Imagine coming home from your job. You're tired, you want to just relax. Your mom comes over for a visit and tells you that she has a letter for you to read. She hands you the letter and you wonder what in the world this could be. After reading the letter your mom tells you that she's checked with other family members to make sure that this information is accurate and then you realize that today you gained a relative--a half brother to be exact.
Last Friday I received a call from my dad's BROTHER!!! You'll remember from my first posting that his biological mom had no other children. However, his biological father married and had one son. They were unable to ever have any other children, so their son was raised as an only child. Now, 49 years later he discovers he has a brother.
I can't tell you how completely overwhelmed and shocked both my dad's brother and his mom were (still are!). He said to me, "I never had a brother before." They both told me numeous times that their dad/husband never knew that my dad ever existed. They said he's not the type of man to abandon a child. He and his wife were married for 50 years and she said they didn't keep anything from each other.
Now, do they have any information to help me fill in the gaps? A little, just a few scant details told from his sisters who are still living. These sisters remember my dad's mom and their brother dated for a while. One sister said she even remembers that after the relationship ended, she overheard a conversation where someone has said that there was a rumor that my dad's biological mom was pregnant. The sister forgot about it and never did follow up on it. Turns out, as we all know, it was no rumor. No one was ever able to verify the information anyway, because my dad's mom married a different man and moved across the country.
As I said, I feel like with the little bits of information that are coming in, I just keep having more and more questions. Obviously she never told the biological father that she was pregnant, but why? I'm not upset because without everything happening the way it did, I wouldn't be here writing this. It's just all such a mystery and the people with the answers have all passed away. There's very little information left.
When I called my dad and told him I had just talked with his brother, he was excited. How could he not be? He's never had a brother before either.
He said, "Well, I guess you're done now."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, you've found everyone. There's no one left," he said.
Hmmmm...I guess I'm done. But they are family, I don't feel like I'm really DONE per se. Just a little bit further in the journey. Now we get to schedule a trip to meet everyone. I'm excited. What a crazy trip--meeting my uncle for the first time. Meeting a great uncle for the first time. Cousins and cousins and cousins too. Will they look anything like me? Will my dad's brother have similar characteristics to him? I'm extremely curious to meet everyone and just get filled up with information.
With such a find I have to say how grateful I am to God. Seriously, the last couple of weeks I've felt so overwhelmingly blessed by the Spirit. It's amazing to have this opportunity.
Pictures will be coming...we're still planning the trip!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The Reluctant Hero
Apparently even if your blood pressure is really low normally, you are still able to give blood. Even if that means that your blood pressure is say 91/58 like mine was this morning. Is it really trying to do a good deed when you go into it hoping that they will send you home? You know, like the kid who lost his right eye in 6th grade wood shop, but still tries to enlist as a sniper for the marines. Well, that was me about 6 hours ago.
I don't like needles, I can't watch them draw blood or give me shots or I pass out. My blood pressure is never high. Doesn't that disqualify me? Dang it, sorry, but I tried. I'll be going now, but where's that treat table that you have for everyone who comes?
WHAT? I can still donate with blood pressure like that? Okay then, ask me those questions again, maybe I forgot that I recently visited Europe and stayed there for over 5 years. I'm already feeling a little nauseated over the whole thing and perhaps it slipped my mind...
All right I'll follow you but, I go, like a lamb to the slaughter, to lie on one of those glorified lawn chairs while the girl tries to get one of my veins to pop out. No luck on the right arm. No duh, my veins are hiding, they know better. Stupid left arm veins. Can't you stay down there where you belong?
Why do you need to scrub my arm for 30 seconds? Isn't that the kind of torture I endure on my exercise videos? Hold that push up for 30 seconds, come on...you can do it. No I can't and I don't want to and please don't put that thing in my arm.
Too late, okay then, where can I look to not think about this situation? Let's see that guy straight across from me...Ugh, no I don't want to watch the blood flowing out of him. Why is he smiling? Show off. What is the deal with the blood see saw thingy? Is that supposed to help me throw up? What are we making cocktails for vampires later?
Why is it that blood can look so pretty, bright and red when it's only a drop or two, but when you see it flowing through a tube it looks like you've consumed serious Hershey's and your blood is mixed with equal parts chocolate? Ugh, why am I here again? Oh yeah, help the community, do a good deed, don't faint, don't look anywhere but to the people who are helping to check us in. Why did they dim the lights in here anyway? What are they trying to hide?
How much of my blood are they going to take by the way? My hand can barely squeeze that little contraption they've given me and I'm not feeling so hot. I'm sure they've taken every last ounce out of my left arm...can my arm work with no blood in it?
I'm done? YAY, let me the heck out of here. NO, I don't feel well. Was the first clue the fact that my arm shriveled up and looks like a six year old's? My face is white because you took all the blood out of every part of me? All right, I'll lie here for a minute, but only because you're making me.
Okay, I feel all better. Why can't I go? Baby steps? What? I have some grocery shopping to do, a cake to make at home, lots of things to do. All right, all right, I'll hold off for a while and try to relax while you drain the life out of everyone else. Maybe I should yell out a warning to those innocent victims waiting to be put through this same torture.
Phew, I made it out of there. This was a lot worse than I thought it would be. I hope whoever gets that blood really needs it because I don't think my body is keen on giving up what it worked so hard to make.
I don't like needles, I can't watch them draw blood or give me shots or I pass out. My blood pressure is never high. Doesn't that disqualify me? Dang it, sorry, but I tried. I'll be going now, but where's that treat table that you have for everyone who comes?
WHAT? I can still donate with blood pressure like that? Okay then, ask me those questions again, maybe I forgot that I recently visited Europe and stayed there for over 5 years. I'm already feeling a little nauseated over the whole thing and perhaps it slipped my mind...
All right I'll follow you but, I go, like a lamb to the slaughter, to lie on one of those glorified lawn chairs while the girl tries to get one of my veins to pop out. No luck on the right arm. No duh, my veins are hiding, they know better. Stupid left arm veins. Can't you stay down there where you belong?
Why do you need to scrub my arm for 30 seconds? Isn't that the kind of torture I endure on my exercise videos? Hold that push up for 30 seconds, come on...you can do it. No I can't and I don't want to and please don't put that thing in my arm.
Too late, okay then, where can I look to not think about this situation? Let's see that guy straight across from me...Ugh, no I don't want to watch the blood flowing out of him. Why is he smiling? Show off. What is the deal with the blood see saw thingy? Is that supposed to help me throw up? What are we making cocktails for vampires later?
Why is it that blood can look so pretty, bright and red when it's only a drop or two, but when you see it flowing through a tube it looks like you've consumed serious Hershey's and your blood is mixed with equal parts chocolate? Ugh, why am I here again? Oh yeah, help the community, do a good deed, don't faint, don't look anywhere but to the people who are helping to check us in. Why did they dim the lights in here anyway? What are they trying to hide?
How much of my blood are they going to take by the way? My hand can barely squeeze that little contraption they've given me and I'm not feeling so hot. I'm sure they've taken every last ounce out of my left arm...can my arm work with no blood in it?
I'm done? YAY, let me the heck out of here. NO, I don't feel well. Was the first clue the fact that my arm shriveled up and looks like a six year old's? My face is white because you took all the blood out of every part of me? All right, I'll lie here for a minute, but only because you're making me.
Okay, I feel all better. Why can't I go? Baby steps? What? I have some grocery shopping to do, a cake to make at home, lots of things to do. All right, all right, I'll hold off for a while and try to relax while you drain the life out of everyone else. Maybe I should yell out a warning to those innocent victims waiting to be put through this same torture.
Phew, I made it out of there. This was a lot worse than I thought it would be. I hope whoever gets that blood really needs it because I don't think my body is keen on giving up what it worked so hard to make.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Finding My Roots
February 6, 1958, a woman delivers a beautiful little boy. He's perfect as most babies are with 10 fingers and 10 toes. He weighs 6 pounds 12 ounces and is 21 inches long. Perhaps his mom holds him gently before signing the paperwork to relinquish her parental rights. Perhaps the pain associated with knowing he's not hers to keep prevents her from daring to even look at his face. And what about the father? Where is he? Does he want to keep this little bundle? Does he wonder if this baby has his talents and vices? These facts I may never know, but I do know that this baby grows up to be my father.
Yes, my father was adopted when he was six months old. Raised in a home with another adopted child. His adoptive mother died from cancer when he was only nine years old. I have the privilege of being honored with her name.
My dad provided me with all of his adoption paperwork about five years ago. I played around on the internet trying to see if I could locate his birth parents, but nothing could be found. I helped my dad to register for every free database that exists for adoptees, but I never felt we'd find anything there and my intutition proved true.
Flash forward to 2008. It was one of those nights where I couldn't sleep. I felt prompted to look through that adoption paperwork one more time. I always tried to read it and let my mind do some thinking to see if I could feel any questions spring to mind. I felt prompted to see if there is anyone out there who would be willing to help me with this quest for free. I know that locating this information can cost thousands of dollars and that's money I don't have. I locate a woman in Denver who emails me back at 5 am--apparently she's an early riser herself--and instructs me on all of the paperwork I need to fill out to make sure that I've done everything I can.
All of this paperwork doesn't bring me any closer to finding either of my biological grandparents. Then, she tells me that I can actually get what's called non-identifying information about my dad's adoption. We send away for the information in April of this year and six weeks later a few more puzzle pieces are revealed.
The key piece for me was the clue that my dad's birth mom was already married to another man when she gave birth to my dad. When I read that, I got another feeling that perhaps the last name that we'd had for her wasn't really her maiden name at all. However, having this clue still doesn't help me to know her name.
Then, in June another adoptee from Colorado wins his court battle against the state for the right to have access to his adoption file. This case changes the law in Colorado allowing all adopted children whose adoptions were finalized between 1950 and June of 1966 to get their original birth certificates. I am ecstatic. We're going to find her.
That birth certificate arrived at my dad's house on Monday and revealed that my intuition about her name was correct. I now have her maiden name in front of me and my dad is on the phone with me. I'm shaking so hard, I can hardly type; hardly think. I type in her name and the very first hit that google gives me is her obituary.
I have to pay to view her obituary and the next day, after much struggle with learning the hard way that gmail hides your spam folder, I gain password access to the obituary. I can hardly read. My eyes are jumping all over the page: Where are the names of all of her kids? What did she do for a living? Who else is alive that I can talk to about this?
I locate a current phone number for her brother. I dial and I am having heart tremors. What kind of a reception am I going to get from this man? Will he tell me he's not interested in digging up the past? Will he just hang up on me? I don't know if I can let it go with just that.
He doesn't answer his phone.
I call the nursing home where my great grandma is living (Yes she's living! Can you believe that? 92 years old and still very with it) and ask to talk to her. A male voice gets on the phone.
Him: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi. My name is Audrey."
Him: "Who?"
Me: "My name is Audrey. I don't really know how to explain this, but let me try. You had a sister named ______ (I'm choosing to not reveal this information on my blog for privacy reasons)."
Him: "Yes."
Me: "Do you remember that in 1958 she had a baby that she gave up for adoption?"
Him: "Yes."
Me: "That baby is my father."
Him: (excited voice) "Is that right?!"
I breath a huge sigh of relief and my heart rate goes down slightly.
Me: "Yes! I can't tell you how excited I am to meet you. To talk to you! I'm dying to find out some information if you're willing."
Him: "Well, yes, but this is the nursing home phone. Let me call you back in a few hours. When is a good time to call you?"
Me: "ANYtime you want to call is a good time for me."
Perhaps none of the rest of you noticed, but the next couple of hours crawled by. Did anyone feel the earth turn a bit more slowly on Tuesday?
My uncle has a southern drawl that I find adorable and is willing to share all of the information that he has available--which is hardly anything unfortunately.
I find out that my grandma was an extremely private woman who never told a sole she was pregnant until she went into labor--not even the man she was married to knew she was pregnant. She never spoke of the adoption or pregnancy again--at least to her brother or her own mother. She never revealed who the father was either though her own mother deduced the name from remembering back to the man she was dating. She never had any other kids for reasons that no one who is living seems to know. In other words, I know so much and I know so little all at the same time.
Within a few hours after locating her, I was able to locate my dad's biological father as well. He too is deceased. He died less than a year ago. I can't believe he only passed away less than a year ago! The question in this situation is whether or not he even knew that my dad existed. I have no idea if he did. His wife, whom he married the same year my dad was born, is still living, but her phone number is unlisted. I have written a letter and now all I can do is wait. Boy, I hope she knew about this because I can't imagine the shock it would be to find out about a child your husband fathered 51 years ago.
I hope she's kind. I hope she understands I just would like to see a picture...find out about his personality...see if I recognize my own features in him. I certainly am not interested in butting in where I'm not wanted, but my curiosity is insatiable about this situation.
So, even though I'll never be able to meet either one of my biological paternal grandparents, I have gained a sweet uncle and a great grandma. Not to mention all of the family that comes from them. Perhaps I'll get to meet them? I certainly hope so.
Yes, my father was adopted when he was six months old. Raised in a home with another adopted child. His adoptive mother died from cancer when he was only nine years old. I have the privilege of being honored with her name.
My dad provided me with all of his adoption paperwork about five years ago. I played around on the internet trying to see if I could locate his birth parents, but nothing could be found. I helped my dad to register for every free database that exists for adoptees, but I never felt we'd find anything there and my intutition proved true.
Flash forward to 2008. It was one of those nights where I couldn't sleep. I felt prompted to look through that adoption paperwork one more time. I always tried to read it and let my mind do some thinking to see if I could feel any questions spring to mind. I felt prompted to see if there is anyone out there who would be willing to help me with this quest for free. I know that locating this information can cost thousands of dollars and that's money I don't have. I locate a woman in Denver who emails me back at 5 am--apparently she's an early riser herself--and instructs me on all of the paperwork I need to fill out to make sure that I've done everything I can.
All of this paperwork doesn't bring me any closer to finding either of my biological grandparents. Then, she tells me that I can actually get what's called non-identifying information about my dad's adoption. We send away for the information in April of this year and six weeks later a few more puzzle pieces are revealed.
The key piece for me was the clue that my dad's birth mom was already married to another man when she gave birth to my dad. When I read that, I got another feeling that perhaps the last name that we'd had for her wasn't really her maiden name at all. However, having this clue still doesn't help me to know her name.
Then, in June another adoptee from Colorado wins his court battle against the state for the right to have access to his adoption file. This case changes the law in Colorado allowing all adopted children whose adoptions were finalized between 1950 and June of 1966 to get their original birth certificates. I am ecstatic. We're going to find her.
That birth certificate arrived at my dad's house on Monday and revealed that my intuition about her name was correct. I now have her maiden name in front of me and my dad is on the phone with me. I'm shaking so hard, I can hardly type; hardly think. I type in her name and the very first hit that google gives me is her obituary.
I have to pay to view her obituary and the next day, after much struggle with learning the hard way that gmail hides your spam folder, I gain password access to the obituary. I can hardly read. My eyes are jumping all over the page: Where are the names of all of her kids? What did she do for a living? Who else is alive that I can talk to about this?
I locate a current phone number for her brother. I dial and I am having heart tremors. What kind of a reception am I going to get from this man? Will he tell me he's not interested in digging up the past? Will he just hang up on me? I don't know if I can let it go with just that.
He doesn't answer his phone.
I call the nursing home where my great grandma is living (Yes she's living! Can you believe that? 92 years old and still very with it) and ask to talk to her. A male voice gets on the phone.
Him: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi. My name is Audrey."
Him: "Who?"
Me: "My name is Audrey. I don't really know how to explain this, but let me try. You had a sister named ______ (I'm choosing to not reveal this information on my blog for privacy reasons)."
Him: "Yes."
Me: "Do you remember that in 1958 she had a baby that she gave up for adoption?"
Him: "Yes."
Me: "That baby is my father."
Him: (excited voice) "Is that right?!"
I breath a huge sigh of relief and my heart rate goes down slightly.
Me: "Yes! I can't tell you how excited I am to meet you. To talk to you! I'm dying to find out some information if you're willing."
Him: "Well, yes, but this is the nursing home phone. Let me call you back in a few hours. When is a good time to call you?"
Me: "ANYtime you want to call is a good time for me."
Perhaps none of the rest of you noticed, but the next couple of hours crawled by. Did anyone feel the earth turn a bit more slowly on Tuesday?
My uncle has a southern drawl that I find adorable and is willing to share all of the information that he has available--which is hardly anything unfortunately.
I find out that my grandma was an extremely private woman who never told a sole she was pregnant until she went into labor--not even the man she was married to knew she was pregnant. She never spoke of the adoption or pregnancy again--at least to her brother or her own mother. She never revealed who the father was either though her own mother deduced the name from remembering back to the man she was dating. She never had any other kids for reasons that no one who is living seems to know. In other words, I know so much and I know so little all at the same time.
Within a few hours after locating her, I was able to locate my dad's biological father as well. He too is deceased. He died less than a year ago. I can't believe he only passed away less than a year ago! The question in this situation is whether or not he even knew that my dad existed. I have no idea if he did. His wife, whom he married the same year my dad was born, is still living, but her phone number is unlisted. I have written a letter and now all I can do is wait. Boy, I hope she knew about this because I can't imagine the shock it would be to find out about a child your husband fathered 51 years ago.
I hope she's kind. I hope she understands I just would like to see a picture...find out about his personality...see if I recognize my own features in him. I certainly am not interested in butting in where I'm not wanted, but my curiosity is insatiable about this situation.
So, even though I'll never be able to meet either one of my biological paternal grandparents, I have gained a sweet uncle and a great grandma. Not to mention all of the family that comes from them. Perhaps I'll get to meet them? I certainly hope so.
My dad with Ryanna.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
8 Great Years!
Happy Anniversary to you Derek--you lucky man you!
And, now for the top eight reasons you're the perfect man for me:
1. Just my height! I never have to stand on my tippy toes to kiss you and I never have a sore neck from giving you a kiss.
2. You make me laugh.
3. Your deep thoughts--I wish that we could share these before 11 pm at night, but there's something about going to bed that makes us philosophical.
4. Your kindness toward me. You've never yelled at me and you always say sorry first.
5. You balance me out even when I don't like it. I want dessert and you want more of the main course, I want chocolate and you want water, I want to be mad and you make me see the other side, you're the big picture thinker and I'm all about the details, etc.
6. You are such an incredible dad and huge supporter for me as a mom.
7. You're always trying to improve yourself. You never make me "just deal" with how you are. You always try to be a better person.
8. You love BYU football and really, the rest is just details.
Love you!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Dying for More?
My friend Lara is moving across the country right now. I'm talking packed up her entire house, husband and three kids and moved from Utah to Michigan. Anyway, she asked me and a couple other friends to be guest bloggers on her blog while she couldn't be there. She has some sort of fancy contract because she's such a fabulous blogger that requires her to blog every so often. I was, of course, completely honored and intimidated, but I eeked out a piece about suitcases. You'll notice, if you read the woman who posted below mine, that hers is very deep and heartfelt, while mine is my typical whimsical nonsense. If you want to see it for yourself, go here:
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
It All Started With One Phone Call
Me: "Hello?"
My Mom: "Hey. What're you doing?"
Me: "I'm getting my new dishwasher installed. What are you doing?"
My Mom: "I'm on my way to your house."
Me: "Wait, what?"
And that my friends is how our fun, quick weekend started. My mom and dad showed up in this:
For those of you who don't speak car this is a very, very fast Corvette. I'm talk 60 miles an hour in about 1/2 second. Almost faster than my Toyota minivan.
Then we did a little eating namely at such places as TC Eggington's, Jamba Juice and Chino Bandido (all in the same day).
We also did a little of this and I conquered with a very pitiful score which was barely over 100.
Then, just like Cinderella's gown turned into rags and her coach into a pumpkin, they disappeared on Sunday morning. They even took their race car with them. We were left with our minivan and clothes that barely fit due to the excess in consumption. It sure was fun though.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
So Much Older
On Saturday I turned 31. I'm old now. No really, I am. Let me tell you how the sad truth of this was discovered:
1. I was conducting in Primary last Sunday and I was reading the names of everyone in Primary that was going to have a birthday the coming week. I read my own name and got confused. Seriously, I didn't realize my birthday was only a week away.
2. About two months ago, I played a little backyard soccer with Derek and the kids. I was trying to steal the ball from Derek and he pushed my shoulder some weird way and my arm hurt for three weeks straight.
3. For my birthday, I was super excited about getting some projects done around the house.
4. My reason for putting blonde highlights in my hair has changed from looking cute to masking gray.
5. I don't buy cute shoes unless they are comfortable.
6. I drive a minivan and feel cool.
7. While I'm driving that minivan, I find myself changing radio stations all the time saying, "What is this garbage?"
Yes my friends, I'm old. I've reached that age where the young couples at church don't even think about befriending me because they look at the three kids and assume I couldn't be friends with them because I could never text back and forth with them. And, they are right! I have found the wonderful benefit of relaxing in my pjs all day after church and mostly anytime after dinner every evening. I don't go places to "be seen" only to try and find diversions for my brood. I look at college athletes and young policemen and think, "Do you even have your driver's license?"
Could be you're old too. Maybe you relate to some of this. Or, perhaps you're thinking, "Yeah, my parents do that stuff." I'm old. Old, but happy and that's the most important thing. No wait, happy and comfortable--now I'm complete.
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