Multi-Generational Impacts

I did read this book and I know that the impacts of adoption did have generational effects. I’ve written about this before. In today’s story, an adoptee shares it’s effects in her life and family.

I see many adoptees who have such beautiful relationships with their own children. Are there others out there who struggle with relationships with their own children? My birth mother and I were both products of the baby snatch era. She discovered she was bought by her parents only after they died. She abandoned me as a toddler to an orphanage. I was adopted but later returned to foster care by my adopted parents. I became pregnant at 15 and forced to give birth. I could not place my son for adoption due to my own negative experience as an adoptee but received no form of parenting support/skill training. My birth mother found me as a young adult (only after finding her birth mother first) – only to disown and reabandon me. I have no relationship with my adopted mother, my birth mother, or adult son. I feel like I failed to interrupt multi generational trauma. My failure pains me greatly and I feel very alone in this.

The Thief Lord

It is the story of orphans and adoption. It reminded me a lot of August Rush without a cruel Robin Williams and all of the music. Both house the street urchins in an abandoned theater but the one in this 2006 movie is much nicer. The story is set in the canals of Venice and includes elements of magic, especially from the perspective of Bo, who is 6-3/4 years old. From a review at LINK>Chucks Connection –

Two orphaned brothers have been separated by their aunt Esther Hartlieb, who is only interested in taking care of Bo and has put Prosper in an orphanage. As the film opens, Prosper successfully escapes from the orphanage, and is able to get Bo away from the Hartlieb house, although in doing so he triggers an alarm that awakens the Hartliebs. The two boys have made a pact to run away and go to Venice, where their mother was thinking of taking them before she died.

The two boys are able to arrive in Venice by stealing rides on trains and boats. By the time they have reached their destination, Bo has come down with a bad cough. Prosper goes into a drug store to get some medicine, but doesn’t have enough money to purchase the drugs. He contemplates stealing the medicine, but is startled by the shop owner, and the bottle falls to the floor and breaks. The shop owner yells “thief” and begins chasing Prosper down the corridors and alleyways of Venice. Prosper is able to escape, due to the unexpected assistance of another young teen wearing a black beaked mask.

The kids support themselves through petty thievery. They sell what they steal through a local fence, Barbarossa (who reminded me of my sons’ obstetrician). He is the owner of a local antique shop. Meanwhile, the snobbish couple who were raising Bo hire a local detective. It is not clear why they would even be interested in finding Bo and his older brother, Prosper, as they seem totally uninterested in relating to either kid.

Eventually, the Thief Lord is offered a large sum of money to steal what seems to be a somewhat worthless object — the wing of an animal from an old wooden merry-go-round. “Chuck” notes that there are many plot turns and twists in this story along with some magical events that change the focus of the story. But it would spoil your experience of viewing the film to reveal any more of the actual story, other than to say it might take you a couple of viewings before you pick up on everything that goes on in the course of the film.

I enjoyed the movie but then, I believe in and love magic. The Thief Lord is based on the fantasy novel by Cornelia Funke. When I checked the dvd out at our local library, the librarian said she had read the book but had not seen the movie. The director and screenwriter, Richard Claus, is noted to have remained faithful to most of the details of the book. While it is a family film. it has some complexity to it. It is not difficult for a viewer to get wrapped up in the action of the storyline. LINK>Common Sense Media describes the movie as a magical orphan drama that explores the definition of family.

My favorite character is an adult woman, Ida Spavento, who is a photographer that helps the kids. Turns out, she is also an orphan and is the one who possesses the wooden wing. It belongs to the lion on the long-lost merry-go-round with magical powers that was once at the Merciful Sisters convent.

Vimeo Trailer

Abandoned in a Cardboard Box

In looking for an image to illustrate today’s story, I was surprised at how common it actually is for parents to use a cardboard box as a bassinet. The story I read in LINK>The Huffington Post isn’t actually about this. The story by Shari Leid is titled – “I Was Found Abandoned In A Cardboard Box As A Baby. All My Life I’ve Been Searching For The Truth About Who I Am.” The subtitle is – “Now a mother myself, I often think about the emotions that must have swirled within my birth mother during her pregnancy.”

She writes – In the bustling streets of Seoul, South Korea, my life began at Chapter 2 with a cardboard box in a nondescript parking lot. There was no Chapter 1; the scant police, hospital and orphanage records offer no clues about my birth name, birthplace, or birthdate. My birth story is shrouded in mystery. It was 1970, a time when adoption, especially international adoption, was navigated with less understanding than it is today. Concepts like the significance of bonding between a baby and its mother during the first year of life were not as widely recognized or prioritized.

She goes on to note – Attachment, the emotional bond between a child and their primary caregiver, is now known to play a pivotal role in shaping our relationships and emotional well-being. My early life was marked by a series of caregivers ― from a birth family to a police station to a hospital ward to an orphanage and finally to a foster home ― before being escorted to the United States by representatives of an adoption agency to meet my adoptive parents. This early experience laid the foundation for the complex web of attachment issues I would grapple with throughout my life.

Not for the first time have I read this from an adoptee – the school project that I hated the most was the Family Tree assignment. It was a stark reminder that I was like a grafted branch, awkwardly attached to a tree that wasn’t originally mine. And the thing with grafts is, they don’t always take ― sometimes they stick out, not quite blending in, or they might not even survive if they don’t heal right.

She relates the effects of her attachment issues – In those tricky teen years and my early 20s, I struggled with trust in my relationships. I was continually searching for assurance, for tangible signs that the people in my life would remain steadfast, that our connections would endure the inevitable storms. Looking back, I recognize this was a dance with fear ― the fear of being forgotten, of being alone. Unintentionally, I placed those around me under the microscope of my insecurities, seeking constant validation of their affection and commitment.

Then she describes how becoming a mother affected her – Now a mother myself, having experienced the profound journey of pregnancy and childbirth, I often think about the emotions that must have swirled within my birth mother during her pregnancy. I can’t help but wonder whether she, too, grappled with a sense of emotional detachment ― an act of self-preservation, knowing she couldn’t keep me — and if she transferred those feelings of detachment and anxiety to her unborn child.

She notes that there is a profound power in having a birth narrative. Hers came by way of a psychic at a friend’s party. She was given the gift of a reimagined beginning. It is interesting that after marriage, she and her husband adopted a girl from China only to discover that this woman was already pregnant. This happens more often than you might think (an adoption brings with it a pregnancy). Her son was born a mere seven months after they returned from China.

She notes – We adoptees are not just the sum of our adopted family; we are the continuation of a history, the carriers of genetics, and the embodiment of potential that stretches back beyond our memory. Our birth families, with all their mysteries and absences, are still a vital piece of our identity, a narrative thread that is ours to weave into the story of our lives.

There is a lot of attention to Korean adoptee stories these days – 112,000 Korean children were adopted by US citizens over the last 60 years. The story author writes – In 2020, the South Korean National Police Agency began offering a service to overseas adoptees of Korean descent that provides a way for us to submit our DNA and register it with foreign diplomatic offices, in the hopes of reconnecting with our biological families. I provided my DNA sample, but to this day, there has been no match.

Remembering Tam

Today’s story by a grieving friend (not the blogger) but such an important acknowledgement – remembering Tam on the anniversary of her birth.

She cried for weeks after she arrived. Tam spent years in the orphanage back in Vietnam, it became her home and the other children her family. She played a cassette tape of all the songs they sang together. Each time it ended, the crying would die down as she flipped it to the other side. The crying would resume after she hit the play button. Profound pain and sadness. Grief.

Tam was blind, yet moved with ease, feeling with her hands, smelling with her nose. She took care of herself meticulously, especially her hair. She refused to use a service dog and reluctant to use her cane, never wanting to draw that kind of attention to herself. She had a good amount of self-pride.

I graduated from college in 2000 with a degree in psychology. I had also wanted to minor in social work which seemed to come to me more easily. Second semester senior year was just a bit too late to choose a new major, or even a minor. Since then, I’ve surrounded myself with social workers for most of my career.

Midterms are one of the last ways to boost your GPA, and I could have used a boost! I also received my acceptance letter from UConn to their master’s program at their school of family studies. I make the call back home from my dorm room to share the news. “Tam is in the hospital, call everyone to come home.”

The story of how she died has been told a number of different ways in the media over the years. What hasn’t been included in Tam’s story though is that as adopted people, we live with layers of pain, trauma and in a constant state of grief. Too often it is disenfranchised grief, to the point we aren’t aware our bodies still feel the losses we’ve endured. Too often an act of suicide is confused with wanting to stop the pain. To stop feeling. Sometimes, we act impulsively after a fight or argument as we register it as a threat. This threat triggers our fear response. Fear of rejection. Anger at ourselves.

Whatever it is, we just want the pain to go away. We are tired of feeling. We want it to stop. Suicide continues to be stigmatized, and those, like me, live with shame and guilt. It’s why there is a movement to normalize these thoughts and feelings, so people can share them to be seen, heard and validated. It’s powerful when someone connects with you and says “I see you, thank you for helping me understand your pain.” With that kind of connection, a life can be saved.

The truth is that Tam died in 2000. Both her life and death have profoundly changed me. I continue to turn my pain into purpose. To keep telling her story. Many people don’t realize how important it is when you’ve been adopted. Your story is told by others, often to shape a narrative. I strive to tell Tam’s truth. Even through her death, she deserves to be seen. Her pain and how she lived makes her human.

It was her birthday last week. I now call it the anniversary of her birth. Often it is a traumaversary for those who are adopted. I will never know what she would have been like at this stage of adulthood. I do remember her laugh. What a laugh!

A Mystery Solved Somewhat

I am fascinated by stories like this – which involve abandonment, adoption and a definite mystery. Today’s blog is courtesy of a story in The Guardian – LINK>Three abandoned children, two missing parents and a 40-year mystery by Giles Tremlett.

A two-year-old girl along with her brothers ages four and five were abandoned at the Estación de Francia, the grand railway terminus in Barcelona Spain. The children did not even know their own surnames. They knew that they had recently lived in Paris France. At first, they were taken to an orphanage in Barcelona. Three days later, they were moved to a care home for vulnerable children in the center of the city.

A few weeks later, in May, an educational psychologist named Marisa Manera saw a photograph of Elvira and her brothers pinned to a board in a district office of Barcelona’s social services. “We are seeking information on these three children,” read an accompanying note. A business card with the care home’s number was pinned to it. Marisa and her husband, a teacher named Lluís Moral, had fostered children before, and they offered the three siblings a temporary home. The children moved in at the end of June.

In 1986, Marisa and Lluís formally adopted Elvira and her brothers, giving them the surnames Moral Manera (Spaniards receive one from each parent). “They got the three-kid family they had always wanted,” Elvira, now a slender 41-year-old woman with dark eyes, dyed silver hair and a chevron tattoo on one knuckle, told me. This was shared good fortune, since the children enjoyed a happy, loving a middle-class childhood in an apartment in Barcelona.

Elvira developed a firm conviction that character is formed more overwhelmingly by nurture, rather than nature. In 2014, Elvira had a son with her partner, Marco. During her pregnancy, Elvira started to feel unsettled by how little she knew about her biological family. In December 2020, she made an attempt to answer her questions with a MyHeritage DNA test. Yet, answers proved elusive.

In March 2021, Elvira was interviewed by Catalan radio station, RAC-1, for an early-evening talkshow, Islàndia. Many people responded but it was hard to judge who was trustworthy and who was not. She came to rely on a new friend, Montse Del Río, a 51-year-old forensic doctor who had heard her story on the radio. Another volunteer, a French-speaking 54-year-old amateur criminologist called Carmen Pastor, made the first breakthrough two months after the radio broadcast.

By the evening, Carmen had the information she needed. “I’ve just spoken to your second cousin. She explained that there were three missing children, and that the eldest was called Ramón.” Her father was also called Ramón and her mother Rosario. They were Spaniards, from Seville and Madrid. Elvira always thought her parents were French.

During a video chat with her “discovered” relatives, a photograph of an elderly woman was held up. It was their grandmother Inés, who had died in 2013. Photos the man and woman turned out to be who their parents were. For the first time since she was a toddler, Elvira was looking at her parents. There is much more in The Guardian article, if you’ve become intrigued as I did. That article will explain the Eiffel Tower tattoo – the image I selected to illustrate this story.

Russia Stealing Ukrainian Children

This has troubled me for some time. Today, I learned about this story in Vanity Fair. I have been troubled about what Russia is doing with the people of Ukraine for some time. Here’s the story LINK> “Dad, You Have to Come—Or We Will Be Adopted!”: One Ukrainian Family’s Harrowing Wartime Saga. The subtitle is “Three children survived the siege of Mariupol, forced relocation, their father’s horrific detainment, and their own exile—to Russia.” by Iryna Lopatina via The Reckoning Project.

Since Yevhen Mezhevyi (39 years old) was released from the Olenivka prison camp after a lengthy filtration process, he has been intensely focused on the lives and safety of his three kids. Their story is one of many tales of family separation, loss, trauma, and, in their case, relocation to another country. Since the end of June, the family has been living in one of the rooms of a small, rented apartment in Riga Latvia.

Back on April 7 2022, Russian allied soldiers came to the bunker where the Mezhevyis’ had been sheltering. They made it sound like it was a voluntary evacuation; but in fact, the four of them, along with a group of fellow displaced Mariupol residents, were being forced from the building. There the family was separated. The children were told that her father might not return for five to seven years. The children decided to initiate their own independent search.

The DPR military asked Yevhen about alleged links to the Azov Battalion, a Ukrainian National Guard unit with roots in Mariupol. He was sent to Olenivka prison camp in eastern Ukraine. In July, an explosion in a room designated for Ukrainian POWs would killed more than 50 detainees, many of them from Azovstal, and injuring an estimated 130. By mid-May (at which point he had not seen his children for more than a month), Yevhen and other prisoners were assigned a new task. They were forced to begin preparing rooms for an estimated 2,700 people—captured members of the Ukrainian military who had left Azovstal.

In total, Yevhen Mezhevyi spent 45 days in the prison camp. On May 26, a security guard approached him and told him he was free to go. He made his way to the DOC to pick up his documents where he was told that his children’s birth certificates were the only documents missing. When he asked why, she answered, “Your children flew to the Moscow region today, five in the morning.” A week after his children’s arrival on Russian soil, they were finally allowed to receive a call from their father in Ukraine. They were relieved to be in contact with him for the first time in almost 60 days.

The children’s stay was due to end June 27, at which point they were scheduled to be brought back to Donetsk so that their father could pick them up. But then they were told he couldn’t pick them up and they would be taken to a foster home or shelter. His son said that it was better to go to an orphanage than a foster family. The son was able to call his dad and said to him “you have five days to come and pick us up, or we will be adopted!”

After receiving his son’s call, he felt he had to go to Russia immediately, find his kids, and bring them home. When he arrived where his children were being kept they asked him to tell them how everything happened, how and why the children ended up alone, and where their mother was (they were divorced and he had sole custody).

It took about half a day to do all the paperwork required for the children to be officially handed over. The Mezhevyis stayed in Moscow for a few more days with the volunteer who had hosted them. It soon became apparent that because of the fighting in Ukraine, repatriating to Mariupol was not an option. So they made plans to seek refuge for the foreseeable future in Latvia, which was taking in families displaced by the invasion. On June 22, they arrived by bus in the Latvian capital, Riga, where they have been living ever since.

Ukrainian authorities have confirmed the deportation or forced displacement of more than 7,000 children—5,100 of whose names have been submitted to international agencies in hopes that their representatives can begin to locate them in the Russian Federation or in temporarily occupied parts of Ukraine. Russian officials, meanwhile, have made reference to as many 2.8 million Ukrainian citizens, including over 440,000 children that have been transported to the Russian Federation, though the government has not provided certified lists with the names of the minors or details about their families and hometowns.

Child Collectors

**Jeane and Paul Briggs have 34 children – 29 of whom were adopted from other countries including Mexico, Ghana and Ukraine.**

Today, I saw the term “child collectors”. This is applies to people who adopt a lot of kids. It is not all that uncommon to see 10 adopted children in one family and sometimes it is because they are siblings. We have collected antique tractors and have met collectors who just couldn’t stop collecting. I wanted an image for that term and went looking in google images for “Large Families of Adopted Children” and found this one.

Their story was hosted by the BBC – “The family with 34 children – and counting.” There is a part of me that recoils. It seems obscene. But now that I have gotten here, I’ll look into it some more. It seems more like a group home or orphanage than a family situation to my own heart. The couple has 5 biological children in addition to the 29 they have adopted.

The Briggs family lives in West Virginia. Their odyssey began with a badly beaten, blind, 2 year old child in a Mexican orphanage. That child is now 31 years old and has thrived. He has a girlfriend and is a naturally talented musician who can play the piano and guitar and composes his own music. Okay so far.

In December 2014, when this story was written, the couple was anticipating the arrival of two more children that they were in the process of adopting, baby boys from Ghana. The three month old babies were abandoned in the bush.

There is only one word that comes to mind because “church” is mentioned in relation to Jeane and what motivated her to adopt the first one – saviorism. There is a missionary agenda here to convert more souls in the service of the church’s reason for existing.

Over the past 29 years, as more children have arrived, the Briggs’s house has been adapted for their expanding family. It now has nine bedrooms – two of which resemble dormitories – and at over 5,000 square feet, the building is more than twice its original size. The family’s grocery bill averages $1,000/week (back in 2014) but thanks Paul’s well-paid job and Jeane’s careful budgeting, they have been able to meet their expenses.

And no surprise, Jeane has been home-schooling the children for nearly 30 years. This is not uncommon among Evangelical Christians. My sons have been educated at home but we don’t do it for religious reasons. Every homeschooling family we’ve met regionally does it for religious reasons. Thanks to the strength of the Christian persuasion in Missouri politics, we are not troubled about the choice we made for our own sons. We have our own reasons. We are reasonably well educated and informed people who work at home, older parents, and are happy to have our children with us 24/7. This was a decided advantage for my family during the pandemic lockdowns.

Some of the Briggs children still have first families that they are encouraged to keep in contact with. Sometimes of the children speak to relatives on the phone and Jeane will send pictures to let those back home know the children are doing well. She says, “They may have our last name but if there is a relative, then we are glad that child has two families who love them. My husband and I don’t need to be the first Mom and Dad to them.”

From a young age, Jeane was concerned with the bigger issues affecting society and was particularly interested in orphans and adoption. Even then, she knew she wanted a large family – although she never expected it would be this big. She said, “Even as a child, I knew I would adopt and have a large family. Faith has been the biggest motivation… every child should have a loving family.” I rest my case about how religion drives adoption. Certainly, many of the Briggs children came from difficult backgrounds and I do agree that EVERY child should have a loving family.

Shame

I’m only going the summarize this article but provide you with the link because it is well worth your time to read it – I Kept My Family’s Secret For Over 60 Years. Now, I’m Finally Telling The Truth by Yvonne Liu – published in The Huffington Post.

I believe shame had a lot to do with adoption records being sealed to begin with. Closed to access by the very person – the adoptee – is the information matters most to. Early in my “adoption issues” education I encountered the issue of dumpster babies. There are also babies left in a basket. For most of my life, I thought my own father had been left in a basket on the doorstep of The Salvation Army in El Paso TX because his Mexican national mother lacked her family’s acceptance of a mixed race baby who’s father was an American national. Nothing was further from the truth but I was well in my 60s before I knew that. My father never expressed any interest in learning the truth and details of his own adoption and I believe it was because he was afraid of what he might learn. By the time I knew the truth, my dad was already deceased and knew next to nothing.

Today’s story relates to a baby left in a basket in a Hong Kong stairwell near Sai Yeung Choi Street. She was taken to St. Christopher’s Home, the largest non-government-run orphanage on the island. Officials at the orphanage named her Yeung Choi Sze, after the street where she was found.

Infertility was the shame her adoptive mother hid. That is not uncommon among adoptive mothers, especially those of Chinese descent because Confucius believed a woman’s greatest duty was to bring a son into the world. This adoptee’s mother couldn’t produce a son, much less a daughter.

In June of 1960, this baby girl from China landed at O’Hare International Airport. Her adoptive mother was disappointed in the baby she received from the beginning. She was a sick and scrawny baby, clearly malnourished. Her mother’s first reaction upon seeing her was, “Why couldn’t I have a healthy baby like everyone else?” Throughout her life, the family’s story about her was a lie – that she was born in Chicago. Every school form, all of her college and job applications, and even her medical records listed her birthplace as Illinois.

The adoptee’s parents were never warm emotionally. From a young age, she was afraid to upset her mother, who was often emotionally volatile. Her mother showed her attention when she needed her daughter. If she dared push back on the relentless demands to refill her teapot, type her Chinese cookbook or vacuum the house, her mother would retreat to her bed, sob, and say, “You don’t love me because I’m not your real mother.” Hugging her, the adoptee would desperately proclaim her love for her adoptive mother, telling her, “You’re my only mother.” Then she would quickly and quietly fulfill her mother’s commands.

Her adoptive father was not any warmer emotionally. From her time in the third grade, she threw myself into becoming a star student in hopes of earning her father’s love and attention. After immigrating to America with $50 in his pocket, her adoptive father earned his Ph.D. in organic chemistry while working as a dishwasher on the weekends. He was chronically depressed and withheld any affection from her, even though she wanted that desperately.

The adoptee won a full scholarship to attend a top MBA program and enjoyed a solid business career. She even married the nice Chinese man her mother chose for her. But for as long as her parents were alive – and even after they died – I continued to keep the family’s secret that she had been adopted. Eventually, she told her husband and children but asked them to continue keep the family’s secret. That’s how deep and dark she considered her secret shame to be. I truly believed I would carry it with me until I died. The ancient Chinese beliefs that she must have come from an immoral mother, would mean she was tainted by her origins.

In 2020, locked down by the pandemic and having just turned 61 years old, she finally began questioning why she had internalized her adoptive parents’ shame about infertility and adoption. Feelings of low self-esteem, insecurity and anxiety as well as lingering questions about identity, rejection, belonging motivated her to learn more about adoption. She did a lot of the things I did as well – read books about adoption and joined Facebook groups for adoptees. Like her, I was already in my 60s as well.

She came to realize that there was no reason to hide her truth any longer. It was time to live an authentic life. She had nothing to hide. She choose to tell her truth publicly in The New York Times. A 98-word Tiny Love Stories piece about her adoption. Then my brother (also adopted) gave her a dusty manila file he discovered during pandemic cleaning. It was labeled “Yvonne’s Adoption.” At 62 years of age, she finally read the documents her adoptive parents had deliberately kept hidden from her when they were alive. The yellowed tissue-thin papers held the truth of her beginnings.

She writes, “My heart ached for the baby who languished in that orphanage for 15 long months. Surely a caretaker would have picked up my malnourished and anemic body when I wailed. Surely someone helped me when I still couldn’t sit on my own at 9 months. Surely a hired helper gazed into my eyes as she fed me diluted Carnation formula, water and congee. I sobbed, imagining how that tiny baby must have experienced those first few months of a life that would turn out to be mine.”

For much of her childhood, she was a quiet child, afraid to be a burden. On the rare occasions when she complained or questioned her parents, they would answer, “Where would you be if we didn’t adopt you?” They never said the same thing to her adoptive brother because he fulfilled their traditional Chinese filial duty to have a son to carry on the family name.

Then, she wanted to understand, why the lies ? So she learned Chinese history, read cultural and sociology books, pored over Chinese memoirs and novels, interviewed Chinese cultural experts and people who lived in China at the time her parents had. Now she is able to recognize that her adoptive parents were a product of tradition, circumstances and time.

She was able to realize some gratitude for the circumstances of her life. Because her birth mother loved her, she left me at a busy stairwell to be found. Because she made that choice, the woman has lived a full life. She is also able to be grateful her adoptive parents chose her. She is no longer ashamed of being an adoptee.

You can read more of her writing at YvonneLiuWriter.com. She is currently writing a memoir about adoption, childhood trauma and mental health.

Maud Lewis – Tragic Birthmother

I am attracted to tragic birthmother stories. That is what I feel that both of my biological genetic grandmothers were. So last night we watched the movie Maudie. It is the story of the Nova Scotia woman, Maud Lewis, who’s folk art which sold for nominal prices during her life and has skyrocketed into value since her death. I am attracted the her famous painting of the white cat with the sad face.

In the Hollywood romanticized version of her story, her husband Everett Lewis was not a social person and is known to have been was born at the “Poor Farm” in Marshalltown, Digby County. In the movie, he frequents an orphanage. It is unclear whether his mother was a resident or an employee at the Poor Farm, and nothing is known of his father. The movie depicts Maud and Everette Lewis as two misfits who found each other and married.

When Everett wants to have sex with Maud, is ostensibly there as his housekeeper but in living with him, there is only one bed in the house – his bed. She confesses to him that she once ended up pregnant, had a severely malformed baby who died and was buried while she was asleep. Later in the movie, her Aunt Ida who had partially taken care of Maud before she went to work for Everett but didn’t want to die with regrets, confesses that the baby was perfectly normal but that Maud’s brother Charles sold her to a rich couple because he did not believe Maud was capable of caring for her.

Later, Everett tracks down Maud’s daughter and takes her to see the girl but Maud only secretly looks at her hidden next to their car, outside of her house and isn’t willing to go to the girl. One gets the sense that she may have felt the daughter would reject her for her deformities, caused by juvenile rheumatoid arthritis (which was not treatable in the time period she was growing up). And that could be the true version – which is sad and tragic enough.

There is some dispute about the movie version compared to the actual true story and that would not be surprising as movies are meant to entertain. Everett is said to have been much worse towards Maud than the movie depicts him as being. The author, Lance Woolaver, visited Maud’s famously hand-decorated with her paintings house as a child and has been fascinated by her story all his life. He wrote a heavily researched 500 page book – Maud Lewis The Heart on the Door.

The book is described as a full-length biography including detailed accounts of her disabilities, due to a childhood battle with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis that twisted her hands and joints. Despite this deepening and painful affliction, she completed and sold thousands of bright pictures and Christmas cards from her little one-room house. Throughout her marriage to the illiterate fish peddler, she suffered from poverty and loneliness, yet triumphed over all with her brilliant, colorful and happy paintings. Everett Lewis was murdered after Maud’s death in 1970, on New Year’s Day of 1979 for his lockbox filled with money from sales of Maud’s pictures.

This author’s perspective on the tragedy of Maud Lewis as a birthmother was that as a young woman in Yarmouth, Maud fell in love with Emery Allen. Woolaver believes he was the love of Maud’s life. However, after she became pregnant, Allen abandoned her. He also believes there was no reconciliation between Maud and her daughter. Whether Maud believed the lie initially told her or not, it is said that she rejected her daughter, Catherine, when she reached out to know her mother saying that her child had been a boy who was born dead. A subsequent attempt by the daughter to contact her mother by letter also failed to bring them back together.

Catherine Dowley was born August 13, 1928 in Nova Scotia. She was not aware that she had been named for her mother, Maud Catherine Dowley. Later in life she did know that Maud was her original mother and that Mamie Crosby was her adoptive mother. Catherine’s visits to connect with Maud in Marshalltown upset Mamie, who like many adoptive mothers felt that she had been a loving and good mother to Catherine.

Catherine (with glasses) with her adoptive mother, Mamie Porter.

Catherine married Paul Muise in 1949 in Yarmouth county and several years after their marriage, they moved to Ontario. They were the parents of about 4 children. Catherine died before Lance Woolaver’s book was released.

Everett was know locally as a dirty old man who would take advantage of young women for sex. Maud may have known there was that aspect to him and sought to protect her daughter from predation. Just questions without answers such as those I have in my own parents’ adoption stories. Those that know have died with the answers I will never have.

Jennifer Teege’s Horrifying Discovery

Jennifer Teege (B&W photo of Amon Goeth)

When Jennifer Teege, a German-Nigerian woman, randomly picked up a library book off a shelf, her life changed forever. Recognizing images of her mother and grandmother in the book, she discovered a horrifying fact that no one had ever shared with her: Her grandfather was Amon Goeth, the vicious Nazi commandant depicted by Ralph Fiennes in Schindler’s List, a man known and despised the world over.

Although raised in an orphanage and eventually adopted, Teege had some contact with her biological mother and grandmother as a child. Yet neither revealed that Teege’s grandfather was the Nazi “butcher of Plaszów,” executed for crimes against humanity in 1946. The more Teege reads about Amon Goeth, the more certain she becomes: If her grandfather had met her—a black woman—he would have killed her.

Teege’s discovery sends her, at age 38, into a severe depression. My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me: A Black Woman Discovers Her Family’s Nazi Past details her quest to unearth and fully comprehend her family’s haunted history. Her research takes her to Krakow—to the sites of the Jewish ghetto her grandfather “cleared” in 1943 and the Plaszów concentration camp he then commanded—and back to Israel, where she herself once attended college, learned fluent Hebrew and formed lasting friendships. Teege struggles to reconnect with her estranged mother, and to accept that her beloved grandmother once lived in luxury as Goeth’s mistress at Plaszów.

Ultimately, Teege’s resolute search for the truth leads her, step by step, to the possibility of her own liberation. The chronicle of her struggle with her haunted past unfolds in her memoir My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me, co-written with journalist Nikola Sellmair and newly translated from German.

Teege visits her grandparents’ house in the Płaszów neighborhood of Krakow, Poland. It is the only dilapidated house on quiet Heltmana Street. And she writes – there is a coldness that creeps into your bones. And a stench.

Over a year has gone by since I first found the book about my mother in the library. Since then I have read everything I could find about my grandfather and the Nazi era. I am haunted by the thought of him, I think about him constantly. Do I see him as a grandfather or as a historical character? He is both to me: Płaszów commandant Amon Goeth and my grandfather.

When I was young I was very interested in the Holocaust. I went on a school trip from Munich to the Dachau concentration camp, and I devoured one book about the Nazi era after another, such as When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, A Square of Sky and Anne Frank’s Diary of a Young Girl. I saw the world through Anne Frank’s eyes; I felt her fear but also her optimism and her hope.

You can read the entire piece my blog came from in – my Jewish Detroit. I have a smidgeon of Ashkenazi Jew in my DNA and have always felt drawn to Jewish culture. I would like to read her book sometime. Also because I am interested in learning more about the experience of Black people. In the USA, we have much to learn and white supremacy is a threat, slavery still exists only now the plantations have been replaced by prisons.