What Is Lost

I think about it sometimes.  I read in the book Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman that one of the things a daughter misses out on when a mother dies while she is yet young is a lot of little things that are transferred in person.

In this case, it is a smidgen of milk added to an egg to help the white break up as it is stirred for a scrambled egg.  My youngest son wants to eat one almost every day at the moment and I don’t cook it the same way my mom did, we use a microwave.  And it is a bit complex to get it just right – several little cookings and stirrings until it is no longer wet.

My mom made certain we knew how to do all kinds of wifely things because I grew up in a era when the differences between little boys and little girls were clearly drawn, though feminism was beginning to soften the lines.  Though we were a family of all girls and there were no boys, causing me to become somewhat of a tomboy growing up close to my dad.

Mothers could, and probably should, teach their sons some of the things that my mom taught us.  There is no guarantee there will be a compliant servant wife to do them for my sons.  At the same time, childhood is so brief.  I understand that so clearly now.  My mom’s mother didn’t teach her much in the way of wifely things.  She said she was quite ignorant about how to do even the simplest thing at first but she muddled through and became quite proficient.

The world is changing so quickly.  Who knows what life will be like when my sons become independent ?  Somehow, I just believe, they will figure out what they need to figure out for themselves.  We all do.

Children Playing

As with your shadow I with these did play

~ Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

I was thinking about what to write today as I read the words above.  And it came to my mind, my childhood.

I thought about how my grandparents were 100% my grandparents when I was a child.  In reality they were not my original grandparents.  But as a child I didn’t know any difference.

To their credit, they did treat us as though we were, even though they knew the secret that we were not.  I do not know in what ways they didn’t wholeheartedly feel that we were theirs.  They were my grandparents because of adoption – both of my parents having been adopted in the first year of their life.

I think about how we simply accepted them as what they were called – Granny and Granddaddy and Grandmother.  We played as children at their feet and minded them with all the same authority.  We could not know how it might have been different because it was not.

 

Love Created My Family

Though adoption and other custody related separations tore my family apart, I know that each of us was conceived in an act of love between a man and a woman.

Today is Valentine’s Day and this day I celebrate that LOVE created each of us.  I was born a Hart – I was once told by a psychic I chose to be born in that family as a constant reminder to myself.

When my husband and I chose to conceive our sons at an advanced age, we also cared about genealogy and so gave both of our sons the Hart name as the middle name.

Though becoming parents was a bit unconventional for us, I don’t regret our doing so.  Our sons may not have us for as many years as my husband and myself had our parents but they get all the love we have to give each and every day.  Every child should be loved.  In our family, even the children who couldn’t be raised within the family they were born of, were loved even so.

I have heard from my newly discovered cousins that my parents who were taken away by adoption, were yet remembered and yearned for in their original families.  I believe that is because they were first conceived in love.

The Ties That Bind

 

This movie never fails to bring me to the verge of happy tears at the ending as the family is reunited by the music they all share, though differently.

We own the dvd but I had not seen it in some time, certainly not since I began to discover my family origins.  The child knows that he has parents out there and remains convinced the music will help him find them and it does in a very beautiful way.

I also finished reading Dani Shapiro’s – Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity, and Love yesterday.  She discovers thanks to inexpensive DNA testing that the father that raised her was not her biological father.  Turns out she was donor conceived.

When she discovers her biological father all of the unanswered questions of her life are explained in their similarities.

There are many variations of children who are separated in one way or another from their genetic roots.  We cannot dismiss the validity of those ties because they do bind the person.