tkgoodspirit

Hey Blue,

You are so sweet for thinking of me. I woke this morning and woke up my dying DSL modem so hopefully I could get online and here I see my name!

Ah, better actually. One step at a time. Last session my therapist and I mainly discussed the frustration I have with all this pain and all these upcoming tests, also the frustration of my feeling when I was told that I had too much damage now for surgery on my lower back. We didn't really talk about Mom too awful much. Although she's at the forefront of my thoughts most of the time. I often sit and think back to those 5 months I spent in Iowa with her as her health declined. They weren't bad moments, not really. Just a kind of passing of rights, you know? I actually witnessed the end of a generation, of a life. I remember then I was still able to walk okay, so I would walk the 1 mile to the care facility Mom was in. I enjoyed that walk so much, as it was through an "older" part of my home town. I passed by old victorian mansions and restored homes that were full of huge walnut trees, dogs, and kids! Where I live know there are rarely a sidewalk to be found! But there, sidewalks are memories of bike riding (before we were old enough to ride in the street!), walking, skipping and playing hopscotch. As we got older into our teens, the sidewalks became pathways to your friends house, or the "passing lane" as you slowly strolled by a boy's house you had a "crush", in hopes of a glance of the subject of your attraction! I remember doing this once with a girlfriend of mine, while I was stretching my neck to peer into a boys front window, I tripped over a buckle in the sidewalk and busted by butt!

My therapist is now encouraging me to try and "reconnect" with my biological father. When my first husband and I moved to Florida in 1990 we had found my biological father, and we were in contact for awhile, until it became too overwhelming for me. I being an only child, all of a sudden had all these family members calling me. Family members like cousins and my paternal grandfather whom I hadn't seen since I was 4 years old. My "father" would call me 2 and 3 times a day, and I finally had to aske them all to back off a little. It was too much too fast for me. So, I ended up driving to Key West with my, then 10 year old son, to "meet" my father who had raised me alone for the first 4 years of my life. All went well, and we kept in contact for a few years, but then he just quit calling. I know he had business in Costa Rica and went there quite often for extended periods of time. He has a bad reltionship with his sister, who is also in Florida and I last spoke with her when my mom got dx'd with cancer in 2003. She hadn't heard from my father in many years and didn't know where he was. I DO know that he kept in pretty good contact with two of my cousins and I suppose I may be able to see if I can get ahold of them and see if they know where he is. I believe he is in Coasta Rica. I have checked the SS death register and his name hasn't popped up, but I did find my paternal grandfather, whom I didn't know had passed since I last spoke with him in 1990.

I did not even begin to search for my biological father until 5 years after my step-dad had passed. This man loved me more than I had ever been loved. He and his parents both treated me like gold as a child. I just could never search for my biological father while my step-dad was still alive. I was afraid it would hurt his feelings, and out of respect for him I waited until he had been gone for 5 years before I began my search for my "other" family.

My therapist and I spoke about this in depth. She believes since now that niether of my parents are alive, it would make a difference in my life if I still had one parent who was part of my life, given my "father" is still alive. I can still call his sister, I believe she's still alive. I only just spoke with her in the spring of 2003. I THINK I sent her and her husband a memory card from Mom's service. I actually lived with her and her husband for awhile when they lived in Minnesota, or was it Michigan? Or was it Illinois? LOL It was one of those! I still have some memories that I can conjure up from that time. I remember they used to dress me and my cousin Patrick alike all the time since we were the same age! I have some pictures of me and Patrick. I have many many pictures of me when I was living with my father in Cape Cod.

I found out only after my mother died that I infact lived with my father until it was time for me to start school. My mother had always told me that he "took" me from her when I was an infant and that she got me back when I was like 2. This was the story I grew up with. THEN when I heard my father's side of the story, it was quite a different story. So, I asked my aunt who was old enough to remember what had happened to me. I also saw pictures that he gave me ( I already had pics that my mom gave me, but he gave me more pics) where I looked much older than a 2 year old when I was still staying with my father. That's when I started to wonder if what she told me was true. It wasn't. According to my aunt, my mom left me with my dad at a very young age when she left him. He raised me, and I guess we moved around a lot. My father considered himself a "budding artist"! He was very talented actually, I have many of his photographs and drawings. I also remember a painting my mom had for years that my father had painted, but it was gotten rid of when I was younger. Anyway, I lived with my father in Mexico and in Cape Cod (Provincetown Massachussetts) mostly. And with my aunt and uncle up north on and off. I remember the old apartment building we lived in in Provincetown, where we shared a bathroom with the other tenants in the building, and my father had a painting studio in the attic. He even had a special place set up for my own "artistic" side. (This is a side that I never quite grasped! LOL My son is very artistic tho.) I can remember we had two rooms, a kitchen and one bedroom. I slept in a small bed in the kitchen.

Well, my mother had remarried my wonderful step dad, who was "old school" being 18 years my mom's senior, he believed children belonged with their mothers. So, my mom got an attorney who had contacted my father to arrange a "visit" with me. My father brought me to Iowa, where my mom and step dad were living. Now, my father "technically" had custody of me and he believed he was merely abiding by the rules of "visitation" for my mother. He dropped me off at my mom's apartment and was to return for me later. I remember this clear as day....I was in the apartment, after having been "picked up" by my mother and her new husband. I was sitting there, and I heard my father banging on the apartment door. He had come back for me, and my mother and my step dad wouldn't let him in the apartment. I can still hear his banging! I can hear him hollering "Donna, let me in! Give me Tracey!" I remember hearing him call out my name. I was told to sit and not say a word. I remember being scared. I didn't understand what was happening. Why wouldn't my mother let my father in the door? Well, after what seemed like forever, the banging stopped and my father left. That was the last I saw of him until I was 34 years old. He was never discussed, never, until I got into my teen years and started asking about him. I have to say, though, even with all that, I was so lucky to have my step dad in my life. He was my salvation in a mother daughter relationship that lacked compassion and love, but instead was filled with beatings and riducule. I lived as a child wondering WHY she ever came to get me. My only gift was that wonderful man I called "Johnny" for awhile until he became "Daddy", and "Daddy" he was until he died at the age of 62. His parents were gems. They were the typical grandparents. My grandma was big, always had the big apron on (the "bib" type apron that covered her whole front side), curly grey hair, glasses and THE best cook! I loved staying with them. She had all these little "nick naks" that were porcelain Victorian ladies in lacy dresses and "spagetti" figurines. I loved playing with them and was never yelled at for touching them. Nothing in their house was off limits to me. She had an old wringer washer! God, wash blue jeans in one of THOSE things! LOL I remember when my Grandpa bought her a new modern washer and dryer, she didn't like them at first. She made homemade donuts, washed her dishes twice, and had a huge creaky old bed. I would often sleep with Grandma when I stayed there, I loved it, though I was a little afraid she would roll over on me in the middle of the night! LOL I also slept on the front screened in porch when it was warm. There were two beds out there, and two rockers, one for Grandma and one for Grandpa! They were always in those rockers when we would drive up. I can still smell the Lilly of the Valley flowers that grew in abundance under their porch. I would take the city bus to their house, and Granpa would always meet me at the bus stop cuz I had to walk a few blocks to get to their house. Well, they lived in the "bad" part of town, which actually became the WORST part of that town by the time I had grown. But it always that way. Anyway, Grandpa didn't want me walking through the train underpass by myself, so he'd walk up to meet me, and always walk me back when it was time for me to go. I also remember later on, after I had gone with Mom, Daddy gave Grandpa his old red Rambler (anyone remember THOSE?!) and I was rather disturbed to learn that Grandpa DROVE! Let's just say riding with Grandpa was an experience all in it's own.


CONTINUED: sorry

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"We must be the change we wish to see in the world"
Mahatma Gandhi