Mourning the Father I Never Met

I was adopted as an infant.

Two wonderful people chose me to be part of their family. I had a beautiful life with loving parents, and I couldn’t have had better role models, felt more loved, or loved anyone as much as I loved them. I always viewed them as my “true” parents. When I was very young, and they had told me I had been adopted, they said they had chosen me, out of all the other babies, at the baby store. I felt so special then, and still do today.

They both are gone now and I miss them dearly.

I had never given much thought to who my biological parents were. I always felt it didn’t matter, that their pairing—and my conception—was only a biological accident involving sperm and an unprotected egg.

But then, about 6 years ago I wanted to find some information on my family heritage. This was driven more by my young adult sons, frankly. I wanted them to have some info on their ancestry, as well as to not have to wonder about what health-related concerns they may have inherited from unknown genetics. All my life I had always had to draw a huge X across the “family medical history” sections when filling out the paperwork at doctors’ offices.

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Confessions of a Memory Hoarder

Along with routinely sharing a great deal of storytelling throughout my youth, my parents left me with many family photo albums and boxes of both our family and distant family memories (including letters, scrapbooks, military artifacts, and more). My mom even wrote a short autobiography in her later years, which is packed with her lifelong stories, and is such a treasure for me.

Throughout my life I have always been one to collect and preserve memories. Some people might even say I’m a “memory hoarder” and they would probably be right.

Ah, memories, and the stories behind them. They were important to my mom and they are important to me.

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Being a Mom

I wrote this several decades ago, but no matter how much time passes, it is still so true!

As Mother’s Day approaches, I was thinking about something that my young son said to me several years ago. We had been talking about college, and what it means to get a degree. I had told him about my own college experiences, including graduate work. He had listened intently, and then asked in an almost accusatory tone, “You went to that much school and only became a mom?”

I had laughed then. And now, years later, it still makes me smile. That sentence is right up there near the top of the list of priceless things my kids have said to me. On that special list, it’s right under the question, “Did you vote for George Washington?” and is also near the sweet proclamation once uttered by my younger son, “Mom, I’ll love you even when you’re dead and I have a new Mom.”

Ah, yes… being a mom. It is definitely something unique and wonderful.

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