This March I will be 56 years old. When I was a kid, I thought being in your 50’s was so old. Now that I am living this age, I don’t see it that way. Inside, I feel like that same little girl who thought being in your 50’s is old. I feel young. I feel happy and eager to learn new things. Like the saying goes, “You are only as old as you feel.”
I want to begin to learn more. A few months ago I started watching the program, ‘Universe,‘ with my husband. This show is revealing to me a lot of the mysteries of the universe I was always fascinated over and completely in the dark about. ‘Universe’ is also turning me on to science. It’s thrilling to watch and learn. It’s invigorating to actually have something explained so well you can understand it. For this reason, I want to make my word for 2019, ‘learn.‘ Learning is going to be paramount in my life this year. I intend to set aside blocks of time to read daily, whether it be before bed or in little snippets during the day like while in line at the bank or waiting in the car. I have stacks of books waiting for me, calling my name. The time is now.
Sarah Jessica Parker talks about how her mom always taught her to bring a book with her wherever she went. That way she would always have an opportunity to read when the time arises.
If you are not a dog lover than you might want to stop reading right here. This is a post about a great love, of the human-dog kind.
Xander was my most treasured dog, a beautiful, red golden retriever I had since he was 6 weeks old and a slight 5 lbs. He was 2 month’s shy of 9 years old when we lost him.
He was the kind of dog who only cared about us. He wanted to be near us all the time, never separated and never left behind. As a result, you could let him out off the leash for long walks and he would never run away, only stay within sight of us to run back and ‘tag’ us before playfully running ahead. We would let him out front to sit on the porch with us and he would never run away. He could totally be trusted.
The only thing Xander loved as much as us were his beloved Frisbees and going out back to run and catch them. He was an all star who could out run a Coaster disk and jump up in mid air and catch it. We live on the corner and always got a little thrill when someone would be driving or walking by and witness him in action. Sometimes he would get a thumbs up or a beep of encouragement making us really proud of him. He would carry that Frisbee in his mouth in such a way that it would flip over his nose and encircle his face like a bonnet. If there was more than one Frisbee, he could stack them one on top of the other in the same direction and carry them all in his mouth. It was amazing to see and a smart thing for a dog to do.
Most of what Xander was to me and the rest of my family was a dear family member who in my mind is irreplaceable. I loved that dog like crazy. He was simply the best. He was our companion who loved us unconditionally and we loved him just as much in return. I would do anything for that dog because he deserved it. Everyone we know used to joke he was the, “Best doggy ever.” It was so true.
Time passes so quickly. I remember from the time he was very young, with every birthday Xander had, we would be a little sad knowing he was getting older, fearing what all dog owners inevitably dread. We always hoped he would be one of those dogs who beats the odds and lives a long, long time. Hoping to help him achieve that, I exercised him (not perfectly or 100 %, but more than most dogs ever get), fed him the best food I could find that I hoped would keep him healthy, took him for yearly vet visits and shots and watched him closely for any changes in his health and promptly took him back to the vet if something appeared to not be normal. He was rarely left alone at home and there was always someone there to keep him company.
Everything was good up until this past January when he started to get these little lumps under his skin. Again, every time I found one, it was to the vet we would go to get a needle aspiration biopsy to make sure there was nothing bad going on. The results always came back negative. April came and he had his yearly physical and he had more of these little bumps and we had them all aspirated, as usual, to make sure all was well. Nothing. Benign. Blood test CBC was done and his blood platelets came back on the border of being low. The vet either didn’t notice, chose to ignore it or didn’t think there was an issue with it. A few weeks later, I brought him in for another needle biopsy on some new bumps. By now, when you ran your hand over him, it felt like he had huge mosquito bites all under his skin, only harder. Benign they said.
June comes and Xander has a bad weekend. He is not feeling well, vomiting often and continually coughing like he had something stuck in his throat. On Monday my husband wanted to see if Xander felt like going outside to catch a Frisbee. This would be a gauge to us as to how bad he felt inside. When he saw the Frisbee in Larry’s hand, he was excited to go out, but he was slower because he didn’t feel good. They are outside for 10 minutes or so and I go out to see how he is doing and my husband is yelling to me to come out and help him because Xander suddenly lost his eyesight. He started to act bewildered and bump into things and worse, his eyes had turned red with blood and looked scary. We immediately took him to our vet. We were out of our minds with concern for our sweet boy who for no apparent reason went blind.
The vet suspected blood platelet problems and took another blood test. This time the platelets were way below normal. They were so low, his ability to clot blood was severely impaired. The blood in his eyes got jostled around when he was playing, causing him to bleed out inside the eyeball which caused a temporary blindness. The vet told us no more running around. He has to lie still. We knew that meant no more Frisbee. Ever. It nearly broke our hearts. This was something our dog loved the most besides us and the thought of never playing Frisbee with him again was unbearably sad. We were confused as to what was wrong with him causing this terrible problem. Worst, while we were at the vet, she performed another needle biopsy on a newer, larger lump she now suspected was cancer. To be sure, she sent the cells to a lab. A few days later, she called telling us it was a very aggressive form of cancer. They recommended we take him to the nearby VCA hospital with an oncology unit. The vets there were more experienced with aggressive forms of cancers. Our vet had never seen anything like this and it was out of his scope of expertise. My heart was in my shoes. Cancer. The word I feared hearing since I held him in my arms when he was a puppy. And now we had to face the dread of what was to come.
Two days later on Wednesday, June 27th, my son Jeff and I drove Xander to Aurora’s VCA hospital to meet with an oncology specialist. On our way there, Stairway to Heaven began to play on the radio. I turned to Xander who was in the back seat and said, “Hear that, Xandy? …Stairway to Heaven.”
The oncologist had grave news for us. He gave Xander a blood test and the results were staggering. Xander’s blood platelets had dropped to half of what they were 5 days prior, when we took him to our vet the day he lost his eye sight. Half from five days ago. The vet told us Xander had a very aggressive form of cancer – histiocytic sarcoma. And at the rate his platelets were dropping, he would probably be dead in a week or two. A WEEK OR TWO??!! My dog, even though he had cancer, seemed fine, alive, certainly not on what I would consider death’s doorstep. We left distraught, with the gut wrenching sadness that we were very soon going to lose our best friend.
The drive home was quiet. No radio. As I drove, thoughts of what Xander and I did together over the past 8 years flooded my mind. Frisbee, walks in the St. Francis Woods- It was our special thing to do together. Trips to camp in the North Woods, swimming with Xander, to little jaunts in the car to get the kids at school. What did I do wrong? How could I have done more? And on and on. Jeff, my youngest, now 20, who was 12 years old when we went to the breeder and chose Xander, sat in the passenger seat crying the whole way home. He was inconsolable. Xander was in the backseat, unaware of his fate, living in the moment enjoying his ride in the car, glad to be away from the vet’s office. I was a little more stoic, and in shock, still thinking there has to be something wrong about this diagnosis. Xander was not in terrible shape, he was feeling much better and seemed okay, for now. Prednisone will do that. It makes the dogs feel and appear better even though something much more sinister is lurking inside them. The only thing we noticed was his breathing seemed a little labored.
When we got home, I broke the news to my husband and the rest of my family and everyone was devastated. To make matters more stressful, we had our yearly trip to Camp Nawakwa in 4 days and how were we going to handle Xander’s sickness and this trip we have planned and paid for? We decided to go and bring him, but we would be careful to not get him over excited or have him running excessively. Any of which could cause blindness or internal injury because of his rapidly dropping platelet count. We just wanted him with us and for him to enjoy camp like he always did. So we headed up to our lake house Wednesday night to stay there for a few nights before we headed further up north to Camp. My son Drew was not going with us this year and he begged me to wait till he got home from work so he could say his goodbyes to Xander. We knew that Xander’s time was limited and it might be the last time Drew saw him, so we wanted to give them both that chance. It was so sad. Drew sat on the floor of the kitchen with Xander and hugged him and talked sweet to him for an hour or so, tears running down his face. This was his buddy who he affectionately referred to as, ‘Old Man.’ The look in Drew’s eyes was heartbreaking. Disbelief, sadness, anger, it was all there through a curtain of tears. When it was time to go, Drew walked to the car and we gave him one last moment with Xander. I watched him put his arm around that dog and hug hard and long. It would be the last time Drew would see him alive.
We got to the lake house that night and Xander was fine. I made sure to take lots of photos of him and videos, too. I knew my time with him was short. I wanted to capture as much as I could to remember him by. I gave him lots of people food, and he ate it happily. He still had a great appetite. Every chance I got, I held his head in my hands, kissed his big wet nose and told him, “Momma loves you.”
Friday came and I made a video of him rolling in the grass. He looked like it was pure bliss to be lying on his back rolling back and forth, rubbing his face on the grass and enjoying the smells and sensations only a dog could appreciate. Afterwards, I took a sweet photo of him when he came over to sit by me. I am so happy I paid attention to creating memories with him those last few days.
Every day that went by that whole week since our trip to the vet he became a little slower….or it seemed like he was a little off. Saturday came and we left for our vacation. We arrived at Camp around 10 or 11 pm and Xander had become remarkably slower over the course of the 5 hour ride. It was as if travelling sucked something out of him. When he got out of the car he just walked into the cabin and plunked down on the floor and didn’t want to get up. We put the water dish and his food near him, but suddenly, he was no longer interested in eating. He was thirsty and we gave him as much water as he wanted. He was markedly worse. I managed to get him into my room to sleep next to me by the bed. On his way in, he wobbled on his feet and nearly lost his balance. I wanted him near us. He slept with his head facing the wall and didn’t move.
Sunday morning came and I wanted to coax him outside to go pee and see if he was any better. He managed to get up and turn around to leave, but 3 steps out of the doorway he collapsed and could no longer get up. We knew this was a terribly bad sign.
We continued to give him water throughout the day but he couldn’t relieve himself. He didn’t even have an accident. He got worse over every hour that went by. We all sat and kept vigil by his side, never leaving him. My husband sat on the floor next to him and played his guitar softly and sang to him. We all were with him stroking his fur and telling him we loved him and that we will play Frisbee tomorrow when he feels better. It was visibly noticeable he was weakening with every passing hour. No vets were available on Sunday in the North Woods. If he was still alive on Monday I was going to bring him in to have him euthanized. It was heart wrenching to watch. But Xander did it his way. He spared us the pain of having to take him in and put him to sleep. By 11:30 pm that evening he was near death. We all had our hands on him, Wrigley our other golden was on the bed and Lily our beagle was under the bed. Larry, myself, Jeff and Isabel (Jeff’s girlfriend) were all in the room with him, watching him die. He had his whole pack with him. Jeff laid next to him on the floor with his arm around him. If Jeff would move his arm away, Xander would look for him as if to say, ‘Put your arm back, I like it there’. Every last breath was slower than the last and more prolonged. Finally, Xander took his last breath and we all just sat there sobbing and touching him and feeling so cheated. I couldn’t believe my beautiful boy was gone. Just like that, the life left him and he was no more.
Our friend Gregg and his daughter Amy were staying in the cabin next door to us. I called over to Gregg and told him Xander had died. He and Amy came over to see Xander and say goodbye to him. It was so very sad. Xander lay lifeless on the floor next to my bed for an hour or so after he died. We had to carry him out and put him in the car so I could take him in the morning to the town vet to be cremated. Xander had been lying on a fleece blanket and we had a little funeral procession-each person took a corner of the blanket, making a stretcher out of it to carry Xander out. I led the way with a lantern to illuminate our way through the thick darkness to the back of the car. We placed him gently in the back and wrapped him up so nothing could get on him. My heart was fractured. I came into the house and went to bed. I couldn’t sleep, I just called Wrigley up on the bed and laid next to him. Burying my face in his back and holding him tight I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I cried so hard, my son said it was like I was wailing. It happened too fast, we hardly had any time to accept it, and before we knew it he was gone. I felt cheated, angry and my heart hurt so bad. Wrigley was good. Within moments after Xander died, it was like there was a shift in his behavior. He suddenly was not the naughty dog who was jealous of Xander. He was calmer and knew he was needed. He laid there letting me cry into his fur, and by the time I fell asleep, his back was soaked from my tears. Xander may have been the best doggy in the world, but Wrigley is certainly the ‘Cuddliest dog in the world.’
Xander died on July 1st and his loss is still raw and painful. I miss him terribly. We all do. I keep his ashes in a box in our display case atop a stack of his beloved Frisbees. On top sits his terra cotta paw print. It’s all I have left of him now. But he is home.
“There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven.” With all my heart I hope that animals are in heaven, waiting for us to join them. It just wouldn’t be right with out them. Honestly, I can’t bear the thought of a heaven without Xander. I am keeping my fingers crossed. I hope he is there to greet me with a Frisbee in his mouth, propeller tail spinning, hoping that finally now, after such a long wait, we can play together again.
She looked at both sides as she stood upon the summit
The path behind was rocky, the other side a plummet
She said I don’t know which way to go
But back is not a plan,
What’s done is done and it was fun
But you can never go back again.
Up ahead it’s foggy, I need some guidance soon
Then she saw a flower, and it was in full bloom.
I’ve done five kids, six dogs, and seven cats
A snake and a turtle, not even to mention the rat
But now I don’t know which way to go
There’s nothing that I need,
All I share is with a grizzly bear
Who I just have to remember to feed
I don’t need to eat, she said, with a silver spoon
I want to be that flower, I just want to bloom!
Many years ago, someone planted a tiny seed
But all the other things choked it out like weeds
I think I know which way to go
I’ll work the color out
She gave that seed all her need,
That’s when I saw her sprout
I watched her knowing, certain it would happen soon,
She would be that flower, she’d be in full bloom.
You can try to help, but a flower grows on its own
She did it all herself, but she never was alone.
So now I know how to grow
She smiled at me and said
If you want to thrive the secret’s inside
But don’t let it go to your head,
It’s really kind of funny, and not what you’d assume
If you really want to blossom, help others start to bloom.
So now I have a flower, most beautiful in the bunch,
She has a special place, and she has a special touch,
When she’s there she always shares
She’s planting seeds in May
But it takes time before the signs
She may never see the day
But when the time comes and empty is the room,
Everywhere she went there’ll be flowers in full bloom.
My husband wrote this for me yesterday and I was so touched by the sweetness of this that I had to include it on my blog.
Like Catholic guilt, I have probably thought about and lamented over ignoring this blog about once or twice a week. I feel like this little place on the web, a huge part of who I was/am was let go, like something I inadvertently dropped down a well, and I was panicked I would never be able reach down far enough and find it again. I don’t know why. A combination of things, I suppose. But tenacity and guilt and the desire to write again has brought me back. A resurrection, of sorts.
So much has happened in the 3 or 4 ( or could it be more?) years since I stopped writing. Here is a quick run down of some things in my life that transpired in that time, not in any particular order.
I filtered through some friends. (Blog fodder)
Gained some new ones.
Had the self -love to let those filtered ones go.
Traveled to Italy, Paris and Greece.
Went to the Louvre (crossed off my bucket list)
Went to the top of the Eiffel tower.
Found my 2 biological brothers (100%!) (Part IV coming soon) and the rest of my biological cousins.)
Lost 3 relatives.
Lost my sweet cat, Fletcher.
Gained a new dog, Wrigley, AKA Cuddliest Dog In the World, a Golden Retriever.
Lost Xander 3 weeks ago. (ugh, best dog IN THE WORLD) This one is fresh, folks.
Became a grandma to 2 boys.
Gained a wonderful, sweet Daughter in Law who reminds me of a young ME. (Love you Gabby!)
Lost 40 lbs. (thank you KETO!)
Fulfilled a dream at 50 and opened my first art studio with a business partner. Gained knowledge, insight, confidence and finally the balls to go solo.
Benefited from a therapist.
Weathered a marital rift that healed like a broken bone and now it’s stronger than ever.
Learned how to navigate through water without drowning, and without doing the crawl.
Grew my hair to my waist.
Pushed 3 birdies out of the nest (well, not exactly pushed. But they are on their own now.)
And my kids are GOOD. Such good people whom I love more than my own life, and through all the trials and tribulations of growing up, I think they love me just about as much.
Turned 55 this year and it feels really good. Wisdom and confidence has gone hand in hand for me with aging and I l can’t help but love it.
Yesterday was the last day of February and it brought some torrential down pours, lightening and tornado warnings. I had no idea the weather was so bad till a friend who lived an hour away texted me to see if the storms had reached us yet.
(Not from my part of town, just a tornado photo.)
I immediately turned on the weather channel to find out a pretty big tornado was west of us and heading down the I-80 corridor right toward our town. According to the weather guy it was going to be by us in about 1/2 hour.
Having lived in Chicago all my life, we have seen many tornado watches, warnings and touch downs, some of which have been very devastating. But touchdowns with devastation is rare. The chances are slim of actually having your house blown down by a nasty twister. But as anyone will tell you, take the warnings seriously, take cover and wait it out.
After hearing I might have a half hour before the storms were upon us, I quickly started to throw things in my messenger bag I felt were important-things I would really need if I had actually lost everything.
While visiting my cousin in Brooklyn a few years ago, I noticed an innocuous backpack sitting in the corner of her room that was filled and ready to go. She is from Kentucky and had transplanted herself after she landed a cool job in New York City. Her dad, a Lt. Colonel in the army had prepared a ‘bug out’ bag for her in case of emergency. This bag has the necessities for an emergency that you can grab and get out at a moment’s notice. I think hers was geared more toward a Manhattan terrorist attack, and the idea struck me as such a smart concept.
I have applied this same concept to my ‘Storm Bag.’ I am going to pack one and have it on standby, should I someday have to head to the basement for cover. I highly suggest you pack one, too, and keep in somewhere in your house where you can quickly grab it and go. What will you put in your bag? Here is a photo I took showing the contents of the bag I threw together last night. Now that I have time to consider it, I am missing a few essentials, like a portable flashlight and a first aid kit.
Here is what I put in my bag: My red book of passwords, a checkbook, sunblock, my prescription medicine, my iPad, my cellphone (I took this photo with it), headphones, my credit cards and ID and insurance cards, safety deposit keys, my set of keys, all the cash I had on hand at home, my prescription sunglasses (might come in handy if I lose the ones on my face), and last but not least, my British copy of Jane Eyre.
I suggest a cross over bag you can put over your shoulder and across your body. Either that or a backpack- You want to be hands free.
One last bit of advise to you. If there are tornado watches and warnings in your area, put your shoes on. Preferably toed shoes that will protect your feet from glass and other sharp objects. If the worst happens and you end up climbing out of the rubble that was once your home, you do not want to be barefoot.
Think about creating your own Storm Bag. Of course everyone’s will be entirely personal. Happy Tornado Season. I hope you never need it.
It was already late, but I couldn’t wait till the morning-I had to call my mom. Tonight I had a reply to her usual, “So what’s new?” beginning to our conversation. I got right to the point. She was so angry. She yelled at me. She cursed Charlotte for spilling the beans and ranted about how my father was going to turn over in his grave. She told me he didn’t want me to know; Charlotte told me he did-when the time was right. To some extent I could empathize with her reaction to all of this. But more than that, it really pissed me off that she completely missed the point and couldn’t see it my way at all. Her behavior was over the top. This was, after all, my story, my truth and being an adult woman I felt I was entitled to know this information about me. Through all this drama and angst I got how she felt, but she failed to even consider how I was feeling. She didn’t ask if I was okay after learning this shocking news. She didn’t even offer me any comfort. It was all about her. She hurtfully lashed out with her words and sensationalized how she imagined my dead father would have reacted had he been alive to hear this news. All of this really got me angry.
Over the weeks that followed I tried very delicately to broach the subject of my adoption to my mom. I was hopeful to get any bits of information I could about my biological parents and any little details that might fill in the very foggy picture I had of my mysterious past. She stubbornly pretended to not remember, and to make things worse, she tried to make me feel guilty for even wanting to know. In her mind, it was like I was dishonoring my dad’s memory to even want to learn details of the past. Because she didn’t want me to seek out my biological family, she painted a terrible picture of them, putting the worst light on my birth parents, making them out to be undesirables, drunks and crappy people. I talked to everyone from my past, relatives, old friends, and neighbors, hoping someone had a clue, a missing piece of information that would bust the whole thing open for me. I had no luck. It was at a dead end. I asked my mom one question that she did give me an answer to. I asked her what my name was before they adopted me. She told me it was Jane. Pure and simple, it was Jane. And the sound of it rang so pretty in my ears. I loved it. My name was Jane.
A whole decade had passed. I still had no real information. I found out at the beginning of 2011 the State of Illinois was opening up the adoption records in November. I was ecstatic! Finally, after all these years of waiting and dead ends and a lack of information I had a chance to finally come closer to learning about my past. I filled out the forms and had them in a stamped envelope clipped to my refrigerator waiting for the designated day to send it. In the meantime, my mom had gotten sick with heart disease and was very ill. She was scheduled to have a do or die open heart surgery on April 3rd. She was 81. At the beginning of March I checked my mail box and there it was… an envelope from the State of Illinois! I grabbed it and clutched it to my chest wildly anticipating that within seconds I would be holding my original birth certificate in my hands and I would finally learn the truth. For years this was the moment I had been waiting for! I couldn’t believe it. I ripped it open and unfolded the paper. This is what I saw:
There it was. Jane Clair Peace. What a lovely, artsy name. I couldn’t believe it was my name. And how wonderful it was to learn my last name was ‘Peace.’ Beautiful. I kept scanning over the words thinking I might have overlooked some little detail. And there she was-my birth mother… Diane Englund. My imagination was reeling. What kind of person was she? Do I look like her? Where is she now? Know I knew her name and suddenly all I could think about was finding her.
“I was adopted? I was ADOPTED!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! So many memories came flooding back and in seconds I started to fit the missing puzzle pieces together in my mind. In one fell swoop it all made sense. I was feeling so many things at once, happiness, sadness, relief and betrayal. I had an instant identity crisis. I was furious all this time I was denied my truth. I was an adult person, damn it, and it was my right to know my story about my life and up until this point, no one had the balls to come forth and tell me. I had made it through 37 years of life and not one person from my past dared to let me know. I was angry at them all. I felt kicked off my center to realize I’m not the same person I thought I was. My head was spinning-It was so weird and crazy to hear this, yet despite all those other feelings, a part of me was thrilled. I knew there was no way I could have been a biological child of my mom. She was just so completely different from me; we were obviously from different molds.
Up until the moment that Charlotte picked up her phone and bravely dialed me, I had not been told nor was it even hinted at that I was adopted. In all honestly, however, I have to admit I always thought something might be up. I didn’t really look like my parents-they were both short and smaller people. I was tall and big boned and I didn’t look like them at all, not to mention I could never find any photos of me before six months of age. It was just something I toyed with on my own. I asked Charlotte if she knew anything else, like information on my biological parents, or where I came from, and a million other questions that came flooding into my head all at once. She had no other info for me. All she knew is that Annie and Emil were not my biological parents. I’d have to find the rest out on my own.
After I hung the phone up that night I was numb. In fact, I walked around a little shocked and dazed for about a week. Every time I looked in the mirror I wondered who I looked like, where did I come from and what was my past history? Who is my biological family? Where are they now? Why did they give me up? Do I have siblings? Who’s nose is this? Where did I get this blonde hair and blue eyes? I was obsessed….I just couldn’t let it go. I felt like I wasn’t the person I thought I was. Of course, inside I was the same, but my story was different. There was now something new and mysterious about me I didn’t have the answers for and it was driving me crazy and I so desperately wanted answers.
The first thing I did after talking to Charlotte was call my dad’s sister Flo. I thought for sure she would know something. She and my dad were close and I thought she could give me answers. When I called her and blurted out I learned I was adopted, I begged her to tell me if it was true. I practically had to crank open her mouth and dust off the cobwebs-It was so difficult for her to answer me. For so long she was sworn to secrecy, told to never, ever tell me or else there would be dire consequences. Flo told me my dad was adamant from the moment he got me in his arms that under no circumstances was I to be told I was adopted-ever. As a result, they my aunt and my entire family and friends and everyone I knew as a child growing up had such fear if they ever let it slip that to get anyone to finally open their mouth and let the words out was equivalent to prying open a buried trunk that was rusted shut. Even though my dad had been dead for almost twenty years, it didn’t matter; it was still physically difficult for them to get the words out….but with my prodding and insistence that I knew… (it’s okay, I know), and with painful difficulty they admitted to me what they had kept secret for so long. And much to my dismay, nobody knew anything-no details, no names, no nothing. It had been many, many years, no one remembered. My Aunt Flo confirmed what Charlotte had revealed to me, but she was getting old and was ill and didn’t remember much. She told me to call my mom and talk to her. Of course, I knew I had to tell my mom….there was no getting around it and I thought maybe she would finally be able to explain things. But confronting her about this and letting her know the secret is out was another thing all together. And it was a call I dreaded. I knew almost without a doubt this wasn’t going to go well. And I was right.
On a late August night back in 1999 I got a phone call that would forever change my life. My late father’s cousin Charlotte called me all the way from California with an urgent need to tell me something. I was really surprised to hear her voice on the other end of the line. We talked small talk for a minute or two and I wondered why she decided to call so unexpectedly. We usually didn’t call each other that much, but I was still glad to hear from her. All I remember is her saying there is something really important she has to tell me and she asked me if I was sitting. I told her no, but to go ahead anyway, whatever it was, I could handle it. Within seconds my heart started to pound with tension and fear not knowing what to expect out of her mouth.
“Well,” She said, “Your dad told me before he died I can tell you this if I felt there was a reason you needed to know.” She went on to explain how bad she felt when we had talked a little over a year prior, when I called to let her know my last son Jeff was born. Despite my happiness in my new baby, my heart was heavy as I expressed to her my disappointment in my mom. Specifically, my mom’s reaction when I initially told her I was pregnant with this now born, beautiful baby boy and her lack of interest in being a meaningful part of my other four children’s lives. I was bewildered as to why my mom was so crass and snippy with me when I revealed the news to her. All my life I knew she wasn’t a big fan of kids-because of that I dreaded telling her I was pregnant again, even though this one was well thought out and planned just like the previous four. And because I was apprehensive, I waited until I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. When I finally made that dreaded phone call and happily announced I was five months pregnant, (again), my mom’s reaction was a stiff, “Oh, my GOD Emily! That’s DISGUSTING!” It brought me to tears and flooded me with anger. I couldn’t believe how harsh and unloving her response was.
Ever since I was a little kid my mom had a way of making me feel unloved in a variety of ways, be it a nasty look, a snarky tone or genuine intolerance of me. My father was my saving grace. From him I got unconditional love and a feeling that I was wanted no matter what and it was thatlove that was strong enough to counter balance my mom’s constant negativity. My dad’s love carried me into adulthood and helped me to become the stable, happy adult I am today. That conversation bothered Charlotte for months; so much so, that she felt compelled to call me and tell me the truth. And just like that, she blurted it out. “You were adopted, Emily. I thought it was time you knew.”