to a family reunion - that of my adoptive mother's family. She & my mom had quite a bit in common - sewing & crafts, cooking, etc.

A year after meeting my grandmother & sister I had the opportunity to meet my grandfather & his wife. He was retired Army... my own adoptive dad also an Army veteran. According to their "figuring" they missed being at the same Army base by just a couple weeks. How weird would that have been?

More phone calls, more letters, more stories. Due to the them all living far away our visits in person were few & far between. But the phone calls & letters gave me lots to think about. Lots to sort out... deciding what was truth, what was fiction.

.........

ADOPTION... MY STORY: Part 1

In July 1963 a 16 year girl made the ultimate sacrifice. Knowing she was not prepared to raise a baby she gave me up for adoption. I spent my first 5 months in a boarding home & went to live with my adoptive parents in December 1963, just two weeks before Christmas.

Growing up I was a pretty happy little girl. I grew up in a small town - a town where everyone knew everyone else, everyone knew I was adopted. I spent my growing up years having people tell me how much I looked like one or the other of my parents. NOT! Except for having blue eyes... there wasn't really any resemblance. One thing that always gnawed at me was wondering WHO I did look like. Whose nose do I have? Who did I inherit my cowlicks from? Where did I get my musical talent?

I went thru high school and onto college, got married & had three children. When I was pregnant with my third, the doctor found some pre-cancerous cells & started asking questions about whether ovarian/cervical cancer ran in my family. I told him that I had no idea... that I was adopted. He subtly suggested that if it was possible, I may want to find out. I had always dreamed of doing this so it wasn't a big surprise other than the fact that my OB/GYN suggested it!

After my baby was born I began my search. It was a pretty lame attempt (I didn't have access to the WWW!) but I really didn't know how to go about it - so I was just floundering around. Since I was born in Kansas & Kansas is an "open" state, I filled out the required form, sent a copy of my ID & some money to the Vital Statistics office hoping to receive a copy of my original birth certificate. A few weeks later I received it... along with the name of my birth mother. She, too, was born in Kansas & as a blood relative I was able to request her birth certificate which then told me the names of my maternal grandparents. Since they were all born in the same town I enlisted the help of a friend who happened to live in that town. She sent me pages out of the area phone book for people with the last names of both grandparents.

I spent several nights writing & re-writing a generic letter stating the facts I had gotten from the birth certificates & my circumstances. I went through the names on the pages from the phone book & sent a letter to every other name. Within a couple weeks I received a half dozen responses. Some said they had no idea who these people were but were supportive - wishing me good luck with my search; others condemned me for "opening a can of worms" that would ultimately cause nothing but heartbreak.

One Sunday evening in early October 1989 our phone rang. The man identified himself as my birthmother's cousin. His dad & my maternal grandmother were siblings. He had known my birthmom was pregnant but never knew what happened to the baby. He told me he had received the letter I'd written...and knew something was up because I knew too much (names, dates, etc.) so he gave the letter to his father. His father in turn contacted my grandmother.

The following week I received a large manila envelope in the mail with 13 typed pages (single space) - my first correspondence with my grandmother. It was a strange letter to read - like I was reading about complete strangers (in fact, I was!). What I got sounded much like a dimestore novel - told from the point of view of one who was on the outside looking in. She had included a photograph of herself and her phone number. Was this a hint?

(This is an emotional subject for me... and I'm going to end this writing here & continue in a day or so.)

The Loss of a Friend

We've all been there... we've all lost a friend.

I've lost friends because they moved to another town/state (before the miracle of the Internet) and we just quit writing or calling. I've lost friends because there were half-truths or blatant lies told & believed. I've lost friends because the friendship simply became toxic. I've lost friends because of death.

Most recently I lost a dear friend because someone in my household decided that it was not in my best interest to keep that friend. This hurts maybe more than any of the other reasons I mentioned - simply because I didn't make the decision, but it was made for me. I went along with this decision ONLY to keep peace in my household.

The friend of whom I speak - was a pet. Yes, a pet! I've always had a pet. I had a cat, Miss Ruffles, for 12 years. I came home from a funeral and found her dead on the living room floor. My heart broke as I buried her. Death of a pet, however, is MUCH different than being forced to give up a beloved pet. Death is final. In my case, death was not a decision I made - it just happened.

The pet I'm refering to is my dog Skeeter, a black lab of almost 3 years... I've had him for 2 years. Pets are a big responsibility. They take time & money and have to be cared for whether you're at home or traveling. He is 100 pounds of enthusiasm - who thinks he's a lap dog. Basic complaints from the other person in my household: he drinks too loudly, he eats too loudly, his nails click on the hard floors, he sheds, his food bill is too much, it costs too much to board him when we travel, etc., etc. Unfortunately his good qualities didn't outweigh the above complaints.

When I boarded Skeeter at New Years I asked the gals who work the desk at the Vet if they knew of anyone who was interested in adopting a black lab. They were surprised that I would even ask. They LOVE Skeeter and he loves them back! When I picked him up a few days later the Vet came out to speak with me. She said she knew of a family who had been looking for a black lab. They live in the country, have two young sons & a younger yellow lab that visits often. She asked if they could "borrow" Skeeter for the weekend to see if he would be a good fit for their family. He went to visit for 3 days... and when she called she told me they loved Skeeter & wanted to keep him.

I have to say, I never expected it all to happen so quickly! I told her I needed to spend more time with him... and think about it... although I knew what the answer would be in the end. I brought him home, took pictures of him, and at the end of the week I called the Vet back to let her know I'd be bringing him to her the next morning. I packed his treats, bowls, toys & blanket, put him on his leash & drove to the animal hospital. We spent some time visiting... she said she would take pictures of him & email them to me periodically and let me know how he's doing. After a while, my heart breaking even more, I finally told Skeeter I loved him, gave him one last hug, a pat on the head & rubbed his ears. With that, I turned & walked out the door. My sacrifice complete. The other person in my household finally happy.

I'm not sure what it is I'm trying to say... just that I made a sacrifice giving up Skeeter. Sometimes sacrifice is necessary. Sometimes sacrifice breaks your heart.