Yesterday was the husband and I's twentieth wedding anniversary. Today, would have been the 49th anniversary for the couple pictured above, but they passed away eleven months from each other--May 6, 2021, and April 23, 2022. Who are they? My dad, for the first nine years of my life and then again from my mid-20's until now, and his wife, my stepmom, who was also my first grade teacher. The young man in the photo is my half-brother, who I have known since he was born, but he didn't know I existed until he was 18. I am so grateful to have had them at our wedding and the moment captured in a photo. Who isn't pictured? My younger brother, who did attend our wedding, and my mother, also in attendance, who passed away a decade ago. Who didn't attend our wedding, my stepdad turned adoptive dad at age nine. He refused to attend because the people in the photo were in attendance even though the events that took place happened over twenty-five years prior.
You see, fifty odd years ago two couples were married, one couple had two children, and both couples divorced. And each couple married the opposite spouse. My first grade teacher became my stepmother, and her ex-husband, a man who I had never met, became my stepfather. Custody battles ensued, my dad and stepmom had a son--pictured above, parental rights were terminated to coincide with an adoption of my brother and I, and my dad, his wife, and their young son moved several states away.
My brother and I were sat on the couch in the living room and told to call our stepdad "Dad" and that we would never see our dad again. Our grandparents, who still lived in the community, insisted on staying in contact with us as "the divorce and adoption" did not impact them legally. The new "Dad" agreed for visits for a while and then even that became contentious. Also, we were growing up and had activities that kept grandparent visits to a minimum. It was through my grandmother and grandfather that I knew what my dad was up to, where he was, and what he was doing. I suspect that is why the new "Dad" wanted to block contact. It took me years to figure out that was one of the reasons we had a post office box for mail instead of the mail being delivered to the house.
I remember a time in high school when I was working at local sporting goods store and my grandfather came in along with my dad, stepmom, and half-brother. I froze. I was uncomfortable and didn't know what to do. We spoke briefly. By the time I got home, the new "Dad" had learned of the interlude, and I was punished.
As the years wore on, I drifted from home. A full ride college scholarship and working multiple jobs kept me some-what financially independent from the parental units. I graduated from college, got a job, an apartment, and set out on adult life.
It was several failed relationships that helped me understand the need to reconnect with my dad. With the assistance of my grandmother, I was able to write him a letter. I remember trembling and crying as I wrote. What if I didn't hear back? What if he didn't want to see me? Neither were the case, and our correspondence went from writing to phone calls, to a plane ticket for me to come for a visit. This is when my half-brother learned the news of his half-siblings.
The cross-state visits continued for years. Driving alone and with friends, flying with a future husband, and then flying with an infant.
The advent of cell phones and social media helped us to stay connected. There were annual visits until Covid-19. Our last visit was in July of 2021. It was the three of us and just Dad--our last visit.
A few weeks ago, I posted on social media about how there had been some hard weeks and my dad's passing had been one of the reasons. Folks who may not have known my story thought that it was my stepdad turned adoptive parent who had passed. I can assure you that he is alive and kicking. He is active on social media and sends cards/checks on appropriate occasions.
While some know the history due to verbal storytelling, this is the first time I have put it in writing.
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