The Fam-A-Bam on Labels

Today’s story (not my own) – Topic: labels

I am the maternal aunt of my niece whom we adopted 9 months ago. (There has been a Termination of Parental Rights for both parents.) She is now 8 and first came to stay with us at 4. So we have always had that familial label of her calling me her aunt and me calling her my niece.

Since adoption (and a bit before) she has been switching her labels describing us. It’s aunt or uncle, my parents, my mommy and daddy. Which is 1000% fine. We told her she can call us whatever she likes, whenever she likes. We all know who we are, we’re the fam-a-bam no matter how you call it. And she’s totally happy and we are totally happy to roll with her daily.

I think I’m tripping over myself, over how she defines us to others, when I’m not with her. She’s always been my niece longer than she’s been adopted by me. So, of course that’s what I automatically say. But I feel like because of the adoption I SHOULD be calling her my daughter ? That makes it feel like a society rule that meets actual legal reality. But that doesn’t feel exactly right, because she’s my niece, ya know? And I’m sorry if that sounds off, that’s the best way I can describe it in my head.

I guess I’m wondering, if it’s okay for her to switch off like she does (which she doesn’t currently mind) or if it would be better for her stability to have a set label coming from the adults ? She’s been through so much in her life already, I don’t want to be adding more pressure or anxiety by doing something “wrong”, that could maybe be so grounding as a consistent family label. I know she’s proud of us and I don’t ever want her to feel like I’m (we’re) not proud of her.

Some thoughts from an adoptive parent – my friend raised her grandchild. She had raised her since the age of 1 (guardianship) calling her “Mom”. Her granddaughter always knew she was a grandchild but neither wanted to keep explaining to everyone what had happened to her parents. She is now 16 and still calls her grandmother “Mom”. Her other grandchildren call her by a grandma nickname. That is fine because she can be a grandma to them but the relationships are not the same as with the child she cares for, in a mom role. My niece, who came into care at 9 and was adopted at 12, has always called my sister Molly and my brother-in-law, Ted. Mine was adopted at 9 months and has always called me “Mom” but knowing what I know now, I wish she had called me Gretchen. She reunified at 16 and has no idea what to call anybody. We are working on this with her therapist. Your niece knows her story and society is nosy. Kids just want to fit in. My mom was “Boofa” but on Grandparent’s Day, another young niece introduced her to all her friends as “Grandma” because she thought the other kids would laugh. Let her lead.

blogger’s note – I went through a period of relationship confusion myself. Both of my parents were adopted and those who I knew as my grandparents were actually my parents’ adoptive parents. So after my parents died, I had the good fortune to actually discover the identities of all 4 of my genetic grandparents (though ALL of them were deceased by then, it did open the door to a genetic aunt and some cousins). For awhile, that threw me into emotional confusion. By then, I was already into my 60s and I eventually worked through my emotional discomfort. My son has said to me that I have a very complicated family. Truth.

Evolving Perspectives

I know that my perspectives have evolved since I began learning about my own genetic roots. I don’t know how many of these blogs I have written but they do in some way reflect my own journey to understanding adoption trauma. Ass the child of 2 adoptees, I understand how not knowing anything about your own family history feels. And what a struggle it is to find some peace with the relatives I grew up with who are not actually genetically related to me.

Today, I read a lament from a woman about what her perspectives were in the past before she learned the realities of the adoption marketplace. She compared her thoughts in 2013 (my evolution began in 2017) with what she understands today. She writes –

In the past, I never understood the entitlement that people had, which allowed them to adopt babies. I didn’t understand why pro-lifers weren’t fostering or adopting children who already had their parental rights terminated. The story that was on the radio broke my heart. I heard older children in foster care talking about wanting a family, so they had somewhere to go for Christmas and Easter – or just to celebrate life with, as they grow up into adulthood. And I used the term unwanted baby – not even realizing that an unwanted pregnancy doesn’t mean that the baby wasn’t wanted. I didn’t know anything about how Child Protective Services would try and terminate parental rights for babies, so that the people who were fostering to adopt could get the babies they wanted.

Now I look at my old post from 2016 and think how insensitive and dehumanizing it is to bring adoptees into the abortion debate. I wish every kid had a home that was safe and loving. And more than that I wish that every home had the ability to be safe and loving. I wish first families had the resources that adoptive and foster families are given. I wish people didn’t look at parents facing poverty and tell them they should never have had children, instead of making a social safety net available to every family.

Her wishes are my own (this blogger’s) wishes as well.

Late Discovery Humor

2006 Movie – Relative Strangers

This is NOT a serious blog today but last night we watched the 2006 movie – Relative Strangers. Since Netflix ceased sending us dvds by mail, I visit our local library every Tuesday to return the dvds I checked out the previous week and pick 5 new ones. I selected this movie ONLY because the box suggested a strong adoption related theme.

Though much criticism has been leveled against the movie’s use of “hillbilly white trash” tropes, I did find several aspects “true” to what I know about adoption at this point. I will quickly point out that before I started learning the “realities” after locating all of my actual genetic, biological grandparents in the year following the deaths of both of my parents, who were both adoptees but died knowing next to nothing about their own roots due to closed and sealed adoptions, I was as much in the fog of the feel good stories about adoption as anyone could ever be. Most of my childhood, I believed my parents were actual orphans. I had no idea there were people out there living their lives with no knowledge of me that I was actually biologically and genetically related to.

I do know at least one late discovery adoptee and have read about others, so Richard learning he was adopted after he was already in his 30s seems true enough to reality to me. Also, his adoptive parents have a biological genetic son who is malicious towards his adopted brother. Have read stories like that from actual adoptees as well.

Richard’s effort to discover who his actual birth parents were and his liberal fantasies about that seem to ring true as well. Many adoptees (especially in childhood) fantasize who their original first parents were. His meeting with the actual birth parents also mirrors some of the “failed” reunions I have read about. One of the sweetest moments comes when Richard discovers the heart shaped locket his birth mother wears has an infant photo and the missing button from his teddy bear’s eyes (the only clue to his identity after he was abandoned).

Also his actual parents reminded me of the biblical story because they cared more about their son’s well-being than their own desire to have a relationship with him. In the biblical story, two women both claim a child is their own. King Solomon orders the baby be cut in half, with each woman to receive one half. The first woman accepts the compromise as fair, but the second begs the king to give the baby to the other. She prefers her baby lives, even without her. Solomon gave the baby to the second woman with the selfless love. This story always tugged at my heart growing up.

As a writer, for me, some of the funniest parts of the movie relate to Richard’s chosen profession as a psychologist who has written a book on Anger Management – “Ready Set Let Go”. Reality, and having to come to terms with that reality, challenge his own method of controlling anger. His real mother and father are his worst nightmare: rude, loud, obnoxious, crude and of a lower class than his snooty adoptive parents.

As the child of 2 adoptees, I lived some of that strange kind of contrast. My mom’s adoptive parents were a banker and socialite. My dad’s adoptive parents were conservative religious rural down to earth people with very limited financial resources. Until much later in my adulthood, my mom’s adoptive mother was never in the same room with my dad’s adoptive parents (her adoptive father died when I was barely 20 years old). By the time I learned who my original grandparents were, those ancestors I was genetically related to had all died. All I know of them is second-hand, mostly from the cousins I now know I am actually genetically related to and who had real life experiences with those people who conceived my parents.

Born Twice

At his website, LINK>David Bohl writes – I am often asked about the title of my memoir, Parallel Universes, and how I came up with it. There are many different reasons it fits for me, but the simplest explanation is that I needed to describe what it was like to be born twice during one lifetime—as someone who had been relinquished at birth and as someone who recovered from addiction and healed from trauma. And I also needed a title not just to my book, but to my life, something that would be stamped into the fabric of my world and signal both to me and to others as to what sort of story I’d been living.

Being able to share stories is what makes us feel less alone; it’s what connects us more than anything. Sharing stories is also how we honor and acknowledge both our pain and our joy, how we situate ourselves among others, and how we relate. Being able to share and being known is one of the first steps to healing. blogger’s note – I believe this. That is why I am often sharing other people’s stories – because we are able to learn from their experiences.

It’s a human pursuit to look for the meaning of life, to try to make sense of the world and of our past. Stories also inform how we might act in the future. He notes – I didn’t arrive at my Parallel Universe place out of the blue nor easily. I had to face my Reality, however painful, and I had to look back into my past for some answers. I got enough context that I was able to develop that narrative.

Every abandoned person has to acknowledge that there was a family of origin, but how they deal with that is unique to each person. blogger’s note – even for the child of two adoptees, it was somewhat startling to come to grips that there were these other people, to whom I am genetically related, out there living lives I was totally unaware of, as they were also totally unaware of me.

My own dad was one of these – There are people who prefer not to know anything about their origins, who don’t consider the alternative reality that never was – where they grow up with different parents and in different circumstances. And there are people for whom this knowledge is essential and who find solace in putting as many puzzle pieces together as possible. blogger’s note – And that one was me.

He end with this thought – There is no wrong or right way to do this. I’ve talked with people who shared that their apprehension comes from not being able to find closure and not wanting to add to their problems. There are people who have tried to find closure and ended up further traumatized. There are people like me for whom those findings were a bitter-sweet discovery, one that I’m still processing and probably will process for the rest of my life. What unites all of us is that we all need some kind of a narrative to our life to simply make sense of it.

Like A Wrecking Ball Hitting Identity

Today’s story is thanks to the Santa Fe Reporter – LINK>Junkyard Girl. Carlyn Montes De Oca lived for 57 years before she found out she’d been adopted. An investigation into her own past to unravel the clues—included interviews with siblings and cousins (all of whom seemed to know more about her than she knew about herself), old photographs and the delusive evidence of memory.

She’d spent her life believing she belonged to a family of six—her parents were Mexican immigrants, and her sister and brothers were first-generation American citizens—who lived in Carpenteria, California. Still, though she always believed she was tied to the family by blood, she had the sense something was missing. Something about her was different, and it kept her at a distance. When a DNA test revealed she shared scant genetic material with her presumptive family, her sister decided to break the promise she’d made to her parents to keep Montes De Oca’s adoption a secret.

Carlyn explains – “For two years I pretty much dealt with this topic by myself. I didn’t realize that there are a lot of other people who have gone through a similar situation—taking a DNA test for fun and suddenly discovering, ‘Holy cow, I’m adopted. I have a sister, I have a brother. This isn’t my parent.’”

Though once it was common to keep adoptions a secret, today only 3% of adopted children in the US aren’t told they’re adopted. Carlyn decided, when she learned she was adopted, that she faced a choice: “The tethers that bound me to my family, the family I grew up with, in some ways were cut. There was a sadness with that, a loss—but also a freedom. It allowed me to stand on my own and to choose what family means to me.”

I know that feeling. Even though my parents’ adoptions were not a secret, they died knowing next to nothing about their origins. I made it my mission to learn about my family’s origins. What I did not expect was how that would make me feel about the “family” I had while I was growing up and actually for over 60 years of my life. They were not actually my blood relatives and it did have an unexpected, profound effect on me. It took some time to re-integrate the adoptive family as being “real” to my lived experience, even as I learned there were actual genetic relatives living their lives with scant, if any at all, knowledge of my existence, nor any knowledge for me of theirs. It takes time to begin to build a bond with the people we discover we are genetically related to but didn’t know for decades of their own lived experiences. It is not an easy process for any of us in this world of severed birth families.

Carlyn contemplates the saying “blood is thicker than water.” Usually this means one’s birth family is the strongest tie. She did meet her birth sister, aunt and mother, but hasn’t maintained a strong relationship with her biological family. I understand, as I related above. Carlyn notes – “For me, it was the family that was not really mine by birth—the water of the womb—but the family I spent my life, my culture, my experiences and love with.” I think it was something like that which allowed me to re-integrate my parents’ adoptive families back into my mental map of what family is.

We choose our families through what we share with them, even if it isn’t blood. This could include our closest friends that become a kind of family for us.

A Burning Desire

I was reading some thoughts by an adoptee (Elizabeth Casalaspro) in her blog LINK>A Roller Coaster Ride on the subject of forgiveness but for me it echoed my experience related to reunions. She says “Adoptees do not choose to be adopted. They still have the desire to ‘know’ where they come from. Most adoptees mean well and have a burning desire to learn about their biological family. Most adoptees just want answers.” My mom certainly had that but was blocked by the obstacle of a sealed adoption record.

When she died, I wanted to somehow fulfill her wish. My mom had a brother who had been adopted from the same agency. One of his daughters called me one day to tell me she had been able to get her father’s adoption record, that it had many pages and didn’t cost all that much – still it cost more than I could afford to spend at that time but at least I knew I could get some answers. Eventually, I did have that much disposable money to do it and in the Autumn of 2017, I received her adoption file and what a revelation it was.

I didn’t think of it as a burning desire but somehow, once that fuse that connected me to the truth of my origins was lit, it simply propelled me along. Certainly, I did have some encouragement to keep going into my dad’s origins from my nephews. The entire journey I had the support of my husband to learn my own truths.

It is a rather odd place that I have now arrived at. I do feel “whole” in ways I did not for 6 decades of my life. I know from whom and geographically where I come from and though it leaves me in a rather awkward uncomfortable place regarding “my family” I am grateful for what I now know. I am still processing this 6 years later. There is the “family” I grew up “knowing” and the “family” I do not share memories with – except for one who I spent an afternoon with and was given the history of those long years on my mom’s paternal side. And there is a cousin I’ve not met in person but who was supportive and provided me with many pictures that fill in some of the gaps of my father’s family history.

Adoption will never and can never feel organically normal. Most children grow up with the parents who conceived them, as I did. Adoptees are transplanted humans. Transplant rejection and other serious complications can and do occur. Adoptive parents have the challenge of matching their adoptee’s needs and there is an unavoidable stress in creating a relationship with a non-related person. Characteristics may not match up well enough to result in happiness for the people impacted.

Elizabeth may have been on the best track by acknowledging a need to forgive, quite generally, so much.

Betrayal Trauma and Attachment

Two of my friends have recently drawn my attention to issues of attachment and betrayal. One wrote in response to a self-betrayal graphic – The thought to comes to mind is that from a young age children are likely to experience examples of this when parents are perceived (rightly or wrongly) as not acting in their best interest. The possibility of this type of ‘betrayal’ is then opened in their minds and then acted out.

The other provided a LINK> to a Neurobiology of Attachment pdf and specifically pg 4 re:the infant’s brain. Families can recover from childhood emotional wounds when all members discuss openly the mental conditions of the parents as a regular family health routine… growth & compassion for all. We learned that ‘communication’ could actually happen through the placenta, in which the adrenaline and cortisol that’s coursing through the mom’s veins wind up crossing the placenta and affecting the development of the brain. “Our connections with other people are critical for being able to tolerate and regulate our own emotional responses.” “This sense of connection occurs through nonverbal communication.”

This caused me to reflect this morning on my two adoptee parents who were relinquished in infancy by their mothers into closed adoptions. They both died without knowing much of anything about their origins – which fortunately, I now know quite a lot about the people and circumstances, though clearly with the passage of time and the deaths of all 4 of my genetic grandparents, I can never fully know.

In trying to put myself into my parents hearts/minds and inner beliefs related to their adoptions, how could they not feel betrayed by their first/original parents ? They had no way of knowing their mother’s stories or challenges or reasons including being coerced (and yes, I will always believe that BOTH of my grandmothers were coerced in the 1930s into giving up their firstborn children) that resulted in my parents being adopted. I sincerely believe that no adoptive parent can truly undo this sense of betrayal by the parent in the child they conceived and birthed. In the case of my grandfathers, it is more complicated. Definitely, one never knew he fathered a son and it turns out he never had any other children (it was the same for my mom’s mother who never had any more children).

I’ll never be able to know exactly why my mom’s father abandoned her and her mother (when my grandmother was 4 mos pregnant, nor why he did not come back to rescue her, infant in tow and financially destitute). So, the line above about communication through the placenta could definitely been my maternal grandmother’s mental/emotional struggles without her husband (they were married, in the case of my dad’s parents, they were not – his father was a married man having an affair with a much younger woman).

No matter the reasons, being relinquished for adoption and never knowing why, is betrayal trauma for the adoptee. I do believe modern trends that keep birth parents in the loop or the effects of reunions instigated by adoptee searches are some mitigating factors to the sense of betrayal that, whether they acknowledge it precisely as that or not, exits within the adoptee.

Besides the pdf linked above, I found two articles via google search that may be useful to some of my readers. [1] LINK>The Effects of Attachment and Developmental Trauma and Ways to Heal the Adoptee from the Adoptions from the Heart’s WordPress blog. (Basically, they are an adoption agency). [2] LINK>From Abandonment & Betrayal to Acceptance & Forgiveness: The Gifts of Memoir by Julie Ryan McGue and Judith Ruskay Rabinor at Adoption & Beyond (a 501c3 non-profit child placement agency licensed in both Kansas and Missouri). The reader is welcomed to consider the source when reading either of these.

Grieving Many Times Over

Today, I share a piece by LINK>David B Bohl, who is an author, speaker and addiction & relinquishment consultant. It is titled On Grieving Many Times, And Many Times Over. I was attracted to this because yesterday was my deceased, adoptee mother’s birthday. I don’t suppose we ever get over the grief. I don’t think she ever got over the grief of never being able to communicate with her birth mother, who Tennessee told her in the early 1990s was already dead.

David writes his adoptive mother’s death was the fifth death of a parent he’d had to go through. He explains that he – hadn’t learned of the first two until much later after they’d occurred. The first one to go was my birth father, who died 32 years before I learned about it, the second one my birth mother whose death I did not learn of until 8 years after it happened (very similar to my own mom). Then there was my adoptive father 12 years ago, and now, Joan Audrey Bohl who died twice —first when the dementia robbed her of her mind and memory, subsequently rendering me a stranger when she would fail at times to remember who I was and why I was visiting. There she was another mom who had no idea I was her son. In those moments, in a most sinister coincidence, she was like my biological parents who relinquished me and existed in this world without any specific knowledge of me.

He wants us to understand “What all of this means to someone like me—a relinquishee and adoptee who now has two sets of deceased parents–is that I must face twice(?), five times(?) a yet-to-be determined amount(?) of grief and confusion. Add to that losing my adoptive mom to dementia, and there is plenty to process, a great deal of loss, and certainly much to grieve. I am, of course, not blaming any of my parents for dying or getting sick, and I’ve made peace with my biological parents for giving me up a 62 years ago. But it would be disingenuous to say that I am no longer affected by these losses and that my mother’s recent death doesn’t trigger some new layer of grief where all of those people who contributed to my existence must be acknowledged in how they shaped my life. And so, I think about mothers. The mother I knew and the mother I’ve never met. And then the mother I knew who no longer knew me. I think of fathers, the one who had never even met me, and the one who raised me and provided me with a life filled with opportunities. And I of course, as a father, I think about my children.”

When I try to talk about my own family, my youngest son says to me – you have a very complicated family. It is true. And it is true for adoptees as well. As I have learned who my original grandparents were and have made contact with that novel new experience of genetic relatives that never knew each other existed – it has actually given me a new sense of wholeness – while at the same time totally messing me up with the adoptive relatives and the feelings I have (and still have) and each of them. Very complicated indeed.

There is much more in his very worthwhile article – see the LINK.

Betrayal After Betrayal

Today’s story courtesy of the LINK> Huffington Post – My Dad Hid My Sister From Me For Decades. Then I Learned That Wasn’t Our Only Family Secret by Sarah Leibov. I share excerpts. You can read the whole story at the link.

Her dad had impregnated his girlfriend long before he met her mom and she was placed for adoption. The truth was revealed because the woman was coming to Chicago where the author lived and not only her mother (who had divorced her father 20 years ago) and her brother (who also knew about this secret sister) thought Sarah might want to meet her.

Her brother knew because he was going through their dad’s briefcase seven years ago and discovered letters from this woman and began corresponding with her. The mother discovered the secret when she asked who sent an email she saw on her son’s computer.

Sarah describes her reaction to the shock of learning about this sister. I only noticed that I was crying when people passing me on the street gave me sympathetic looks. I sat down on the curb, shaking. I was in shock, but another part of me was relieved. Intuitively, I’d always felt that my father was hiding something from me. Hearing the news validated the fear I’d buried inside for years. I was confused as to why he had kept this secret. My parents had divorced and married other partners when I was young, and I’d already had every kind of sibling imaginable ― my brother, a stepsister from my mother’s next marriage, and three half siblings from my father’s second marriage. Why would he keep quiet about this one? I didn’t know why my brother had never confronted my father, or shared the news with me. It was betrayal after betrayal.

She didn’t want to meet her father’s hidden daughter behind his back, or hide it from him, as he had from her. She called her brother and told him, “Call Dad now, and tell him what you know, or I will.” The next day, her father asked Sarah and her brother to meet him at a deli she’d never heard of. She thinks he thought she wouldn’t make a scene in an unfamiliar public setting, but admits, “I upset his plan. Tears flowed down my face as I ignored inquisitive looks from people trying to enjoy their matzo ball soup.”

Her father told them that when his girlfriend discovered that she was pregnant, she told him that she was moving to another state and planned to place the baby for adoption. Two decades later, the hidden sister gained access to her adoption papers and reached out to both her birth parents. Their father had then started corresponding with her and even met with her several times over the years.

Sarah writes about their first meeting – My fiancé and I met my new sister at a restaurant the following evening. My father was right ― she was lovely, kind and unassuming. I noticed that we both had inherited my father’s dark eyes and curly hair. She seemed a bit nervous and just as intent on making a good impression as I was. In her warm presence, all my envy disappeared.

And in the years since, we have bonded over our mutual interests in music and meditation, both on the phone and in person. I am very fond of her, but it’s so much more than that. I admire her political activism and ideals. She is a health care worker, and I’ve never heard her blame anyone for the difficulties she has endured. She lives with an easy, open acceptance that is challenging for me.

The hidden sister turned out not to be the only secret in their family. Turns out that her maternal grandfather had an affair during his marriage to her grandmother. Her mother and this half-sister (discovered thanks to Ancestry.com) were born only a few months apart, but on opposite sides of the country. When asked if her father had ever traveled to the East Coast, her mother explained that he was a traveling salesman. “We hear that a lot,” the geneticist told her mother.

Upon learning about this, Sarah was angry at her grandfather for deceiving her mother, similar to how she had been angry at her father for withholding a sister from her. It was frustrating that because the grandfather was deceased they couldn’t get answers from him. I know the feeling. I would love to know why my maternal grandfather appears to have abandoned my maternal grandmother and the baby that was my adoptee mother.

When she saw how overjoyed her mother was to have discovered a sister so late in her life, Sarah’s perspectives changed. It wasn’t their actions that were reprehensible, their decisions to hide what happened had caused pain.

She ends her essay with this – “Enough time has been stolen from me and now its my responsibility to recover what has been lost.” I understand. Building relationships with people who didn’t know you existed for over 60 years isn’t easy. I simply keep trying to stay connected with my “new” genetic family.

Separations

An adoptee wrote – “I hate not belonging anywhere. I hate that I have multiple families, but also really zero. I hate needing to earn my place in people’s lives.” I could relate as I recently shared with my husband and he understood. We both come from small nuclear families and there is no extended family geographically close to us and honestly, few of those as well anywhere else.

Much of this feeling for me comes from the realization that those who were my extended family growing up aren’t really related to me. Those that are genetically biologically related to me don’t really know me, have no real history with me and though I am slowly without too much intrusion trying to build these new relationships . . . sigh. It isn’t easy.

My first family break-up was one I initiated. I divorced the man I had married just before I turned 18 and a month before I graduated from high school in April 1972. By November, more or less, I was pregnant with our first child. She remains the joy of my life and has gifted me with two grandchildren. However, finances separated me from my daughter when she was 3 years old and she was raised by her father and step-mother who gave her a yours-mine-and-ours family of siblings, sisters, just like I grew up with. It has left me with a weird sense of motherhood in regard to my daughter. One that I often struggle with but over the last decade or so, I have been able to bridge some of that gap- both with regard in my own sense of self-esteem and in a deepening relationship with my daughter, primarily since the passing of her step-mother (not that the woman was an impediment but understandably, my daughter’s heart remains seriously tied to that woman even today).

The trauma of mother/child separation lived by each of my adoptee parents (while skipping my relationship and my sisters’ relationship with our parents) passed over to my sisters and my own relationships with our biological genetic children. I seriously do believe it has proven to have been a factor. Both of my sisters gave up babies to adoptive parents and one lost her first born in court to his paternal grandparents. Sorrows all around but all us must go on the best we can.

Since learning the stories of my original grandparents, I have connected with several genetic relatives – cousins mostly and an aunt plus one who lives in Mexico with her daughter. Everyone is nice enough considering the absolutely un-natural situation our family histories have thrust us into. So really, now I find myself in this odd place of not really belonging to 4 discrete family lines (one set of grandparents were initially married and divorced after the surrender of their child to adoption and one set never married, in fact my paternal grandfather likely never knew he had a son). Happily, though a significant bit of geographical distance a factor foe me, my paternal grandfather was a Danish immigrant and I now have contact with one cousin in Denmark who has shared some information with me that I would not have but for him.

Regarding estrangement, I’ve had no direct contact with my youngest sister since 2016. In regard to looking out for her best interests, her own attorneys in the estate proceedings encouraged me to pursue a court appointed guardian/conservator for her – as both of our parents died 4 months apart and she was highly dependent upon them due to her mental illness of (likely) paranoid schizophrenia. The effects of that really destroyed my relationship with her (which had been close until our mother died and then, went seriously to hell, causing us to become estranged). I just learned the other day that the court has released her conservator. I guess she is on her own now. She survived 4 years of homelessness before reconciling uneasily with our parents. I guess the survivor in her will manage but she most likely also now believes the guardian/conservator proceedings were my own self being vindictive, for some unreasonable purpose. Sigh. I don’t miss contact with her – honestly – it was cruel and difficult being on the receiving end of her offensives after our mom died. I do wish her “well” in the sincerest meanings of that concept.

It could also be that without these great woundings I would be less vulnerable and available, less empathic and compassionate, with the people I encounter as I live my life each day. Maybe it is precisely my reaching out, in an effort to connect, that causes me to share my own personal circumstances. A sacrifice of the heart.