Danielle—let's call her Danny, to keep her straight from my birth mom :-)—quickly e-mailed Mr. Fantastic back to confirm that we were indeed talking about the same person. I'm still not sure how she was so confident. I'm telling you, we're not talking about a real unique name here, people. Anyway, Mr. Fantastic passed her e-mail on to me to handle as I saw fit. You see, I hadn't truly expected to find him. Before Mr. Fantastic had come across this messageboard, I had decided that I didn't want to invest the money in the investigator he had talked to. I didn't imagine in a million years that we would be able to contact him on our own. So now that the opportunity was right there in front of my face, I was no longer so sure I wanted to go forward with it. Mr. Fantastic assured me that he would leave the ball in my court.
But then, for some reason, he didn't. He felt obligated to respond to Danny's e-mail, and he told her why we were searching for George. It seems like such a minor detail now, so unimportant, but at the time I was absolutely devastated. This was a big step for me, and I wanted to take it in my way, on my time. Instead, he'd pushed me right down the staircase!
It was probably the shove that I needed, though. I now felt that I had no choice but to e-mail this woman about this man who I wasn't even sure I wanted to find. So I did. I told her who I was—probably reiterated a lot of the things Mr. Fantastic had already said—and explained why I was looking for George. I had no idea when I hit the "send" button what an integral part of my life she would become over the next several years.
Somewhere I still have that first e-mail that Danny sent me. I was in awe of how God had dropped her in our laps—I still am. Yes, she said again, we were talking about the same George… and she also knew who I was. She and George had had a relationship shortly after his relationship with my birth mom—but theirs had been… well, more "real", for lack of a better word. While I surmise that George's relationship with Danielle had been a fling (and had definitely been an affair), he and Danny had been in a long-term, somewhat-committed (more on that later) relationship. One where they lived together and had a child together as a result of actually TRYING to get pregnant. She had known about George's affair with Danielle and knew that they'd had a child who had been given up for adoption. And now here we were, 21 years later, "meeting" for the first time by the miracle of the internet.
And then I got it—George's address. I'm not sure if the message Mr. Fantastic had come across online was an old one, or if she had found him in the interim or what, but she now had his physical address. And she sent it to me.
And this man… the one who had lived in Colorado when I was born… who had lived in California when I was a child… who had traveled the world as a member of the Air Force… lived in Columbus, Ohio. Two hours away from me.
Showing posts with label adoption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adoption. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 12
So my dear little Roo woke me up at 5:30 this morning... and then Mr. Fantastic's snoring wouldn't let me go back to sleep. And I thought, "This actually is a good thing. I can get up early, do a little blogging, and just have some quiet time before the whole house is up." I was all proud of myself because I would have my "Family Forest" post up first thing in the morning. Then as I sat down to write, I realized... it's Thursday. Here I thought I was so on-the-ball for doing it early, and then I figure out that I'm a whole day late. Dang it, I just can't get it together.
Well, my apologies, friends. Here--a whole day late--is the next installment of my Family Forest...
As if entering my senior year of college, planning a wedding, and finding out that my biological mother was gay weren't enough… for some reason, that summer it became very important to Mr. Fantastic that I locate my biological father, a man that I will call George. To be fair, it's not like he was pushing me in a direction I didn't want to go—I had at some point told him that I felt I was ready to start searching for this man. When I had first found out the details of my adoption from my parents, knowing that Danielle was my birth mom was enough. I didn't want to push any harder—I couldn't take any more! But now two years had gone by, my relationship with Jan was settling into its own unsteady rhythm, and I was becoming a stronger person. I felt that I could handle whatever lay behind that door.
Theoretically.
In all honesty, when I told Mr. Fantastic that I was ready to search for my biological father, I just meant I was ready to spend a few minutes on the internet Googling him (Did we have Google back in 2000?) and then give up and say, "Well, at least we tried." But to my soon-to-be-hubby, this became a real mission.
So let's start with what Danielle knew about him. It wasn't much. She knew his name (which is a very common one, both first and last), the state that he lived in when they met, that he was also in the Air Force, and that he was married at the time of their relationship. Her last direct contact with him was on the day that I was born, or maybe the day after, when she told him that she had given me up for adoption. She knew that he had lived in California at some point after that, but had no address or anything like that.
That was it. Wait—I believe we even knew his MIDDLE INITIAL. Yep, now THAT is a detail, folks! Seriously, it wasn't much to go on, and we weren't even sure where to start. Mr. Fantastic, a landlord who periodically has to track down tenants who chose to skip town without paying their rent, quickly thought to contact a man that he sometimes used to aid with finding such tenants. He agreed to help, but warned us that it could be expensive. He talked to us about some options to keep cost down… like he would print out a list of every man with that name in the right age range who had a military background, and then Mr. Fantastic and I could do further research on each person on the list to eliminate the wrong ones. Yikes!
I was ready to give up. I was reading the writing on the wall: Don't go down this road. But now that we had started, it was hard to stop. Especially for Mr. Fantastic. When he would get burned out at the office and need a break (He was a workaholic who often stayed at the office until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, only to return by 7:30 or 8:00.), he would search online for anything that might help.
And that's how we got our big break. He somehow came across a messageboard for people searching people who had been in the military. (Did ya follow that?) And do you know what he found? A message from a woman named Danielle searching for a man named George (with the same last name as my birth father) who had been in the Air Force in the 70s and 80s. He knew that the woman was not my birth mom, but it seemed like more than a coincidence. He used her profile to contact her and explain what little we knew of my birth father (without disclosing why we were looking for him), and asked if it was possible that we were seeking the same person.
We were.
Well, my apologies, friends. Here--a whole day late--is the next installment of my Family Forest...
As if entering my senior year of college, planning a wedding, and finding out that my biological mother was gay weren't enough… for some reason, that summer it became very important to Mr. Fantastic that I locate my biological father, a man that I will call George. To be fair, it's not like he was pushing me in a direction I didn't want to go—I had at some point told him that I felt I was ready to start searching for this man. When I had first found out the details of my adoption from my parents, knowing that Danielle was my birth mom was enough. I didn't want to push any harder—I couldn't take any more! But now two years had gone by, my relationship with Jan was settling into its own unsteady rhythm, and I was becoming a stronger person. I felt that I could handle whatever lay behind that door.
Theoretically.
In all honesty, when I told Mr. Fantastic that I was ready to search for my biological father, I just meant I was ready to spend a few minutes on the internet Googling him (Did we have Google back in 2000?) and then give up and say, "Well, at least we tried." But to my soon-to-be-hubby, this became a real mission.
So let's start with what Danielle knew about him. It wasn't much. She knew his name (which is a very common one, both first and last), the state that he lived in when they met, that he was also in the Air Force, and that he was married at the time of their relationship. Her last direct contact with him was on the day that I was born, or maybe the day after, when she told him that she had given me up for adoption. She knew that he had lived in California at some point after that, but had no address or anything like that.
That was it. Wait—I believe we even knew his MIDDLE INITIAL. Yep, now THAT is a detail, folks! Seriously, it wasn't much to go on, and we weren't even sure where to start. Mr. Fantastic, a landlord who periodically has to track down tenants who chose to skip town without paying their rent, quickly thought to contact a man that he sometimes used to aid with finding such tenants. He agreed to help, but warned us that it could be expensive. He talked to us about some options to keep cost down… like he would print out a list of every man with that name in the right age range who had a military background, and then Mr. Fantastic and I could do further research on each person on the list to eliminate the wrong ones. Yikes!
I was ready to give up. I was reading the writing on the wall: Don't go down this road. But now that we had started, it was hard to stop. Especially for Mr. Fantastic. When he would get burned out at the office and need a break (He was a workaholic who often stayed at the office until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, only to return by 7:30 or 8:00.), he would search online for anything that might help.
And that's how we got our big break. He somehow came across a messageboard for people searching people who had been in the military. (Did ya follow that?) And do you know what he found? A message from a woman named Danielle searching for a man named George (with the same last name as my birth father) who had been in the Air Force in the 70s and 80s. He knew that the woman was not my birth mom, but it seemed like more than a coincidence. He used her profile to contact her and explain what little we knew of my birth father (without disclosing why we were looking for him), and asked if it was possible that we were seeking the same person.
We were.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 11
Yes, I know it's almost 10 PM, but it's still Wednesday...! I got it on here in time... :-)
Well, I'm sure you don't want me to get off on a huge tangent here, so I'll try to keep this part of the story as brief as possible. I went to lunch that day with Mr. Fantastic, his half-brother, and my cousin. Needless to say, she and I didn't have any deep conversation about her relationship with her destructive boyfriend. But during that lunch… oh yeah, and another one a week later… I realized that I was not quite over my childhood crush on Mr. Fantastic. Between that and some mad matchmaking skills of my cousin, Mr. Fantastic and I went on our first date on January 29, 2000.
That date was followed by a second and a third and… well, you get the idea. :-) After several years of dating and wondering how I would know when I had met "the one", I realized just how easy it could be. Within two months we were talking about marriage, and Mr. Fantastic officially popped the question on May 20, 2000. We were married on February 17, 2001, and have been living happily ever after ever since!
Anyway, while we were engaged, we went to visit Danielle. I honestly don't remember when she first met him—but I'm pretty sure this visit wasn't the first time. I could be wrong, though. But either way, there we were, an awkward little foursome: me, Mr. Fantastic, Danielle, and Roommate Pam. Whether or not it was the first time Danielle had met my husband-to-be, it was definitely the first time I had visited her—she had always come to me. And one thing became very obvious very fast: it was a two-bedroom duplex where only one bedroom was being used.
Yes, I'd had my suspicions, but I don't think I really believed them—or maybe I just didn't really want to face them. But now there was no question. And it became even more evident the next day when Pam came to me and Mr. Fantastic and said, "There are some things that Danielle wants to talk to Katy about privately. She's uncomfortable to say anything, but I don't mind telling you—she needs some time alone with you." So later that day the four of us went somewhere and decided for some reason that it was better to take two cars… so I rode with Danielle and Mr. Fantastic rode with Pam.
And that was when we had the talk.
"I think it's important that you know… that I am gay," she told me.
"I know," I said.
"You know?"
Why do we always think we're better secret keepers than we are? I remember trying to keep things from my parents as a child and teenager… they always knew. I think Danielle honestly believed that no one had any inkling of her orientation. But the signs were all there, and it didn't take a genius to put the pieces together.
Anyway, it was an odd conversation, and it was one that could have ended a fragile relationship, but it didn't. I was honest with Danielle about my view of homosexuality, but I also assured her that I disapproved of her lifestyle and not of her as a person. I have any number of flaws and sinful struggles, and if someone chose to just label and view me as one of my struggles, they probably wouldn't waste their time on me. But I would hope that people chose to see beyond those flaws and love me anyway. That's how I feel about Danielle. I continue to wrestle with her stance on homosexuality, but I also continue to love her. And ultimately, it was good to not wonder anymore. It was nice to have all of the facts out on the table, you know?
Well, I'm sure you don't want me to get off on a huge tangent here, so I'll try to keep this part of the story as brief as possible. I went to lunch that day with Mr. Fantastic, his half-brother, and my cousin. Needless to say, she and I didn't have any deep conversation about her relationship with her destructive boyfriend. But during that lunch… oh yeah, and another one a week later… I realized that I was not quite over my childhood crush on Mr. Fantastic. Between that and some mad matchmaking skills of my cousin, Mr. Fantastic and I went on our first date on January 29, 2000.
That date was followed by a second and a third and… well, you get the idea. :-) After several years of dating and wondering how I would know when I had met "the one", I realized just how easy it could be. Within two months we were talking about marriage, and Mr. Fantastic officially popped the question on May 20, 2000. We were married on February 17, 2001, and have been living happily ever after ever since!
Anyway, while we were engaged, we went to visit Danielle. I honestly don't remember when she first met him—but I'm pretty sure this visit wasn't the first time. I could be wrong, though. But either way, there we were, an awkward little foursome: me, Mr. Fantastic, Danielle, and Roommate Pam. Whether or not it was the first time Danielle had met my husband-to-be, it was definitely the first time I had visited her—she had always come to me. And one thing became very obvious very fast: it was a two-bedroom duplex where only one bedroom was being used.
Yes, I'd had my suspicions, but I don't think I really believed them—or maybe I just didn't really want to face them. But now there was no question. And it became even more evident the next day when Pam came to me and Mr. Fantastic and said, "There are some things that Danielle wants to talk to Katy about privately. She's uncomfortable to say anything, but I don't mind telling you—she needs some time alone with you." So later that day the four of us went somewhere and decided for some reason that it was better to take two cars… so I rode with Danielle and Mr. Fantastic rode with Pam.
And that was when we had the talk.
"I think it's important that you know… that I am gay," she told me.
"I know," I said.
"You know?"
Why do we always think we're better secret keepers than we are? I remember trying to keep things from my parents as a child and teenager… they always knew. I think Danielle honestly believed that no one had any inkling of her orientation. But the signs were all there, and it didn't take a genius to put the pieces together.
Anyway, it was an odd conversation, and it was one that could have ended a fragile relationship, but it didn't. I was honest with Danielle about my view of homosexuality, but I also assured her that I disapproved of her lifestyle and not of her as a person. I have any number of flaws and sinful struggles, and if someone chose to just label and view me as one of my struggles, they probably wouldn't waste their time on me. But I would hope that people chose to see beyond those flaws and love me anyway. That's how I feel about Danielle. I continue to wrestle with her stance on homosexuality, but I also continue to love her. And ultimately, it was good to not wonder anymore. It was nice to have all of the facts out on the table, you know?
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 10
So much of the next few years, Danielle and I just spent time redefining our relationship. Who were we to each other, exactly? What were the expectations? The parameters? Honestly, we're still working on that, and I think to some degree it will be a lifelong journey. (Because really, aren't all relationships constantly evolving?)
After all, to Danielle I have always been her daughter… but that was a bit weird for me at first. I mean, I have a mom (and a dad)... and it's not her. She was always a family friend, and someone who I really liked, but I felt no real connection to her, no familial love. It was difficult to just flip that switch. And I think we both struggled with how much we should expect to be in touch, how often we should see each other, that kind of thing. No real template exists for this kind of relationship, you know? We had no Robert's Rules of Order to follow, no Miss Manners to consult. So we muscled through, and though there were times that I was frustrated with her—and I'm sure vice versa—we managed. :-)
Now... are you ready for another twist to the story? A few months after Danielle and I had "reconnected," I started to notice a pattern. Yes, Danielle moved a lot, as I had mentioned before. But she also rarely lived alone. Most of the time that I had known her, she'd had a roommate—and not the same roommate, but a series of them. Honestly, this had never struck me as odd, that two single women might just want to share an apartment; but shortly after that first time she came to see me as my birth mom, she introduced me to her new roommate. Let's call her Pam.
The very first time that I met Pam, I knew. They weren't just roommates. And THAT is really when I started to think about the fact that Danielle had lived with several women in the years that I had known her. Now that doesn't mean that every one of them was a girlfriend, but looking back I'm pretty sure that Pam wasn't the first one.
Still, I was only 19 and honestly had never known anyone who was gay, so I asked my parents if they thought that she was. They weren't sure either, but weren't ruling it out. I decided that at that particular point in time, Danielle and I had enough to deal with, and I was going to leave well enough alone. It didn't take long for me to be certain, though. I could just tell every time I was around the two of them. Sometimes I could tell by the way they talked and laughed together, other times by the way that they fought; but each time they interacted, it wasn't just as women who shared an apartment to cut rent in half. Oh, and then there were the matching gold and diamond rings that they wore on their left hands. That too.
I could tell that Danielle thought I didn't know, and I could tell she preferred it that way, so I still just chose to leave it alone. Still, it raised a lot of questions for me… I mean, obviously at some point she wasn't gay, so when did this happen? Why? How long ago? And yes (please remember, this is my story and you don't have to agree), I believe that homosexuality is a sin… So what did this mean for her salvation (as she was—and is—a professing Christian)? And how would it affect our relationship?
These are, by the way, questions I still ask myself. To this day I don't know all the answers.
In the meantime, my own personal life was getting back on track. After my big heartbreak the same summer I learned about Danielle, I had a few more rough months… but then God really got ahold of my heart, and fortunately He's never let go. Things turned around dramatically sometime around Christmas of my sophomore year. I realized that I was weary of being so darn stubborn, and I just needed rest in His arms and His love—as hard as life as a Christian can be, it's so much easier to let God lead than to attempt to do it on your own.
Fortunately, this also seriously changed the type of guy I was looking for. Whew! (That was me breathing a sigh of relief for myself.) I had one semi-serious relationship with an old friend from Bible quizzing, but honestly that was over long before we broke it off. Still he was a decent, intelligent, nice, respectful guy—nothing like anyone I had dated for the two years prior.
And then while I was home for Christmas break in my junior year, I got a phone call from my aunt. Her youngest daughter—3 or 4 younger than me—was making some bad decisions in the boy arena, and my aunt asked if I would try to talk to her. Ha, like I had been a great role model. At least I could speak from experience! So I called and asked if I could take her out to lunch. She asked me if I would pick her up from work to go.
Lynn was still in high school, but was also working… hmmm, now that I think about it, I can't quite figure out how that worked. Maybe she worked after school and during breaks or something, I don't remember. Anyway, her boss was a man named Jon. She had gotten the job because her sister was married to one of Jon's best friends, and her family had gotten to know Jon over the years… And by "her family" I mean both her immediate and her extended family. As in me. I had met Jon when I was only 12 (he was 17), and I had a HUGE crush on him. For YEARS. All through junior high and high school. The last time I'd seen him was when my cousin and his friend had gotten married—we were both in the wedding. I had a boyfriend at the time, and I cried the whole way home from the wedding, because I still had such a crush on Jon! My poor boyfriend had no idea what was going on. Poor kid.
No wait. I had seen him one time after that. Yikes, this is even worse. He was the owner of a teen club, and I went to it with Lynn… just to see him. YEAH, like the fact that I was still young enough to be admitted to the teen club that he owned would be real impressive……. (By the way, he does not remember that night. Just as well. Not one of my shining moments.)
Anyway, that had been two or three years ago. Since the wedding, I had graduated from high school (valedictorian of my class), gone to college (with a huge scholarship!), excelled in all of my classes (the only girl in my particular field of study!), and was doing just fine, thankyouverymuch. I was not nervous in the least to see this guy I had drooled over for a good six years of my life, and I of course had no interest in him now. That, by the way, was my pep talk to myself on the way to Lynn's office, where I was quite likely to run into Jon again.
I went in, anxious both about seeing him again and trying to have this serious talk with my cousin, who I was quite certain didn't even want my advice. I didn't need to worry about the second one. She had known what was coming and decided to avoid it by playing off of my first anxiety… she invited Jon to come to lunch with us.
After all, to Danielle I have always been her daughter… but that was a bit weird for me at first. I mean, I have a mom (and a dad)... and it's not her. She was always a family friend, and someone who I really liked, but I felt no real connection to her, no familial love. It was difficult to just flip that switch. And I think we both struggled with how much we should expect to be in touch, how often we should see each other, that kind of thing. No real template exists for this kind of relationship, you know? We had no Robert's Rules of Order to follow, no Miss Manners to consult. So we muscled through, and though there were times that I was frustrated with her—and I'm sure vice versa—we managed. :-)
Now... are you ready for another twist to the story? A few months after Danielle and I had "reconnected," I started to notice a pattern. Yes, Danielle moved a lot, as I had mentioned before. But she also rarely lived alone. Most of the time that I had known her, she'd had a roommate—and not the same roommate, but a series of them. Honestly, this had never struck me as odd, that two single women might just want to share an apartment; but shortly after that first time she came to see me as my birth mom, she introduced me to her new roommate. Let's call her Pam.
The very first time that I met Pam, I knew. They weren't just roommates. And THAT is really when I started to think about the fact that Danielle had lived with several women in the years that I had known her. Now that doesn't mean that every one of them was a girlfriend, but looking back I'm pretty sure that Pam wasn't the first one.
Still, I was only 19 and honestly had never known anyone who was gay, so I asked my parents if they thought that she was. They weren't sure either, but weren't ruling it out. I decided that at that particular point in time, Danielle and I had enough to deal with, and I was going to leave well enough alone. It didn't take long for me to be certain, though. I could just tell every time I was around the two of them. Sometimes I could tell by the way they talked and laughed together, other times by the way that they fought; but each time they interacted, it wasn't just as women who shared an apartment to cut rent in half. Oh, and then there were the matching gold and diamond rings that they wore on their left hands. That too.
I could tell that Danielle thought I didn't know, and I could tell she preferred it that way, so I still just chose to leave it alone. Still, it raised a lot of questions for me… I mean, obviously at some point she wasn't gay, so when did this happen? Why? How long ago? And yes (please remember, this is my story and you don't have to agree), I believe that homosexuality is a sin… So what did this mean for her salvation (as she was—and is—a professing Christian)? And how would it affect our relationship?
These are, by the way, questions I still ask myself. To this day I don't know all the answers.
In the meantime, my own personal life was getting back on track. After my big heartbreak the same summer I learned about Danielle, I had a few more rough months… but then God really got ahold of my heart, and fortunately He's never let go. Things turned around dramatically sometime around Christmas of my sophomore year. I realized that I was weary of being so darn stubborn, and I just needed rest in His arms and His love—as hard as life as a Christian can be, it's so much easier to let God lead than to attempt to do it on your own.
Fortunately, this also seriously changed the type of guy I was looking for. Whew! (That was me breathing a sigh of relief for myself.) I had one semi-serious relationship with an old friend from Bible quizzing, but honestly that was over long before we broke it off. Still he was a decent, intelligent, nice, respectful guy—nothing like anyone I had dated for the two years prior.
And then while I was home for Christmas break in my junior year, I got a phone call from my aunt. Her youngest daughter—3 or 4 younger than me—was making some bad decisions in the boy arena, and my aunt asked if I would try to talk to her. Ha, like I had been a great role model. At least I could speak from experience! So I called and asked if I could take her out to lunch. She asked me if I would pick her up from work to go.
Lynn was still in high school, but was also working… hmmm, now that I think about it, I can't quite figure out how that worked. Maybe she worked after school and during breaks or something, I don't remember. Anyway, her boss was a man named Jon. She had gotten the job because her sister was married to one of Jon's best friends, and her family had gotten to know Jon over the years… And by "her family" I mean both her immediate and her extended family. As in me. I had met Jon when I was only 12 (he was 17), and I had a HUGE crush on him. For YEARS. All through junior high and high school. The last time I'd seen him was when my cousin and his friend had gotten married—we were both in the wedding. I had a boyfriend at the time, and I cried the whole way home from the wedding, because I still had such a crush on Jon! My poor boyfriend had no idea what was going on. Poor kid.
No wait. I had seen him one time after that. Yikes, this is even worse. He was the owner of a teen club, and I went to it with Lynn… just to see him. YEAH, like the fact that I was still young enough to be admitted to the teen club that he owned would be real impressive……. (By the way, he does not remember that night. Just as well. Not one of my shining moments.)
Anyway, that had been two or three years ago. Since the wedding, I had graduated from high school (valedictorian of my class), gone to college (with a huge scholarship!), excelled in all of my classes (the only girl in my particular field of study!), and was doing just fine, thankyouverymuch. I was not nervous in the least to see this guy I had drooled over for a good six years of my life, and I of course had no interest in him now. That, by the way, was my pep talk to myself on the way to Lynn's office, where I was quite likely to run into Jon again.
I went in, anxious both about seeing him again and trying to have this serious talk with my cousin, who I was quite certain didn't even want my advice. I didn't need to worry about the second one. She had known what was coming and decided to avoid it by playing off of my first anxiety… she invited Jon to come to lunch with us.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 9
I think I was in a fog for the rest of the day, maybe the next several days. My mind was working overtime, putting together all of the pieces of my relationship with Danielle over the years. I may have come to the conclusion that she was my birth mom before my parents told me, but that doesn't mean I was really able to wrap my mind around it right away!
The next morning I decided to call Danielle and let her know that I had found out everything. This was not as easy as it may seem, though. The last time I had seen or talked to her was at my high school graduation, about a month before my 18th birthday. I am assuming that she backed off after that because she was giving me space—she probably figured that I would find out about her within a few days of turning 18, and she wanted me to be able to get in touch with her when I felt comfortable. I'm sure she didn't expect me to wait over a year to search her out.
Anyway, apparently in that time, she moved. The previous summer she'd lived with a roommate in Columbus, and we called that apartment first… only to find out that she had moved suddenly and not left a forwarding address or phone number. We had one other contact—the family Danielle had lived with when she was pregnant with me. We called them, but they didn't know where she was either.
This was getting more complicated than I was ready to deal with.
And then… are you ready for this? The phone rang. Guess who.
Yep, I hadn't heard from Danielle in over a year, and now, WHILE I WAS TRYING TO FIND A WAY TO CONTACT HER, she called. Out of the blue. She had no idea that we were trying to get in touch with her.
Honestly… I don't remember much about that first conversation. I know that I answered the phone. I know that I told her I knew she was my birth mom, and I know she was relieved. But that's really all I remember. I don't think we got into any great details that day, but we set up a time for her to come visit.
That is when we were really able to talk.
It's difficult to relay to you my full story without telling hers… but I really don't want to betray her privacy. So let me sum up a lot by saying… Danielle didn't come from a stable background. She'd had a lot of struggles as a child and teenager, and she finally decided to join the Air Force. She felt that would give her some stability, some discipline.
And then she met him. Danielle was a mechanic in the Air Force, and there was a crash involving aircraft from her base, so the Air Force sent an officer to investigate. The man who would become my birth father. I honestly don't know how much of a relationship they had—I know that she says she was very much in love with him. I also know that he lived in a different state. And he was married. Not the makings of a healthy, committed relationship.
When Danielle got pregnant with me, it was mandatory that she leave the Air Force—adultery is not allowed. My birth father would have been asked to leave as well, except that she wouldn't tell anyone who he was. So suddenly she was on her own again. She returned to Ohio, to a pastor and his family who had taken her in during her late teen years, and then decided to go to Bible college.
In the meantime, by the way, my birth father was not offering any help to her… until a friend of hers basically blackmailed him. She threatened to tell his commanding officer that he was the father, which as I said before would have ended his career in the Air Force. So he started paying for her medical bills—although he didn't know that she had insurance that was already covering that. (Remember way back when I said my parents had wanted to help with her expenses, but she didn't need it? And the judge said if they had given her any money, he would have taken the baby away? Yeah, God works in mysterious ways……….)
And that was really all she could tell me. She knew his name, where he was stationed when the two of them met, and… well, that was pretty much it. Not much to go on if I wanted to find him… but then again, at that point, I really didn't. Right then I already had enough on my plate.
We had a good evening of just catching up and exchanging memories and filling in some gaps. And we promised to be in touch more.
But believe me, the story is far from over.
The next morning I decided to call Danielle and let her know that I had found out everything. This was not as easy as it may seem, though. The last time I had seen or talked to her was at my high school graduation, about a month before my 18th birthday. I am assuming that she backed off after that because she was giving me space—she probably figured that I would find out about her within a few days of turning 18, and she wanted me to be able to get in touch with her when I felt comfortable. I'm sure she didn't expect me to wait over a year to search her out.
Anyway, apparently in that time, she moved. The previous summer she'd lived with a roommate in Columbus, and we called that apartment first… only to find out that she had moved suddenly and not left a forwarding address or phone number. We had one other contact—the family Danielle had lived with when she was pregnant with me. We called them, but they didn't know where she was either.
This was getting more complicated than I was ready to deal with.
And then… are you ready for this? The phone rang. Guess who.
Yep, I hadn't heard from Danielle in over a year, and now, WHILE I WAS TRYING TO FIND A WAY TO CONTACT HER, she called. Out of the blue. She had no idea that we were trying to get in touch with her.
Honestly… I don't remember much about that first conversation. I know that I answered the phone. I know that I told her I knew she was my birth mom, and I know she was relieved. But that's really all I remember. I don't think we got into any great details that day, but we set up a time for her to come visit.
That is when we were really able to talk.
It's difficult to relay to you my full story without telling hers… but I really don't want to betray her privacy. So let me sum up a lot by saying… Danielle didn't come from a stable background. She'd had a lot of struggles as a child and teenager, and she finally decided to join the Air Force. She felt that would give her some stability, some discipline.
And then she met him. Danielle was a mechanic in the Air Force, and there was a crash involving aircraft from her base, so the Air Force sent an officer to investigate. The man who would become my birth father. I honestly don't know how much of a relationship they had—I know that she says she was very much in love with him. I also know that he lived in a different state. And he was married. Not the makings of a healthy, committed relationship.
When Danielle got pregnant with me, it was mandatory that she leave the Air Force—adultery is not allowed. My birth father would have been asked to leave as well, except that she wouldn't tell anyone who he was. So suddenly she was on her own again. She returned to Ohio, to a pastor and his family who had taken her in during her late teen years, and then decided to go to Bible college.
In the meantime, by the way, my birth father was not offering any help to her… until a friend of hers basically blackmailed him. She threatened to tell his commanding officer that he was the father, which as I said before would have ended his career in the Air Force. So he started paying for her medical bills—although he didn't know that she had insurance that was already covering that. (Remember way back when I said my parents had wanted to help with her expenses, but she didn't need it? And the judge said if they had given her any money, he would have taken the baby away? Yeah, God works in mysterious ways……….)
And that was really all she could tell me. She knew his name, where he was stationed when the two of them met, and… well, that was pretty much it. Not much to go on if I wanted to find him… but then again, at that point, I really didn't. Right then I already had enough on my plate.
We had a good evening of just catching up and exchanging memories and filling in some gaps. And we promised to be in touch more.
But believe me, the story is far from over.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 8
I can't remember if I mentioned this at the beginning or not, but I feel the need to break in now and tell you that I have changed the names in this story to protect... well, everyone. ;-)
So my parents decided to reach out, to give my biological mother a chance to be part of my life.
And that—basically from "part 5" to now—is what they shared with me that Sunday afternoon in August of 1998. No, they didn't just leave me in suspense… but when they got to that part, I knew. "It's Danielle, isn't it?" I said.
They just stared at me. "Did you know?" my mom asked.
No, I hadn't found out early. I hadn't known when they started or when they talked about the connection with my aunt or at any specific point in the story… it had just sort of come to me, throughout the course of the talk.
I think I mentioned early in this whole story that I had wondered about my biological family as I was growing up. I think it's only natural, knowing that you're adopted, to wonder. I would wonder about the cashier at the grocery store or the lady crossing the street in front of us or even (and in some ways, especially) people we would see when we were traveling—on a bus in Seattle, in a restaurant in Colorado, at a hotel in New York. It's not that I was obsessive about it, it's just one of those daydreams that flitters through your mind when you're not thinking about anything else. "Could this be…?"
And throughout my life, I would wonder about certain people we knew, especially single women with no kids. They just seemed to fit the mold of possibilities, and Danielle was one of them.
Danielle had always been a "family friend" as far as I was concerned, and although she was younger than my parents and didn't really live close by, I never really questioned her connection with my parents. I knew that she had gone to the same Bible college that they had at one time attended, and it never really occurred to me that they wouldn't have all been there at the same time.
But now, things were clicking. I was making connections in my head—phone calls on my birthday, Danielle coming to a piano recital… my graduation… things like that. They hadn't stood out to me as odd before, but now they made sense in a whole new way.
And then they explained how it had all come about. Now at this juncture I need to explain that there is a chance I am going to get some of the details wrong on this next little bit… I am purposefully not going back to my parents to ask them to confirm every little thing I am about to tell you, because I want it to be my story, the way that I remember it—or at least, the way I remember hearing it that day.
I believe I was about a year old before my parents made contact with Danielle. They called my aunt who had helped put them together in the first place, and explained that they wanted to meet her. They went out to visit, and I think that they met at church the first time. In fact, I don't think Danielle ever saw me that day—I was in the nursery, and I don't think she felt ready to go back and see the baby that she had given up.
Shortly after that, my parents extended an invitation for her to come to their home. I don't know who all was over that day, but I know my mom said that Danielle held me and went outside, and she carried me as she walked all the way around the outside of their house. I can't even imagine all of the thoughts and emotions that must have been inside of her that day as she held the child she never thought she'd see again.
And that's how it started. Over the years, Danielle really did become a family friend. She had a lot going on in her own life—although that's her story to tell, not mine—and I think my parents felt like they had adopted both of us at times! She moved a lot, most of the time within Ohio, but at one point I remember her living in California, but we would usually see her at least a couple of times per year.
I liked Danielle (I still do, of course J), and it was neat to hear the story and see it all come together… but it was still a lot of information. A lot of emotion. A lot of confusion. My parents gave me some papers that they had been saving for me—the card from my hospital bed, letters from the attorney, my adoption certificate, medical information on my biological parents, and a letter that Jan had written to my mom the day after I was born. It was so great… and yet so much.
My head was spinning, and my body was literally shaking. I just couldn't take it all in.
And then, it was time for me to go to work.
So my parents decided to reach out, to give my biological mother a chance to be part of my life.
And that—basically from "part 5" to now—is what they shared with me that Sunday afternoon in August of 1998. No, they didn't just leave me in suspense… but when they got to that part, I knew. "It's Danielle, isn't it?" I said.
They just stared at me. "Did you know?" my mom asked.
No, I hadn't found out early. I hadn't known when they started or when they talked about the connection with my aunt or at any specific point in the story… it had just sort of come to me, throughout the course of the talk.
I think I mentioned early in this whole story that I had wondered about my biological family as I was growing up. I think it's only natural, knowing that you're adopted, to wonder. I would wonder about the cashier at the grocery store or the lady crossing the street in front of us or even (and in some ways, especially) people we would see when we were traveling—on a bus in Seattle, in a restaurant in Colorado, at a hotel in New York. It's not that I was obsessive about it, it's just one of those daydreams that flitters through your mind when you're not thinking about anything else. "Could this be…?"
And throughout my life, I would wonder about certain people we knew, especially single women with no kids. They just seemed to fit the mold of possibilities, and Danielle was one of them.
Danielle had always been a "family friend" as far as I was concerned, and although she was younger than my parents and didn't really live close by, I never really questioned her connection with my parents. I knew that she had gone to the same Bible college that they had at one time attended, and it never really occurred to me that they wouldn't have all been there at the same time.
But now, things were clicking. I was making connections in my head—phone calls on my birthday, Danielle coming to a piano recital… my graduation… things like that. They hadn't stood out to me as odd before, but now they made sense in a whole new way.
And then they explained how it had all come about. Now at this juncture I need to explain that there is a chance I am going to get some of the details wrong on this next little bit… I am purposefully not going back to my parents to ask them to confirm every little thing I am about to tell you, because I want it to be my story, the way that I remember it—or at least, the way I remember hearing it that day.
I believe I was about a year old before my parents made contact with Danielle. They called my aunt who had helped put them together in the first place, and explained that they wanted to meet her. They went out to visit, and I think that they met at church the first time. In fact, I don't think Danielle ever saw me that day—I was in the nursery, and I don't think she felt ready to go back and see the baby that she had given up.
Shortly after that, my parents extended an invitation for her to come to their home. I don't know who all was over that day, but I know my mom said that Danielle held me and went outside, and she carried me as she walked all the way around the outside of their house. I can't even imagine all of the thoughts and emotions that must have been inside of her that day as she held the child she never thought she'd see again.
And that's how it started. Over the years, Danielle really did become a family friend. She had a lot going on in her own life—although that's her story to tell, not mine—and I think my parents felt like they had adopted both of us at times! She moved a lot, most of the time within Ohio, but at one point I remember her living in California, but we would usually see her at least a couple of times per year.
I liked Danielle (I still do, of course J), and it was neat to hear the story and see it all come together… but it was still a lot of information. A lot of emotion. A lot of confusion. My parents gave me some papers that they had been saving for me—the card from my hospital bed, letters from the attorney, my adoption certificate, medical information on my biological parents, and a letter that Jan had written to my mom the day after I was born. It was so great… and yet so much.
My head was spinning, and my body was literally shaking. I just couldn't take it all in.
And then, it was time for me to go to work.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Guest Blogger: Jamey
Hello friends! I hope you all enjoyed Patti's post on Tuesday. Today I am introducing our next guest blogger, Jamey from Zehlahlum Family. I know Jamey IRL (geek speak for In Real Life), and although I haven't seen her in years, Facebook and Blogger have made us closer than we ever were before. :-) Jamey and her husband have 3 children, 1 of whom was adopted from Ethiopia last year. I love her honesty & transparency... and her willingness to laugh at herself (and her children). Enjoy!
I get it. You want to ask. I know. I always wanted to ask. I still want to ask. I used to stare. I don't stare anymore because I have to watch my kids...the same ones you're watching. I see it. You see it too. Let's just say it like it is:
My kids are ADORABLE!! It's true and maybe that's even what "you" were thinking, but it's probably not what you were going to say. Let me help you!
Honestly, we haven't really had a problem with people saying awkward/weird/rude things since we've been home. Sure there's been an issue or two, but I haven't even needed to punch anyone in the mouth yet. Another thing that I want to say right off the bat is that I don't mind talking about our adoption with you. It's not a secret or something we're ashamed of that we adopted Boohoo. At this point in her life, she doesn't mind us talking about it so no worries.
Let's say that we're standing next to each other in the grocery store. You notice that myclothing family does not "match " and you want to talk shop about adoption.
Worst: "Is she yours?" Whether you're asking Andrew about me or me about Boohoo I'm going to be upset. You're completely ignoring part of my family and completely objectifying whoever you're talking about. Who do you belong to?
Bad: "Are they all yours?" Well, at least here you've included all of us in your awkward question, but still, this isn't great. Why don't you just ask Andrew, "How much does your wife sleep around, 1 kid worth, 2? All of them? Have you no pride, man?!"
Better: "Was your daughter adopted?" I told you I don't mind talking about this, especially since my daughter is young. If you're being nosy about an older kid you might have to just forget it. What I think makes this okay is that you're acknowledging our relationship--daughter daughter daughter. Don't say 'she', say daughter! Also key, at least to me, was, she was adopted, now she is my daughter. Plus, it's what you want to know so ask it. Probably you're thinking about adopting, or your best friend adopted or you just like adoption. If you don't have a bad attitude I won't either.
Best: "Your children are beautiful." Because that's the truth. But don't just say "your daughter is beautiful" because odds are good that my boys are standing right there too and they are beautiful too.
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Worst pt 1: "I could never love somebody else's child." First of all, I hope nothing ever happens to your spouse and you decide to remarry and fall in love with a single dad/mom. Secondly, way to broadcast your shortcomings. Thirdly, she isn't 'someone else's child' your child is someone else's. She is MY child. Fourth, you don't know what you can do until you do it. Put your feet to the street and you might surprise yourself.
Worst pt 2: "You must be such a great/patient person." I'm sorry. Just give me a minute and I will stop rolling around on the floor laughing. I am just a person. I have good points and bad. I have character strengths and character flaws. I'm not anything special. I'm not WonderWoman. I'm "every woman". I can and sometimes do cry myself to sleep at night praying for the patience that my children deserve from me and the grace to bring out the greatness in them. Let me give you my blog url....
Worst pt 3: "She is so lucky." Shoot. This goes right along with the one before this. Lucky is being raised by your parents who have loved you desperately from the time they were dreaming of you until you were placed slippery and squirming into their welcoming arms and every day since then in the country and culture of your birth, healthy and out of reach of poverty. It is not luck that makes lose everything you've ever had and relearn everything you used to know with utter strangers and utter strangeness before your third birthday. If your standard of "luck" is ---hey, she's not dead! then I guess we're all lucky.
Best: "You look like such a great family." That's all you need to say. We are great. And we are a family. Thanks for noticing!
Don't Ask the Following Questions Randomly in Public:
"How old is he/she?" The odds are pretty good that I/other adoptive parents don't know and it involves a long drawn out conversation which while I don't mind explaining will give my children the time to empty every box in the cereal aisle. Instead say, "I have a niece/nephew/godchild/son/daughter that age." Because that's what you're going to say anyway whether my daughter is two or three or four. Besides this just focuses on our common ground and lack of sanity.
"How much did she cost?" Don't say this to me, okay? I might come back and ask you how much the copay on your scheduled unnecessary c-section was and there's no reason for either of us to go there. I can tell you the cost of her ever-expanding collection of shoes and the rising cost of keeping Boohoo in jeans that actually fit her (!), but she did not cost. If you're interested in knowing about the expenses incurred during the legal process of adoption (which is what we did) then you can find that information in about twenty seconds worth of internet research. If you want to talk about those expenses and we're not standing in public and these aren't the first words you utter to me then maybe we can talk about it.
"Did you hear about that mom who sent her kid back?" I did, yes. Did you hear about the 423,773 kids who are in foster care in the States because their parents cannot/will not take care of them? I would be so happy to discuss ethics in adoption and post-adoption resources with you, so happy, but you'd better have some time on your hands. Additionally, I don't want to discuss some things in front of my preschoolers. I know, I'm "sheltering" them, but it's my job as a parent. I won't discuss ways in which adoption isn't permanent in front of my adopted three year old. She knows families don't always mean forever and we're trying our hardest to abate that feeling of uneasiness.
"Why was she given up for adoption?" Let me count the ways that this is not anyone's business. I think that this question still comes up because people don't understand that adoption is built on loss, it's just a big core of loss, wrapped up in loss, covered in more loss, and surrounded by more loss. Maybe when tossed that "ball of loss" landed somewhere nice and comfy, but that doesn't change what it is. If you were standing in line next to a man who was missing a limb would you ask him what happened? Nope. Because you realize that you might get decked, it's none of your business, and it would dredge up intense emotions. Same thing.
I do want to reiterate that I am NOT opposed to talking about adoption, ethics, racial issues, etc. This post might sound defensive, but it's not intended to. I just want people to think before they speak and remember who is listening. There is a lot lot lot more leeway if we are friends or becoming friends, or if we're in a home setting where it's not a creepy thirty second encounter. And then, please remember that my kids are listening and they are smart. I've raised them to believe that adults know how to act respectfully and are smart. Please, don't make a liar out of me!
I get it. You want to ask. I know. I always wanted to ask. I still want to ask. I used to stare. I don't stare anymore because I have to watch my kids...the same ones you're watching. I see it. You see it too. Let's just say it like it is:
My kids are ADORABLE!! It's true and maybe that's even what "you" were thinking, but it's probably not what you were going to say. Let me help you!
Honestly, we haven't really had a problem with people saying awkward/weird/rude things since we've been home. Sure there's been an issue or two, but I haven't even needed to punch anyone in the mouth yet. Another thing that I want to say right off the bat is that I don't mind talking about our adoption with you. It's not a secret or something we're ashamed of that we adopted Boohoo. At this point in her life, she doesn't mind us talking about it so no worries.
Let's say that we're standing next to each other in the grocery store. You notice that my
Worst: "Is she yours?" Whether you're asking Andrew about me or me about Boohoo I'm going to be upset. You're completely ignoring part of my family and completely objectifying whoever you're talking about. Who do you belong to?
Bad: "Are they all yours?" Well, at least here you've included all of us in your awkward question, but still, this isn't great. Why don't you just ask Andrew, "How much does your wife sleep around, 1 kid worth, 2? All of them? Have you no pride, man?!"
Better: "Was your daughter adopted?" I told you I don't mind talking about this, especially since my daughter is young. If you're being nosy about an older kid you might have to just forget it. What I think makes this okay is that you're acknowledging our relationship--daughter daughter daughter. Don't say 'she', say daughter! Also key, at least to me, was, she was adopted, now she is my daughter. Plus, it's what you want to know so ask it. Probably you're thinking about adopting, or your best friend adopted or you just like adoption. If you don't have a bad attitude I won't either.
Best: "Your children are beautiful." Because that's the truth. But don't just say "your daughter is beautiful" because odds are good that my boys are standing right there too and they are beautiful too.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Worst pt 1: "I could never love somebody else's child." First of all, I hope nothing ever happens to your spouse and you decide to remarry and fall in love with a single dad/mom. Secondly, way to broadcast your shortcomings. Thirdly, she isn't 'someone else's child' your child is someone else's. She is MY child. Fourth, you don't know what you can do until you do it. Put your feet to the street and you might surprise yourself.
Worst pt 2: "You must be such a great/patient person." I'm sorry. Just give me a minute and I will stop rolling around on the floor laughing. I am just a person. I have good points and bad. I have character strengths and character flaws. I'm not anything special. I'm not WonderWoman. I'm "every woman". I can and sometimes do cry myself to sleep at night praying for the patience that my children deserve from me and the grace to bring out the greatness in them. Let me give you my blog url....
Worst pt 3: "She is so lucky." Shoot. This goes right along with the one before this. Lucky is being raised by your parents who have loved you desperately from the time they were dreaming of you until you were placed slippery and squirming into their welcoming arms and every day since then in the country and culture of your birth, healthy and out of reach of poverty. It is not luck that makes lose everything you've ever had and relearn everything you used to know with utter strangers and utter strangeness before your third birthday. If your standard of "luck" is ---hey, she's not dead! then I guess we're all lucky.
Best: "You look like such a great family." That's all you need to say. We are great. And we are a family. Thanks for noticing!
Don't Ask the Following Questions Randomly in Public:
"How old is he/she?" The odds are pretty good that I/other adoptive parents don't know and it involves a long drawn out conversation which while I don't mind explaining will give my children the time to empty every box in the cereal aisle. Instead say, "I have a niece/nephew/godchild/son/daughter that age." Because that's what you're going to say anyway whether my daughter is two or three or four. Besides this just focuses on our common ground and lack of sanity.
"How much did she cost?" Don't say this to me, okay? I might come back and ask you how much the copay on your scheduled unnecessary c-section was and there's no reason for either of us to go there. I can tell you the cost of her ever-expanding collection of shoes and the rising cost of keeping Boohoo in jeans that actually fit her (!), but she did not cost. If you're interested in knowing about the expenses incurred during the legal process of adoption (which is what we did) then you can find that information in about twenty seconds worth of internet research. If you want to talk about those expenses and we're not standing in public and these aren't the first words you utter to me then maybe we can talk about it.
"Did you hear about that mom who sent her kid back?" I did, yes. Did you hear about the 423,773 kids who are in foster care in the States because their parents cannot/will not take care of them? I would be so happy to discuss ethics in adoption and post-adoption resources with you, so happy, but you'd better have some time on your hands. Additionally, I don't want to discuss some things in front of my preschoolers. I know, I'm "sheltering" them, but it's my job as a parent. I won't discuss ways in which adoption isn't permanent in front of my adopted three year old. She knows families don't always mean forever and we're trying our hardest to abate that feeling of uneasiness.
"Why was she given up for adoption?" Let me count the ways that this is not anyone's business. I think that this question still comes up because people don't understand that adoption is built on loss, it's just a big core of loss, wrapped up in loss, covered in more loss, and surrounded by more loss. Maybe when tossed that "ball of loss" landed somewhere nice and comfy, but that doesn't change what it is. If you were standing in line next to a man who was missing a limb would you ask him what happened? Nope. Because you realize that you might get decked, it's none of your business, and it would dredge up intense emotions. Same thing.
I do want to reiterate that I am NOT opposed to talking about adoption, ethics, racial issues, etc. This post might sound defensive, but it's not intended to. I just want people to think before they speak and remember who is listening. There is a lot lot lot more leeway if we are friends or becoming friends, or if we're in a home setting where it's not a creepy thirty second encounter. And then, please remember that my kids are listening and they are smart. I've raised them to believe that adults know how to act respectfully and are smart. Please, don't make a liar out of me!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 7
Geez, I can't believe we're at part 7 already—I didn't even know there were 7 parts to this story! J Actually, that's not true. There's still a lot to come…!
Yes, once my parents had officially adopted me and had been given the she's-fully-your-responsibility-no-matter-what speech, I came down with pneumonia. I was hospitalized and put in a tent where they used cold mist on me. My mom said it was torture to watch, because as a parent you always want to keep your baby dry and warm—this completely went against her instincts! But they survived, and so did I. J
And we also all survived that summer, when I was at a picnic with my family and poured a thermos of hot coffee on myself, prompting another trip to the hospital. Apparently my current state of clumsiness is nothing new.
As for my adoption, I'm a little fuzzy on the timeline of what happened next. But basically… well, first let me give you some background.
My mom (my mom, not my biological mother) was the youngest of six children, and her family lived on a farm in a small Ohio town. Unfortunately, her mother died of complications from childbirth just a few days after my mom was born. Her father suddenly found himself dealing with the loss of a spouse, raising his older five children, raising a newborn, and still trying to maintain the farm to provide for his family. He soon realized that he couldn't do it all, and he asked his sister and her husband to take care of the baby for a few months. A few months turned into years, and my mom never returned to her biological father and siblings. She was raised close to them geographically and knew them, but the people that she called her parents and siblings were biologically her aunt, uncle, and cousins.
Are you confused? J
I believe that her own situation is at least part of the reason my mom had wanted to adopt a child in the first place. And now that she had me, she thought again about her life growing up, and the fact that she had never known her biological mother. She wanted me to have that opportunity.
She called my aunt, the one who had connected my parents with my birth mom in the first place, and asked if my birth mom might be interested in being a part of my life. Up to this point, they had never met—the court hearings, the attorney meetings, even my parents' arrival at the hospital, had all been timed so that my parents and my birth mom didn't ever see each other. But now they were reaching out, willing to meet.
But would she want to meet them? Would she be able to handle seeing this child that she had given up? Could she be a part of her life knowing that she couldn't be the mother she wanted for her child?
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 6
I am definitely not an expert on domestic adoptions, so I don't really know what the typical one looks like or how or where that first meeting usually takes place. But I know that mine was special.
My parents met me at the hospital, the day after I was born. It was especially memorable for my dad, who hadn't gotten to hold his sons until they were out of the hospital—back in the days when dads were kept at arm's length during the hospital stay. This time, though, not only did he get to hold his newborn baby, but he got to feed her too. In fact, they wouldn't release me until I took a bottle for my parents, so my dad sat down, held me, and said, "I'm your daddy. And you need to drink this bottle." And I did. :-) See, I've always been a Daddy's Girl.
As I mentioned before, my parents had kept this whole adoption a secret, so they had some explaining to do when they got home. My brothers, now 8 and 10, suddenly had a new baby sister to figure out… but even they were easier to convince than our church family. No, they weren't opposed to the idea of my parents adopting a child—they just didn't believe it! About a week after they came home with me, they attended a church picnic. Everyone kept asking, "Whose baby is that?" "She's ours!" my parents would proudly respond. And then they'd hear, "……Nooooo… Whose is she really?" No one could believe that they had kept such a secret or that my parents' hopes of adoption had finally come true. But there I was!
Those of you who are familiar with domestic adoptions know that they aren't finalized overnight. Although my parents had taken me home rather quickly, it was several months before everything was official. In fact, the final adoption hearing wasn't held until February of 1980.
It's important here to remember that we're talking about an adoption that happened over (yikes!) 30 years ago. So before you read this and then e-mail me and say, "That's not right! We did this or know someone who did that or…" whatever, please remember that this was a long time ago. Some things have changed. Are we all on the same page? OK, then keep reading.
On the day of the final hearing, the judge took my parents into his office individually to ask them some questions. Both of them were a little nervous when he started asking about money. "Have you helped the biological mother with her expenses?" he asked. "Medical expenses? Helped her with her rent? Food? Clothing?" They explained that they had wanted to—had offered to—but that she had gotten a job with benefits, so she hadn't needed any help. Apparently a law had been passed during that time that said pregnancy could not be classified as a "pre-existing condition," so she was able to get everything covered. (As an aside, a friend of hers had also basically blackmailed my biological father into helping her financially through her pregnancy, so that helped to cover her non-medical costs.)
The judge continued to press them. "You didn't help the mother of your child at all?" At this point, I think they were more than a little anxious. Was he going to take away their baby because he thought they didn't care enough? Should they have insisted on helping with something—some costs along the way? But then the judge softened. "Good. You see, if you had given her even one cent, this would have been considered a black market adoption, and we would have had to take the baby away." Praise the Lord for working out those details—can you imagine if they had helped her financially, out of the goodness of their hearts, only to have it bite them by having their child taken by the courts?
The rest of the hearing went off without a hitch. And at the end, the judge admonished them that I was now fully theirs. "You are now responsible for her every need," he explained. "If she needs food, you provide it. If she needs clothing, you provide it. If she gets sick as you leave this courthouse, it is your responsibility—she is fully your daughter." They accepted this responsibility and left, now officially a family of five.
And the next week, I came down with pneumonia.
My parents met me at the hospital, the day after I was born. It was especially memorable for my dad, who hadn't gotten to hold his sons until they were out of the hospital—back in the days when dads were kept at arm's length during the hospital stay. This time, though, not only did he get to hold his newborn baby, but he got to feed her too. In fact, they wouldn't release me until I took a bottle for my parents, so my dad sat down, held me, and said, "I'm your daddy. And you need to drink this bottle." And I did. :-) See, I've always been a Daddy's Girl.
As I mentioned before, my parents had kept this whole adoption a secret, so they had some explaining to do when they got home. My brothers, now 8 and 10, suddenly had a new baby sister to figure out… but even they were easier to convince than our church family. No, they weren't opposed to the idea of my parents adopting a child—they just didn't believe it! About a week after they came home with me, they attended a church picnic. Everyone kept asking, "Whose baby is that?" "She's ours!" my parents would proudly respond. And then they'd hear, "……Nooooo… Whose is she really?" No one could believe that they had kept such a secret or that my parents' hopes of adoption had finally come true. But there I was!
Those of you who are familiar with domestic adoptions know that they aren't finalized overnight. Although my parents had taken me home rather quickly, it was several months before everything was official. In fact, the final adoption hearing wasn't held until February of 1980.
It's important here to remember that we're talking about an adoption that happened over (yikes!) 30 years ago. So before you read this and then e-mail me and say, "That's not right! We did this or know someone who did that or…" whatever, please remember that this was a long time ago. Some things have changed. Are we all on the same page? OK, then keep reading.
On the day of the final hearing, the judge took my parents into his office individually to ask them some questions. Both of them were a little nervous when he started asking about money. "Have you helped the biological mother with her expenses?" he asked. "Medical expenses? Helped her with her rent? Food? Clothing?" They explained that they had wanted to—had offered to—but that she had gotten a job with benefits, so she hadn't needed any help. Apparently a law had been passed during that time that said pregnancy could not be classified as a "pre-existing condition," so she was able to get everything covered. (As an aside, a friend of hers had also basically blackmailed my biological father into helping her financially through her pregnancy, so that helped to cover her non-medical costs.)
The judge continued to press them. "You didn't help the mother of your child at all?" At this point, I think they were more than a little anxious. Was he going to take away their baby because he thought they didn't care enough? Should they have insisted on helping with something—some costs along the way? But then the judge softened. "Good. You see, if you had given her even one cent, this would have been considered a black market adoption, and we would have had to take the baby away." Praise the Lord for working out those details—can you imagine if they had helped her financially, out of the goodness of their hearts, only to have it bite them by having their child taken by the courts?
The rest of the hearing went off without a hitch. And at the end, the judge admonished them that I was now fully theirs. "You are now responsible for her every need," he explained. "If she needs food, you provide it. If she needs clothing, you provide it. If she gets sick as you leave this courthouse, it is your responsibility—she is fully your daughter." They accepted this responsibility and left, now officially a family of five.
And the next week, I came down with pneumonia.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 5
This is where it gets tricky. Not because it's uncomfortable to share, but just because I don't know where to start! Do I tell you my parents' story as they told it that day, without all of the background? Do I give the background and spoil the ending? Do I tell my birth mom's story first? Do I try to interweave the two????? Well, I don't expect you have the answers to those questions, either, so I might as well just pick a place to start and go with it. :-)
I sat down with my parents that day, expecting them to give me a basic layout of how they got me—maybe what agency they used or what county I was born in (I knew I was born within the state) or… something. I thought they would point me in the general direction of what courthouse was storing my super-secret-biological-records. I thought it would be a 15-minute talk.
I had no idea.
I'll start with some background information on my parents. They had two biological sons, but always wanted to adopt. My mom had been raised by her aunt and uncle after her biological mother died from complications during childbirth. She had five older siblings, and her dad just didn't feel capable of handling a farm, his five older children, and a newborn. She wasn't officially adopted, but her biological aunt and uncle were her real parents, my grandparents. She knew her biological father and siblings, but wasn't really raised with them. She was, for all intents and purposes, adopted, and she knew that she someday wanted to adopt, too.
The fact that they had two biological children made adoption (in the 1970's) difficult. I know that at least one time (maybe twice?) before I came along they actually had a placement, but when it came time for the final adoption hearing the judge overturned the decision, since they already had children. They looked into international adoption, but for whatever reason (I'm sure they told me, but I can't quite remember now… cost, maybe?... or maybe it just wasn't "clicking"…. I just don't remember…) that didn't come to fruition.
By the late 70's, they had all but given up. Then one day my grandma called my parents and said that she had found a bassinet that she wanted them to have—she firmly believed they would one day get the baby they were hoping for. (She was an amazing woman, but I never had the privilege of meeting her—she died about three months before I was born.) And another time, my dad had a dream that he would have a daughter named "Kathryn." They didn't know how realistic it was to hope anymore, but the hope was returning anyway.
And then one day, they got the phone call. My mom's sister was Dean of Women at a small Bible college. She had a student who was pregnant and who wanted to give her baby up for adoption… were they still interested?
I can't even begin to tell you the emotions and excitement and concern and everything else that my parents were going through then, because, well, I wasn't there. I can't even tell you a lot of the details about how it all happened. But I'll tell you as much as I know…
The adoption was handled privately (without an agency). My parents and my birth mom both used the same lawyer, so that everything would go as smoothly as possible. And when it came time to go before the judge, my birth mom specifically told him that she wanted my parents to have her baby because they already had children—she wanted her baby to have siblings. It was all coming together.
Meanwhile, my parents kept this whole situation a secret—not even their parents knew. Only my aunt, who had "introduced" my birth mom and parents (They had actually never met, but you know what I mean...), had any idea. As hopeful as my parents were, they had been burned before and didn't want to start spreading the news too quickly.
And then, it happened. They got the phone call that it was time. Their new baby girl was here—July 13, 1979.
I sat down with my parents that day, expecting them to give me a basic layout of how they got me—maybe what agency they used or what county I was born in (I knew I was born within the state) or… something. I thought they would point me in the general direction of what courthouse was storing my super-secret-biological-records. I thought it would be a 15-minute talk.
I had no idea.
I'll start with some background information on my parents. They had two biological sons, but always wanted to adopt. My mom had been raised by her aunt and uncle after her biological mother died from complications during childbirth. She had five older siblings, and her dad just didn't feel capable of handling a farm, his five older children, and a newborn. She wasn't officially adopted, but her biological aunt and uncle were her real parents, my grandparents. She knew her biological father and siblings, but wasn't really raised with them. She was, for all intents and purposes, adopted, and she knew that she someday wanted to adopt, too.
The fact that they had two biological children made adoption (in the 1970's) difficult. I know that at least one time (maybe twice?) before I came along they actually had a placement, but when it came time for the final adoption hearing the judge overturned the decision, since they already had children. They looked into international adoption, but for whatever reason (I'm sure they told me, but I can't quite remember now… cost, maybe?... or maybe it just wasn't "clicking"…. I just don't remember…) that didn't come to fruition.
By the late 70's, they had all but given up. Then one day my grandma called my parents and said that she had found a bassinet that she wanted them to have—she firmly believed they would one day get the baby they were hoping for. (She was an amazing woman, but I never had the privilege of meeting her—she died about three months before I was born.) And another time, my dad had a dream that he would have a daughter named "Kathryn." They didn't know how realistic it was to hope anymore, but the hope was returning anyway.
And then one day, they got the phone call. My mom's sister was Dean of Women at a small Bible college. She had a student who was pregnant and who wanted to give her baby up for adoption… were they still interested?
I can't even begin to tell you the emotions and excitement and concern and everything else that my parents were going through then, because, well, I wasn't there. I can't even tell you a lot of the details about how it all happened. But I'll tell you as much as I know…
The adoption was handled privately (without an agency). My parents and my birth mom both used the same lawyer, so that everything would go as smoothly as possible. And when it came time to go before the judge, my birth mom specifically told him that she wanted my parents to have her baby because they already had children—she wanted her baby to have siblings. It was all coming together.
Meanwhile, my parents kept this whole situation a secret—not even their parents knew. Only my aunt, who had "introduced" my birth mom and parents (They had actually never met, but you know what I mean...), had any idea. As hopeful as my parents were, they had been burned before and didn't want to start spreading the news too quickly.
And then, it happened. They got the phone call that it was time. Their new baby girl was here—July 13, 1979.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 4
I think maybe I should clarify here. My answer wasn't so much "no" as it was "not right now." Somewhere in that jumbled, teenaged brain of mine, I was able to recognize that I couldn't handle any more drama right then. My brain, my heart, my emotions—they were all on overload at that point in my life. And although I was curious to find my biological family, I already knew who my real family was, and that was enough.
The rest of that summer continued to be eventful. My parents and I enjoyed our trip, first south in California to see my aunt and uncle, then north to Seattle to see my brother and sister-in-law. When we returned I started getting ready for college. And then… just a few weeks before I left for school, our house was robbed! It was just the finishing touch on an unbelievable summer. I wasn't kidding when I said I hadn't been prepared for all that God had in store for that year.
Shortly after that, I left for Heidelberg College (now Heidelberg University). Can I be honest here? As you know, I am reposting this story from my previous blog, and this is my least favorite entry. I really struggle with going into this part of it. I do want to tell you the story of my adoption, and nothing happened in that arena at this time… but this is also my story, and I want to tell you what was going on with me in the time before my parents and I had "the talk." ;-) So here is the short version………
The freshman year of college is tough, especially for kids who go away from home. And God is so good—it was so clear that He had laid out a beautiful bridge to ease my transition into this new environment. During my college visit months before, He had basically plopped me into the middle of wonderful connections and opportunities that were awaiting me that September. All I had to do was step onto that bridge.
But I didn't. Instead I kicked off my shoes and went wading through the white water. I struggled and stumbled and plowed through. I knew that at any time, He would lift me up out of the river and put me back on that bridge if I just asked, but I refused. I still got to the other side, but I was exhausted and felt like a fool for doing it the hard way.
Let me sum up my freshman year of college this way: I crave acceptance… approval… affirmation. I long to fit in. It's something that I wrestle with now, but back then I wasn't even fighting it. Unfortunately, I also didn't use this trait to my advantage—you know, by seeking the approval of people like my professors, boss, or God. No, it was my peers whose acceptance I needed, and I worked so hard for it that I didn't have much time for anything else.
I carried that same baggage with me into the summer, when I worked at Sea World. I enjoyed my job (working in the education department), but I was just consumed with being a part of the "in" crowd to the point that it affected my work. I look back now and I am so sad for that girl. I wish that I could go back, take her by the shoulders, and shake some sense into her!
The crowning moment of the summer came in early August. I had been dating someone throughout the summer, and I was head over heels in love in a way that I hadn't known was possible. I had stupidly agreed to his "rules" that we not date exclusively—again, because I was so desperate for him to like me. But I was in deep, after just a few short months. I just knew that at any moment he would "let" me be his girlfriend. (Oy, why are teenage girls so stupid when it comes to boys?)
And then one day… nothing. He would no longer speak to me, look at me, acknowledge me. Instead I found out from a mutual friend that he was now dating someone else—a result of our (or at least his) "non-exclusivity." He told this mutual friend (and anyone else who would listen, I soon found out), "Katy was nice, but I was just hanging out with her until I met someone I really liked." Pow! My heart was shattered, and I hurt in a place inside myself that I didn't know existed.
During the previous summer, I had postponed the talk of my adoption because I felt like I couldn't handle one more blow. This summer, though, I was looking for a fight. I felt like so many things were spinning out of control, and this suddenly seemed like something that I could grasp. I had control over whether or not I talked to my parents about it; I had control over how far I went with the search. I needed to feel in charge of something.
I came home from work a day or so after the breakup (if you can call it that) and told my mom that I was ready. The following Sunday we went to church, we sat down to a nice lunch, and when we were finished eating, they started in on the story—my story.
The rest of that summer continued to be eventful. My parents and I enjoyed our trip, first south in California to see my aunt and uncle, then north to Seattle to see my brother and sister-in-law. When we returned I started getting ready for college. And then… just a few weeks before I left for school, our house was robbed! It was just the finishing touch on an unbelievable summer. I wasn't kidding when I said I hadn't been prepared for all that God had in store for that year.
Shortly after that, I left for Heidelberg College (now Heidelberg University). Can I be honest here? As you know, I am reposting this story from my previous blog, and this is my least favorite entry. I really struggle with going into this part of it. I do want to tell you the story of my adoption, and nothing happened in that arena at this time… but this is also my story, and I want to tell you what was going on with me in the time before my parents and I had "the talk." ;-) So here is the short version………
The freshman year of college is tough, especially for kids who go away from home. And God is so good—it was so clear that He had laid out a beautiful bridge to ease my transition into this new environment. During my college visit months before, He had basically plopped me into the middle of wonderful connections and opportunities that were awaiting me that September. All I had to do was step onto that bridge.
But I didn't. Instead I kicked off my shoes and went wading through the white water. I struggled and stumbled and plowed through. I knew that at any time, He would lift me up out of the river and put me back on that bridge if I just asked, but I refused. I still got to the other side, but I was exhausted and felt like a fool for doing it the hard way.
Let me sum up my freshman year of college this way: I crave acceptance… approval… affirmation. I long to fit in. It's something that I wrestle with now, but back then I wasn't even fighting it. Unfortunately, I also didn't use this trait to my advantage—you know, by seeking the approval of people like my professors, boss, or God. No, it was my peers whose acceptance I needed, and I worked so hard for it that I didn't have much time for anything else.
I carried that same baggage with me into the summer, when I worked at Sea World. I enjoyed my job (working in the education department), but I was just consumed with being a part of the "in" crowd to the point that it affected my work. I look back now and I am so sad for that girl. I wish that I could go back, take her by the shoulders, and shake some sense into her!
The crowning moment of the summer came in early August. I had been dating someone throughout the summer, and I was head over heels in love in a way that I hadn't known was possible. I had stupidly agreed to his "rules" that we not date exclusively—again, because I was so desperate for him to like me. But I was in deep, after just a few short months. I just knew that at any moment he would "let" me be his girlfriend. (Oy, why are teenage girls so stupid when it comes to boys?)
And then one day… nothing. He would no longer speak to me, look at me, acknowledge me. Instead I found out from a mutual friend that he was now dating someone else—a result of our (or at least his) "non-exclusivity." He told this mutual friend (and anyone else who would listen, I soon found out), "Katy was nice, but I was just hanging out with her until I met someone I really liked." Pow! My heart was shattered, and I hurt in a place inside myself that I didn't know existed.
During the previous summer, I had postponed the talk of my adoption because I felt like I couldn't handle one more blow. This summer, though, I was looking for a fight. I felt like so many things were spinning out of control, and this suddenly seemed like something that I could grasp. I had control over whether or not I talked to my parents about it; I had control over how far I went with the search. I needed to feel in charge of something.
I came home from work a day or so after the breakup (if you can call it that) and told my mom that I was ready. The following Sunday we went to church, we sat down to a nice lunch, and when we were finished eating, they started in on the story—my story.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Katy's Family Forest, Part 2
Yes, I know that I am supposed to post this tomorrow, but tomorrow I will be guest-posting somewhere else, and I want to talk about that here too. So I am posting the next "chapter" of my story now. I'm pretty sure the world is gonna keep spinning. ;-)
So... before I talk about 1997, we have to back up a bit to the fall of 1996. I don't want to digress too far from the main story, but this is important—both to my adoption story and just in general—so please bear with me. It is likely that this entire entry will deal with something completely separate from my adoption, but it really does have a lot of bearing on the story, at least in my mind.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early fall when we found out that my brother and his wife were expecting their first child. And not just their first child, but the first grandchild for my parents—the first niece or nephew for me! It was such an exciting, elating announcement for us all! Of course, we were all torn because we also knew that my brother and sister-in-law were planning to move to Colorado the following year. :-( So we began to prepare for both of those big changes.
And then came January. That's when we got "the visit" from my brother and his wife. The one that immediately followed their ultrasound. The one that I can still remember like it was yesterday. My mom, who is an elementary school teacher, was still at work, but my dad and I were home. They weren't able to wait until she got home—they needed to talk about it right away. Something was wrong with the baby. He had a condition called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. Oh goodness, I can't even begin to explain what exactly that means, but basically everything worked fine in the womb; but within a few days after the baby was born, his heart would no longer function correctly. To this day I feel like I've been punched in the stomach when I think about it.
Over the next few months, as I was studying, preparing for graduation, and trying to select a college for the fall (which I didn't do until April of my senior year!), my brother & his wife were busy researching HLHS—treatments, hospitals, life expectancies, etc. They decided to have the baby at University of Michigan Hospital, because they had a strong success rate with this condition, which was wonderful because it was only 3 hours away. The baby would need 3 surgeries in the first 2 years of his life, the first one shortly after birth (anywhere from a few hours to a week, depending on how well he was doing when he was born). They also turned down her job in Colorado, because the altitude may have caused a problem for his condition. They bought a house close by--they had been renting, but now knew they would be staying local.
Finally, the weather started to get warmer, and with it our hopes all started to rise. My sister-in-law graduated with her PhD in something-rather-complicated-but-I-think-it-has-Neurobiology-in-there-somewhere. (I'm pretty sure that's not the official title, but that's basically it in layman's terms. ;-) ) I graduated as Valedictorian of my high school class, and got to enjoy the fun perks of that. (Seriously. We got to do some really fun things!) I was also very involved in a competition called Bible Quizzing, and was preparing for Internationals—the Christian & Missionary Alliance's championship among all of the districts. It was my final year, and I was determined to do well. I spent anywhere from 4 to 8 hours each day studying the book of Matthew.
We got the call that my sister-in-law was in labor on Saturday, June 21—early on Saturday. We all packed our bags and headed for Michigan, hoping that we didn't miss the arrival during our three-hour trip! We didn't need to worry! Logan hung out in his mommy's belly for a few days, not making his arrival until Monday (evening!), June 23. It was a long weekend, full of a lot of fast food and card-playing at the Ronald McDonald house. We were ecstatic to see him, and the doctors said he was doing amazingly well.
On Tuesday, my parents and I made the drive back home. Of course, we didn't want to leave EVER, but my dad had to get back to work, and it looked like Logan wouldn't need his first surgery for a few days, so we planned to head back up the following weekend. By Thursday morning, my mom couldn't wait any longer and went back up without us. My dad and I were supposed to join her the next day. Unfortunately, that never happened.
I answered the phone on Friday morning, and I immediately know something was wrong by the sound of my brother's voice. I handed the phone to my dad. And when he got off the phone, all he could say was, "Logan's not going to make it."
Early morning on Friday, June 27, just four short days after we welcomed him into the world, Logan went home to be with his heavenly Father.
The days following that phone call are a blur of family and tears and… so many things. But I need to stress here that although this is one of the hardest things I have ever experienced—not only for my own grief, but because I watched my brother and sister-in-law and parents grieve as well—it was also absolutely amazing to see how God worked through it all. He brought my brother and sister-in-law closer to Him. He brought them closer to each other, and closer to my parents. He allowed them the sweet joy of getting to meet that little boy, and also spared them the pain of raising him for 2 or 3 years, only to lose him to HLHS then, as happened to friends that they made during their stay at the Ronald McDonald House. Logan's story is sad for us, but glorious for him, as he got to be loved so dearly on earth, and got to go home to heaven so quickly. And he touched so many lives in his four short days, I do not doubt that God used him in many ways that we may never know.
So... before I talk about 1997, we have to back up a bit to the fall of 1996. I don't want to digress too far from the main story, but this is important—both to my adoption story and just in general—so please bear with me. It is likely that this entire entry will deal with something completely separate from my adoption, but it really does have a lot of bearing on the story, at least in my mind.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early fall when we found out that my brother and his wife were expecting their first child. And not just their first child, but the first grandchild for my parents—the first niece or nephew for me! It was such an exciting, elating announcement for us all! Of course, we were all torn because we also knew that my brother and sister-in-law were planning to move to Colorado the following year. :-( So we began to prepare for both of those big changes.
And then came January. That's when we got "the visit" from my brother and his wife. The one that immediately followed their ultrasound. The one that I can still remember like it was yesterday. My mom, who is an elementary school teacher, was still at work, but my dad and I were home. They weren't able to wait until she got home—they needed to talk about it right away. Something was wrong with the baby. He had a condition called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. Oh goodness, I can't even begin to explain what exactly that means, but basically everything worked fine in the womb; but within a few days after the baby was born, his heart would no longer function correctly. To this day I feel like I've been punched in the stomach when I think about it.
Over the next few months, as I was studying, preparing for graduation, and trying to select a college for the fall (which I didn't do until April of my senior year!), my brother & his wife were busy researching HLHS—treatments, hospitals, life expectancies, etc. They decided to have the baby at University of Michigan Hospital, because they had a strong success rate with this condition, which was wonderful because it was only 3 hours away. The baby would need 3 surgeries in the first 2 years of his life, the first one shortly after birth (anywhere from a few hours to a week, depending on how well he was doing when he was born). They also turned down her job in Colorado, because the altitude may have caused a problem for his condition. They bought a house close by--they had been renting, but now knew they would be staying local.
Finally, the weather started to get warmer, and with it our hopes all started to rise. My sister-in-law graduated with her PhD in something-rather-complicated-but-I-think-it-has-Neurobiology-in-there-somewhere. (I'm pretty sure that's not the official title, but that's basically it in layman's terms. ;-) ) I graduated as Valedictorian of my high school class, and got to enjoy the fun perks of that. (Seriously. We got to do some really fun things!) I was also very involved in a competition called Bible Quizzing, and was preparing for Internationals—the Christian & Missionary Alliance's championship among all of the districts. It was my final year, and I was determined to do well. I spent anywhere from 4 to 8 hours each day studying the book of Matthew.
We got the call that my sister-in-law was in labor on Saturday, June 21—early on Saturday. We all packed our bags and headed for Michigan, hoping that we didn't miss the arrival during our three-hour trip! We didn't need to worry! Logan hung out in his mommy's belly for a few days, not making his arrival until Monday (evening!), June 23. It was a long weekend, full of a lot of fast food and card-playing at the Ronald McDonald house. We were ecstatic to see him, and the doctors said he was doing amazingly well.
On Tuesday, my parents and I made the drive back home. Of course, we didn't want to leave EVER, but my dad had to get back to work, and it looked like Logan wouldn't need his first surgery for a few days, so we planned to head back up the following weekend. By Thursday morning, my mom couldn't wait any longer and went back up without us. My dad and I were supposed to join her the next day. Unfortunately, that never happened.
I answered the phone on Friday morning, and I immediately know something was wrong by the sound of my brother's voice. I handed the phone to my dad. And when he got off the phone, all he could say was, "Logan's not going to make it."
Early morning on Friday, June 27, just four short days after we welcomed him into the world, Logan went home to be with his heavenly Father.
The days following that phone call are a blur of family and tears and… so many things. But I need to stress here that although this is one of the hardest things I have ever experienced—not only for my own grief, but because I watched my brother and sister-in-law and parents grieve as well—it was also absolutely amazing to see how God worked through it all. He brought my brother and sister-in-law closer to Him. He brought them closer to each other, and closer to my parents. He allowed them the sweet joy of getting to meet that little boy, and also spared them the pain of raising him for 2 or 3 years, only to lose him to HLHS then, as happened to friends that they made during their stay at the Ronald McDonald House. Logan's story is sad for us, but glorious for him, as he got to be loved so dearly on earth, and got to go home to heaven so quickly. And he touched so many lives in his four short days, I do not doubt that God used him in many ways that we may never know.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Friday, December 3, 2010
Opening hearts & eyes
My friends, I feel like I owe you all an apology. Over the past several weeks, I feel like God has been tugging at my heart, trying to show me new ways to use my life, my family's story, my sphere of influence (no matter how small), to serve Him. But I refused. He urged me to have a tender heart, to see past my own pain and speak for those who can't speak for themselves. But I rebelled. I was afraid to see the hurt and injustice He was trying to show me. My own pain from this year was still too recent, too raw, and I didn't think I could bear anyone else's on top of my own.
But tonight… I opened my heart. I literally feel like I had built a wall around myself, around the Down syndrome part of my life, and refused to let God use it in any way other than what I thought I could handle. And tonight I tore the wall down. And now I'm asking for your help.
Have you heard of an organization called Reece's Rainbow? If you love someone with Down syndrome, you may well have; if you are new to the world of Down syndrome, maybe not so much. Reece's Rainbow is an "international Down syndrome orphan ministry", devoted to helping children with DS around the world find families to love and care for them through adoption. I've known about Reece's Rainbow for a while now. My new DS blogging buddies have been blogging about it. People at the DownsEd conference I attended talked about it. I even saw a bumper sticker for it when I was out one day. God has been nudging me, urging me to check it out… but I just couldn't. I knew that it would only take one glance at those faces on their site, and I would want to save them all.
I was right.
Tonight I got on the Reece's Rainbow site. I read. I cried. I donated. I fell in love with sweet little faces. I wondered what would happen to my precious Roo if he had been put in one of those orphanages. I wondered if one of those children might one day be mine.
My heart is broken for these sweet babies. Adoption has always been near and dear to my heart, but until this year I had never even considered the need for parents willing to adopt children with Down syndrome. I would never have thought that children with Down syndrome were still placed in institutions in some countries. I had never given much thought to children with Down syndrome, period. And now I see them. God has opened my eyes to a whole group of people—people made in His image, just like me—who need help. And love. And a home.
Can I just share a few of these children who really touched my heart? I'm not going to post pictures here, just in case I'm crossing any lines I'm not supposed to… but you can find them at the Reece's Rainbow web site…
I still worry for Roo, for his future. I worry about whether or not I'm doing his therapy with him often enough, whether I'll be a good advocate for him in school, about the teasing he'll almost assuredly endure, about the jobs and opportunities that will be available to him. But my worries for Roo and their weight on my heart absolutely pale in comparison to the complete heartbreak I feel when I look at the future these children might have.
So I'm asking each of you… will you help? It only takes a moment and can be done in one of several ways:
Friends, we live a sheltered life, where we worry about which toys are developmentally best and where our children should go to school and how old they should be when they get a cell phone. These children… well, they are lucky if they get a chance to live any kind of real life at all. Please help me to bring them home, wherever that home may be.
But tonight… I opened my heart. I literally feel like I had built a wall around myself, around the Down syndrome part of my life, and refused to let God use it in any way other than what I thought I could handle. And tonight I tore the wall down. And now I'm asking for your help.
Have you heard of an organization called Reece's Rainbow? If you love someone with Down syndrome, you may well have; if you are new to the world of Down syndrome, maybe not so much. Reece's Rainbow is an "international Down syndrome orphan ministry", devoted to helping children with DS around the world find families to love and care for them through adoption. I've known about Reece's Rainbow for a while now. My new DS blogging buddies have been blogging about it. People at the DownsEd conference I attended talked about it. I even saw a bumper sticker for it when I was out one day. God has been nudging me, urging me to check it out… but I just couldn't. I knew that it would only take one glance at those faces on their site, and I would want to save them all.
I was right.
Tonight I got on the Reece's Rainbow site. I read. I cried. I donated. I fell in love with sweet little faces. I wondered what would happen to my precious Roo if he had been put in one of those orphanages. I wondered if one of those children might one day be mine.
My heart is broken for these sweet babies. Adoption has always been near and dear to my heart, but until this year I had never even considered the need for parents willing to adopt children with Down syndrome. I would never have thought that children with Down syndrome were still placed in institutions in some countries. I had never given much thought to children with Down syndrome, period. And now I see them. God has opened my eyes to a whole group of people—people made in His image, just like me—who need help. And love. And a home.
Can I just share a few of these children who really touched my heart? I'm not going to post pictures here, just in case I'm crossing any lines I'm not supposed to… but you can find them at the Reece's Rainbow web site…
- Leeza
Girl, Born May 21, 2008
Sweet Leeza has Down syndrome and fetal alcohol syndrome. She was born with a heart murmur, but physically she is healthy. She is severely impacted by the two of these medical conditions, and is quite low functioning at this time. Adoptive families who have visited with her say she is darling, responsive, and will so benefit from having a loving family environment to grow up in. - NoahBoy, Born January 17, 2008Noah is a sweet little munchkin who is waiting for his forever family. He has blonde hair and blue eyes.
From his medical records: Heart murmur, open arterial canal, hyperplasia of aorta, open oval window.
Regrettably, this orphanage is one of the poorer ones, with very little outside aid and very little hope. All of the children are tiny and undernourished. These children are immediately transferred at 4, and have little chance of survival where they are sent. All of our waiting children need families, but these have a critical need. Please consider one of these children soon!! - EvanEvan recently transferred to this baby house. He was born with a heart defect, but was blessed to already have surgery and is doing great now! He is so young, and all three of these little boys could be adopted together!
Boy, Born June 5, 2008
From one of our adoptive families who visited with him in May 2010: " Evan would give us a big smile when we would touch his hand. He loved for us to just hold him and would cry if we put him down. He sits by himself and is trying to crawl. He can scoot to get to where he wants to go" . - DanilOh, we FINALLY have new photos and info about little Danil! Danil is another special case where he has birth parents who love him dearly, and who want only the best life possible for him. They have come to us desperately seeking a loving adoptive family for Danil, and would ilke to have a semi-open relationship with his new family if possible. What an incredible opportunity to provide a wonderful life for this beautiful child, and to share the gift of his growth and achievement with his bio family.
Boy, Born April 18, 2007
Danil most likely has MOSAIC Down syndrome. He is completely healthy and very high functioning. Even at 3, he knows his letters, colors, shapes, etc. He loves books, he loves to run and play like a typical little boy. He has known the love of his parents, and is doing very very well. He eats on his own, is nearly potty trained, and will make a precious addition to any family. He is a social and affectionate child and is an orphanage favorite. MORE PHOTOS AVAILABLE! - HeathBoy, Born April 8, 2001
Heath is a sweet little boy who desperately needs a family.
Heath is a nine year old boy with Down Syndrome. He is tiny in stature. His feet hardly reach the edge of his shared wheelchair. Because of his age, he has already been transferred from the stimulating environment of his baby house to a dull and underfunded mental institute for boys ages 6-18. He is no longer the youngest boy in his group, but he is certainly among the smallest.
Heath is not a recent transfer. He has lived in the stifling boredom of institution life for a long time. He has lost the vivacity of life at the baby houses. In his three years at the institute, he has been given nothing of his own. He has not seen a book or a toy. He has never been gathered into anyone's loving arms. He is a very lonely little fellow in desperate need of love and comfort.
We have few other details on Heath. He has been seen in a wheelchair, so he may not be able to walk. We don't know if or how well he talks, or any other details on his medical condition. We do know that he is a cute, chubby-cheeked, dirty and neglected lonely little lost boy who needs a mother more than almost anyone else in the world.
I still worry for Roo, for his future. I worry about whether or not I'm doing his therapy with him often enough, whether I'll be a good advocate for him in school, about the teasing he'll almost assuredly endure, about the jobs and opportunities that will be available to him. But my worries for Roo and their weight on my heart absolutely pale in comparison to the complete heartbreak I feel when I look at the future these children might have.
So I'm asking each of you… will you help? It only takes a moment and can be done in one of several ways:
- Donate to Reece's Rainbow Voice of Hope fund
- Visit the Our Waiting Children link on the RR site. Read through a few descriptions and donate to the grant fund for a child (or two)
- Visit the Sponsor a Family link and donate to a child who has a family in the process of trying to adopt them.
- Pray. Pray and pray and pray some more for these children, for the families who want to adopt them but don't have the money, for the caregivers and workers who interact with them.
- These ideas and more are available on the RR site. Please take a few minutes of your time to open your eyes and hearts to these children.
Friends, we live a sheltered life, where we worry about which toys are developmentally best and where our children should go to school and how old they should be when they get a cell phone. These children… well, they are lucky if they get a chance to live any kind of real life at all. Please help me to bring them home, wherever that home may be.
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