Memories of a friend

     During my recent vacation to celebrate my birthday with my biological aunt and uncle, they mentioned remembering a friend of my birth mother had introduced to them sometime back in the early 1970's. They didn't remember her name specifically but her husband's name was very unusual. After a Google search and a few short clicks I found two names and a picture on Facebook. My aunt and uncle looked at the photo for a few moments and felt fairly positive it might be them. After returning home from the trip I did a bit more digging and was able to confirm their identities. From there, I went back to Facebook and after only a few messages and a few repeated attempts at a “friend request,” we were connected.

     I am happy to say we spoke on the phone today for about an hour and talked about her memories of my mother, Rosie. These memories, which I have been given permission to share, are both lovely and heartbreaking. I've mentioned before in other blog posts that the circumstances around her pregnancy and my subsequent adoption were both dramatic and traumatic. Clearly, from what you are about to read, my mother had some very difficult challenges during her early years as an adult. Please keep this in mind though, in the end everything turned out for the better and everyone involved went on to live happy lives.

     Cheryl and Rosie were close friends for a number of years during the late 1960's and early 1970's. She remembers Rosie, who was in her early 20's, as having a heart of gold and being full of love and compassion. The kind of person who would do anything for anyone. However, she also remembers Rosie as being someone who, “cared far more for people than people cared for her.” Sadly, she remembers Rosie confiding at times how she felt unloved and unaccepted and thought people judged her harshly because of her weight problem. As a result of this self-loathing and sense of rejection, Cheryl believes, from her observations, Rosie had a tendency to cling to people who showed her any amount of acceptance.

     During this time she remembers Rosie being a bit of a transient, renting rooms in area houses which had been converted into small apartments. She recalls she worked in the title office of a car dealership but often didn't have enough money to get by. It also didn't appear as if Rosie received any help from her family or that she even had a good relationship with her parents. On one occasion she remembers Rosie inviting her mom and dad for dinner her in small apartment and while she was in the kitchen cooking, one of her parents asked Rosie why “she couldn't be thin like her friends,” and why all she thought about was “eating and cooking.” Cheryl recalls protesting and chiding Rosie's parents for saying such a rude thing and reminded them the dinner was being prepared for them. Cheryl remembers them responding they were going to stay. Cheryl remembers being left with the distinct impression a great deal of embarrassment surrounded Rosie's weight problem for her parents and the rejection she felt by them and others drove her to eat even more.

     According to Cheryl, when Rosie confided she was pregnant, she was in a panic and didn't know how to handle the situation. No mention was made of who the father was or if he even knew. Later, after she announced to her parents she was expecting, Cheryl remembers Rosie being shunned and offered no help or guidance whatsoever, other than them pushing for her to give me up for adoption. Cheryl remembers Rosie calling her mom numerous times and pleading for them to reconsider helping, only to be hung up on repeatedly.

     Cheryl remembers Rosie being poor, desperate, and lost. The whole matter tore her up emotionally and the last thing she wanted to do was give me up. Cheryl remembers Rosie talking to a social worker for advice and getting information about adoption. Still holding on to hope she tried to figure out a way to keep me but eventually came to decision to give me up. Cheryl told me my mother wanted me to have something she never felt she had herself—two loving and accepting parents. And that's what I got.

     Cheryl closed our conversation by saying how astonishing was to hear from me. She also said after after looking at the side by side pictures of me and Rosie, I was the spittin' image of my mother. Cheryl was very forthcoming with her memories of my mother and Im grateful for her willingness to share. She told me to stay and in touch and if I think of anything else to just ask. She seems like a very sweet lady. It's not wonder she and my mother were such good friends all those years ago.

     I closed by reassuring Cheryl that many years after my birth and adoption Rosie and her parents reconciled and everyone regretted the decision of ever letting me go. This was revelation was comforting to her, as she had always wondered what had happened to Rosie, after the two of them lost touch. She was also very sorry about Rosie's passing in 2005.

     Before hanging up, there was one last item she wanted to share about Rosie that sent goosebumps racing over my body. A few years after Rosie had me and settled back into her normal life, Cheryl gave birth to her first child. She remembers Rosie being very excited about the baby and wanted to be involved as much as possible. Both Cheryl, and her husband at the time, loved Rosie and welcomed her interest and involvement with their new baby boy—they happened to name, Todd.

     Truth, is indeed, stranger than fiction.

Adding to my family archives

     My wife likes to pick on me because I keep a personal archive. She does so in jest, I might add, to not cast aspersions. Her gentle jabs have more to do with the amount of space the archives occupy in our closet than the overall act of keeping them. I suppose when I was younger I thought someday I would do something grand and someone somewhere might want this stuff to exhibit. We all start out with grandiose notions, don't we? (FYI, no one has asked yet for any of my archives. Well, except for my friend JP, who has my black and white JAZZ HANDS show choir gloves in his trophy room. Though, I think this is more out of a out of a sense of parody rather than posterity.)

     The real reason I keep an archive is for my children and their children and all the children that come after. The remnants I have from my ancestors are treasures. Two of the the things most valuable to me is my dad's old baseball glove and small silver bell pendent my mom used to wear when I was little. The smell of the glove leather reminds me of my dad and going to his ball games and I vividly recall playing with my mom's pendent when she would hold me in her arms. Both items are kept in my study and on display so I can see them as often as I like--which is almost everyday. Memories are wonderful but these heirlooms quench all the senses and connect me to the past. I want my descendants to be afforded the same experience. I can imagine my great-great grandchild sitting on the floor playing with the same pine wood derby car my dad helped me build for Cub Scouts when I was a boy. To me, that's gratifying.
     After reconnecting with my biological mother's family I was touched by their heartfelt generosity. During our first meeting I was presented with Rosie's personal photo album and a small silver baby cup bearing her engraved initials. I was told it was a gift to her from an uncle. No longer was Rosie only an abstract idea in my mind; at long last I had a tangible connection to my mother. The emotions at that moment were overwhelming and I wasn't prepared to receive such amazing gifts. This scene was repeated on the morning of my birthday, a week or so ago on September 3rd. 
     Fairly soon after reconnecting earlier this spring, I suggested to my newly found family it might be nice to spend my birthday with them this year at their home in Pennsylvania. As I've written before, I think our reconnecting has been as much about them finding me as me finding them. So, inviting myself to their place didn't seem out of place. They were eager to celebrate and after 45 years of missed birthdays we agreed it was about time. 

Rosie's Baby Book and other items

     My birthday morning began with homemade Belgian waffles by Uncle Jerry, fresh bacon, and an assortment of nfruit toppings. This is my favorite and it was no coincidence. Apparently they had been in contact with my wife the weeks leading up to our visit to make sure they had some of my favorites on hand. How lucky am I? Pretty darn lucky. Later that day we had lasagna and cheesecake for desert. Again, my favorites.
     The highlight of the day, as with any birthday, was opening gifts. And much like the photo album and silver cup, these gifts were personal and very touching. First was a five DVD collection of their family movies, beginning in 1959 through the late 1960's. I've since watched the videos and they contain archive footage of Rosie as a young girl, teenager, and young woman. Among other things, it shows her going to prom, marching in a parade, and playing the piano. It also shows her tearfully opening a box on Christmas morning containing the typewriter she had desperately wanted. It also shows Uncle Jerry gleefully opening a train set from Santa Claus. Also quite moving were the images of my Grandma and Grandpa Higgins hugging, kissing, laughing and holding each other under mistletoe. It also shows vacations, snow storms, croquet, picnics, and a lot of horsing around. In all, it shows a happy family. My family.
     Uncle Jerry then handed me a large overstuffed envelope. I was amazed to discover Rosie's permanent record. That's right, it was her final grade card from high school and other personal paperwork. Sadly, I did not inherit her praiseworthy scholastic abilities. The envelope also included her diploma, class pendent, tassel, and a choir pin. I have the same items from my mom and they will soon all be displayed side by side with their graduation portraits. Two kinds of love, to be sure. 

A lovely card and sentiment

     The item I found most intriguing was Rosie's baby book, kept up by her mother. Many parents, including myself, have started baby books for their children and over time lost track of the books or stopped filling them out altogether. Grandma Higgins did a very nice job filling in most of the book with both the big and small details of Rosie's early years. I think my favorite entry is an outline of Rosie's lefthand and a foot. I can't tell if Rosie attempted to trace it herself when she was a toddler or if Grandma was responsible for the squiggly lines. Either way, it's sweet and beautiful. I was especially touched by the little pink baby bracelet Rosie wore on her wrist in the hospital nursery as a newborn. Then Aunt Kathy handed me a small box and card. She makes greeting cards as a hobby and her handmade birthday wish is quite exquisite. The inscription, even more so: "Dear Todd, Happy Birthday! We are so happy that we can celebrate with you! "Happy Birthday," for every year that we missed with you. We love you. So happy we found you." After drying my eyes I opened the small box to find a silver diamond and opal ring. According to Kathy, it was Rosie's favorite piece of jewelry. Truly a treasure that will be cherished for generations to come. 
     All of these gifts, and most importantly the time I've spent with my biological family, reinforce to me that something has been missing from my life for the past 45 years. In the past I've written my desire to find my biological family was done out of curiosity more than some emotional desire. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I wasn't able to recognize this need in myself as easily as my mom did when she encouraged me to search. Part of my identity has been missing and this was made clear to me during my visit to Pennsylvania. Beyond all the things I received that had belonged to my mother, simply sitting with my family was the biggest blessing. It was wonderful and I especially enjoyed chatting with my cousin Emily. I'm several years older but I feel comfortable enough to say we share common sensibilities. We even talked about Seinfeld, of all the things. Finally, someone in my family who gets me! Clearly, humor comes from nature, not nurture. I can't wait to learn more. 

Uncle Jerry and Aunt Kathy receiving my gifts

     It might be interesting to note that I was not the only one to receive gifts during the visit. To me, at the risk of parsing words, there is a difference between the words "present" and "gift." Presents are wonderful and include items like toys, slippers, jewels, DVD players, or even a new car. Gifts, on the other hand, at least in my mind, should have meaning and reveal heartfelt sentiment. After getting to know him, I was astounded to learn Uncle Jerry, much like myself, used worked in radio. This was during his younger days but he's always had an interest in the history of broadcasting. If fact, growing up north of Dayton in Greenville, Ohio he used to listen regularly to WING-AM. Turns out WING-AM was very first professional radio job and during a station sale of old equipment, I snagged one of the original microphones from the North Main Street studios in downtown Dayton during the 1950's. It's been in my collection ever since and from one radio geek to another, I was happy to pass this mic on to him as a token of my love and appreciation. Maybe someday we'll do a radio show together. That'd be a hoot! 
     My Aunt Kathy has become a very special person to me. Not only is she my aunt but she was good friends with Rosie and for a short time they shared an apartment. I feel a special connection with her because of this and many of the other wonderful things she's shared with me. I will be forever thankful for her love, concern and prayers. I had a special gift in mind but I was afraid it would be too personal too soon in our relationship. However, with encouragement from my wife, I decided to present Kathy my baby blanket and a little lock of hair my mom had kept in my baby book from my first haircut. I know she was deeply moved. Of course, I would've loved to have given this gift to Rosie but it didn't work out that way. Though, I'm sure Rosie approves of the gesture.
     This is how you celebrate a birthday.

You say it's your birthday? Well, it's my birthday, too!

     When I was eight years-old my mom and dad threw me a birthday party and invited every kid who lived within shouting distance of our house. If I am recalling each of those neighborhood friends correctly after forty-six years (which I believe I am), I'd put the number around twenty-five. There were a lot of kids in the old neighborhood and my dad created a grand treasure hunt in the backyard, drew a giant picture of a clown and had us throw beanbags through the mouth, nose and eyes, and even built a balloon/dart board like you'd see at a carnival. My mom, who made and decorated fantastic cakes, fed not only the kids but the parents, too. My parents went all out on my birthdays and I deeply cherish those memories. I can only speak for myself but as an adopted child being reminded frequently how much you are loved goes a long way to quell any lingering feelings of abandonment. Perhaps this is why they went to such efforts.
     I must admit not all birthday memories are as clear. For example, the memories of my fortieth birthday party, a mere six years ago, are considerably hazy. A friend's band was playing at the Dayton Marriott patio bar and another very good friend rented the hotel room adjoining mine. Let's just say we filled two bathtubs full with "beverages" and no one went home thirsty. Again, I remember only bits and pieces. It started with Bad Juan, a tambourine solo on stage, plenty of sweaty hugs, a ride in an RV, and somehow ended in a $50 taxi ride from downtown Dayton back to the Marriott--about a five minute drive. Clearly, I'm a good tipper on my birthday.
     I mention these two parties because without question they are probably my most "memorable" birthday celebrations. I've been lucky enough to have many others with great friends and family but I can honestly say these two were probably the tops. That was until today.
     After reconnecting with my biological family, my Uncle Jerry and Aunt Kathy expressed to me how sometimes when my birthday would come around each year, they, along with my late birth mother Rosemary, would often think about me. They wondered where I was, if I was okay, if I was loved, if I was having a good life, and probably if I was having a happy birthday. This idea floored me. It had never once occurred to me, while I was stuffing my face full of cake or tequila, people I didn't know might be out there wondering about me and missing every single one of my birthday celebrations. And to put a fine point on it; my cause for celebration was a yearly reminder of a regrettable and painful moment in their lives. I understand this feeling. Every year on my dad's birthday in November, I spend time thinking about him and what he meant to me when he was alive. I do this on other days as well but none more than on his birthday. When I considered this I decided the only thing I could do to remedy the situation was to boldly invite myself and my wife to their home in Pennsylvania to celebrate my birthday. I'd like to report today was the most meaningful and beautiful birthday celebration I think I've ever had.
     I promise to write all about it and spill the details of the day's festivities in full but right now I'm still trying to take it all in as it's been, in a word, overwhelming. I truly appreciate every gift I've ever been given in years past and remember many specifically from friends and family quite fondly. Today, however, was one for the record books and I can't wait to share them here on my blog. All I will say tonight, as I wrap up another year of life and begin another, the gifts I received today are shinier, more treasured, and more breathtakingly remarkable, than any I ever remember receiving in my life. Stay tuned.