Prying open the distant past ...

I am adopted.  As far back as I can recall, I have always known I was adopted. According to my (adoptive) parents I was “chosen.”  From here on out, the term parents will refer to those two “long suffering” people who adopted me.  My biological birth parents will be referred to as my biologicals ... for the sake of identification.

Some of my earliest memories is of me and dad in a big (everything is big when you're that small) waiting room, with books and toys. Dad had me standing on his upper thighs, while we held hands.  With my legs as stiff as I could hold them, he would lever me up and down, and also encourage me to pull with my arms and push with my legs.  Dad was helping me build my body's muscles and encouraging me to move.

Taken in about 1957 or
1958, the same time
we adopted "Miss Boots!"
San Diego CA

When I was five or six, I was taken to the local animal shelter where my parents and me picked out a dog.  I assume the dog was for me.  The little thing was a black and white terrier mix. She was mostly black, with white feet, a little white on her chest, a white spot on her face and the tip of her tail was also white. She was named Boots. Or Miss Boots as mother would refer to her from time to time.

My parents also used this occasion to help illustrate the concept of adoption to me. It worked. I understood the basic concept of being “chosen” and getting to go live with two people (three in Boot’s case) who loved me and the dog very much.

So, it has never been a surprise to me that I was adopted.  Somewhere in the house is a little gray two part book about adoption. It was also shown and read to me early on. Funny how those memories surface, now that I am recording this.  Also, somewhere in the house is a collection of growing up pictures, complete with notable events, report cards, class photographs and the like. Will have to dig that up at some point.

What brought all this about if I’ve known all along that I was adopted?  Well, its the circumstances surrounding why I was placed up for adoption that have recently come to light.

With the passing of mother and father, mom in 1995 and dad in 2000, I was very slow to process that part of the will/trust that released the house. As time has passed ... and as the last processing of the trust has recently occurred, I’ve come to realize, “as long as I did nothing, it continued to remain mom and dad’s house. I could then believe they weren’t quite gone ...” We’ve kept the property tax paid, and fixed up things that need fixing ... although that is probably another entry in and of itself ... 

In the lawyer’s office, when processing the paper that ultimately moved the property into MY name, I cried.  Now my parents are indeed gone.  Their house is now my house.  Yes, I know the reality of their passing, the timing and the events surrounding each one’s passing ... but now, on another level they REALLY are gone.

In September 2011 I had the pleasure of renewing family-ship with Cousin Willma and her wonderful husband Sandy and their grown children Jennifer and Kyle.  See my other blog entries for that adventure. 

Among the many conversations we had was the gentle revealing of my mother’s previous marriage.  This information was kept from Marjorie’s (my mother’s name) son for a good many years. Only coming to my attention recently. In the family papers, it turns out I have a copy of that divorce decree. The family papers also revealed that dad had been previously married as well.

We also discussed what we collectively new about my adoption.

Life-us intruptus has occurred!  I’ll be back ...