Headed to Kansas

Been wanting to write this post, but didn't feel I could because I wanted to wait and tell my mother that I was making that trip. I spoke with her this morning.

During the Thanksgiving Holiday I was able to do a few things. First I figured out what it was like to be alone on a holiday. I did it. I didn't think I was going to do it, but I did. I went to Brandy's house for a fabulous breakfast and then came home, took a nap and then pretty much watched TV for the rest of the day. No drama after all. Probably a bummer for you, the reader, but it was a breakthrough for me. Whew!

Another event of the holiday weekend was a new laptop...ours had died and when the night came when my kids couldn't do their homework, I knew I had to pony up. I got a good deal and am fairly happy with my purchase. That is another story.

Finally and the best experience of the weekend, I purchased tickets to go to Kansas. Yes, I did. I had to think about it, get nervous about it, let the butterflies and moths of past memories flutter. A lot. Then I pressed purchase.

Steve had mentioned all of us meeting at some point and I had kind of sloughed it off. That I had "met" him had been good enough. I wasn't really allowing myself to think that they would really want to meet me. I think my fears of rejection were creeping in and cluttering the issue. The magnetic pull of curiosity, DNA and family history overcame me.

One of the biggest considerations was how long to go. While I have the whole week of President's week off, I didn't want to invade their work lives, since they didn't have all that time off. Also I was scared, terrified, actually. What happened if it didn't go well. So I picked 4 days instead of a week. A good first meeting, without my kids, just as someone's kid. That they desperately want to get to know.

After the purchase I knew I would have to tell the fam. I was pretty sure that Daddy would be fine. He was, in fact. He said he was happy for me and I should have fun. Then he had to go and I couldn't talk to Mom. I tried to talk to her several other times, but the timing wasn't right. She's looking for a new job due to budget cuts, so...surely she would be supportive though, right. Again, it was almost 40 years ago. I know she's been struggling with this reunion, but I can't base my actions on hers. Mom needs to work through her "stuff" and I have to move through mine.

The last few times we spoke she has been very quick to tell me how she loves me and has always wanted me. These are things I already know. Due to these and a few other behaviors and actions by the woman who bore me, she's bugged-really bugged. And I can't do anything about it.

As we were finishing our Saturday morning conversation ritual this morning, I blurted out, "I am going to Kansas in February." After a rather long, lengthy pause, her only comment was, "You are moving fast on this." Really? Nothing else...oh yes, there was...."I guess you would want to do that." I told her they were really kind and wonderful people, she said people could change in 30 years. I am not sure of what the hell happened all that time ago, but holy toledo is there baggage.

Unfortunately, it is not my baggage and so I why did I bawl for on and off for the day. Good lord, family can sometimes suck.

I am happy, excited, nervous, thrilled to go to Kansas. These are people I want to meet. I really don't care what anyone else thinks. This is my life.

Been wondering what I could add to my story next. Maybe how all my friends have been so supportive and fabulous. Perhaps how it feels to be the only child of two people and now that all your siblings are only 1/2 or adoptive. No one full blood at all. I find that kind of not disturbing, but alone. Lonely? No, but different for sure. I have always, always, always figured my siblings as my siblings. I made smart ass comments to my mother several times; upon relection, not to be rude, but perhaps to find myself. The reaction from Mom didn't help me. I learned to button up.

Now; however, I am in this new vaccuum. The only child of two people who did not work out. The two people moved on and had other children with new spouses. More than one, they are full blooded siblings. The truth is I am a halfer....

Does it really matter though? Famly is family, friends have become family. I share no blood with them. No matter, I still consider them family. Still, I am struggling. It doesn't feel bad, but it nags. Where do I really fit in?

Oh! What Will I Tell My Family????

I have been thinking about this blog for days....not sure how to write it, not exactly sure what to say...How do I feel about telling the truth? People are funny. How they feel depends on their perspective and perspectives are funny. Just ask me...my student's perspective change on a dime sometimes to meet their own needs. I have found through experience, that so do adults. I guess we will tackle this post together...one by one.





The very first person I told, was my kids' dad; he was here, he brought me the letter. He knows the ins and outs of this story. He knows how I feel, how my mother has felt and to his defense, he is not really a emotional person. When I realized who sent the letter, he was surprised, but also very unattached.."Hmm, what do you know," was kind of his reaction. Since then he has asked several times if things are ok, but I certainly know he wasn't the man I could jump up and down with hugging and crying. That wouldn't be right...





As soon as he left, I immediately call my confidant, best bud, super, secret keeper, sister, Jessica. I can tell her anything, and boy diddy do I mean anything and she won't judge, rebuke or criticize. I love it and I love her!!! She, just like me, was in shock. "Are you kidding me, are you ok?" "Oh gosh, I guess I never thought that would happen." Yeah, me either Sis...but it did. Immediately we start taking about our parents, "What will Mom say?" Really, she is the one we worry about. Talking about her past hasn't been always a good thing and so we quit a long time ago. I am extremely concerned about the conversation...for now Jess and I decide I will email Steve back and go from there. Jessica is supportive no matter what. Even though we may not share the genes of the same dad,we value the same family and love the same man, as our dad, just the same.

As I drive to Spokane, my tummy is a tumulous ocean. Do I tell this weekend? Do I tell at all? Should I wait to see what will happen with Steve? Well...I am not a liar by nature, nor can I hide when I have "something" going on. I want to talk to my dad first, and luckily I have that opportunity. Early Saturday morning on my 40th birthday, Daddy and I have the opportunity to chat over coffee. In my best nonchalant conversation voice, I tell him we need to chat. Then...in stead of just easing into it...I blurt it out. "My biodad wrote me a letter." Daddy looks at me and says, "It is about time. I figured if he was any kind of man, he would do it at sometime or another." My mouth drops. Dad had told me that if I wanted to find him, I should. I investigated, but never really felt like it was the time. Because it wasn't, obviously. What a frickin' load off my mind. I read Dad the letter and he is happy. He asks me what I am going to do, I say email back-although I already had, but hadn't heard back yet. I am elated that he is happy. He raised me and will always love me and I will always love him. He told me he isn't threatened nor should he be...ever. I ask what I should do about Mom, he says tell her and tell her soon...that oughta be good.

We go to a delicious birthday breakfast; I am aloof. All I can think about is Mom...what will she say? Will she freak out? We run errands and go to my nephew's football game. Finally, when we are home and getting ready for the party, I recruit Jessica and we go to talk to Mom...she is putting on her makeup for my birthday party and I sit on the toilet and make Jess stand by the sink. There is no way I am doing this alone...with (ok without) finesse, I say to Mom, "I gotta talk to you about something, not bad, good actually, but serious." She gives me the look...the last time I had a conversation like this with Mom, I told her we had filed for divorce. I dropped that bomb on Thanksgiving Day. Nice huh? Like I said, no finesse. I just gotta get it out there, or I die of guilt. Not good...so I again blurt it out..."Steve contacted me the day before yesterday." She goes, "Steve who?" I almost scream, "Steve Wilder!" Mom get her best serious face and says, "Oh, I always thought he would." Are you even kidding me woman? You made it very clear when I was a tween that you didn't expect that; and I should never go that route. It would kill my Dad, Craig...well, obviously not. He has been good with it for years. Truly, I almost killed her; but I didn't. Then she pops off "Here I was thinking you got married or something behind my back." UMMMMM....first, there are no suitors who want to marry me Mom....but thanks for that.

Now...that was then...this is now. Two weeks in, Mom is worried I will pack up and move to Kansas. She even goes as far as saying, I am her baby....I remind her I am also his. She has just had me with her all these years. Mom is shook, unsure, I have to build her up. There are her own demons she is dealing with due to all this. However; they are not MY demons. They are hers and her 40 year ago memories. I can't help her, just reassure her of my love for her. That does not mean that I will not continue my search and my relationship with the Wilder Family, I will. The last time we spoke, her comment was, "I have always been glad I had you." I know Mom, it will be okay in time.

My brothers you ask. Brothers are brothers. Brett says that is cool and he is good. Hope it all goes well. My brother Matt, figured it out...He is so smart that way..."Oh I saw you were friends with someone named Steve Wilder on Facebook. I knew that was your biodad's name, so I figured you found each other." I felt kinda bad, not telling him first, but it all worked out.

My children are fine, I told them on the way home from Spokane. Matt says, "Do they have money?" REALLY????? Good Lord Matthew...he laughs and says he is just kidding. Actually, he has asked the most questions and been the most interested. We have looked at pictures together and it has been good. Rachel is curious and asks questions....one day we are working together and she says, "Maybe you got your weirdness from Steve." Yeah, Rachel, maybe that is it...

PS-How did you find me?

I remember thinking, after I got the letter, is this really happening to me? Today, two days before my 40th birthday. Shit, I knew it was supposed to be a biggie, but really???? Then the thought occurred to me that this was perfect timing. I had been needing a little "healing", if you will, and perhaps this was the beginning of just that. So that is the perspective I chose. I am still carrying that perspective at this writing.

Catching Up
I did email Steve the next day, from my classroom during downtime....I would compose what I would say, reread it, look at it again, tweak a word. Finally, I just pressed send. From that point, I figured, whatever happened, happened. It was out of my control. Whoa, out of my control. That is crazy.

More than 1 Man
Our first few emails contained mostly logistics. I live and work here; he lives and works there. I grew up here and this way; he works at one place or another. No talk about personal things. I don't mention my children, he doesn't mention his family either. Now anyone who knows me, even a little knows I like to converse. I want to build that relationship, get to know you. See if we are compatible. So it is no surprise that I put myself out there and eventually I write, "I guess a couple of things you might want to know are that I am a special education teacher, I am divorced (4 yrs ago), I have a 13 year old boy and an 11 year old girl...I also have a 39 year old brother, a 36 year old brother and a 33 year old sister." Let me just lay out my life for you in a sentence or less. That's me.

Floodgates open...apparently I have 3 aunts and uncles through my father all in differiing cities, and 2 aunts and an uncle through my stepmother. By the way...they all know about me and have met me when I was little!

Ok...I was just thinking one person, a man, who fathered me. Yeah, good job Mel being egocentric. The man moved on with his life. He's been married to his wife for 37 years-she knows me- and oh yes, you also have a 35 year old half sister and a 33 year old half brother. And another niece and 3 nephews and another on the way. Soooooooo....a whole family AND they've always known about me. I just never knew about them. That was a baseball bat to my mirror of thinking and I may be still digesting all of what that entails.

Birthday Letters
You hear of those stories where the father finds a child because he is dying or because he needs penance or whatever. This man wants to relationship with me. Learn about who I am, where I came from and where I am going. In one of his very first emails he mentions that he has written me every year on my birthday, but never knew where to send them. Who does that? A man who wishes he would have made other decisions concerning a daughter, that is who.

Several correspondences later-at this point I am watching my email like a hawk-to see if Steve writes me or has any more to say to me. I was half afraid there may be nothing left to say. Might just fizzle, but no, there is always more to say to someone you've been waiting your whole life to know about. I ask the question that is itching at the back of my brain in a post script...

"PS-How did you fine me?"

Here is where the world becomes a grain of sand. Steve did not know my parent's last name. In a conversation with his mother before she passed away he mentioned that fact and his mother pipes up that she knows it. I am thinking, "Are you kidding me?????" This is never a conversation they had together? Good Lord. The important fact is that she did know it, she told it to him and his search began. On the internet. There he found my parents. Looking at the relatives, a Melinda Gray (ME!) came up. From there all it took was a white listings search, he found my information with Mike's and there ya be. Apparently, when you know a name, finding someone can be easier than you think. Almost 40 years not knowing a name. Get the name, get that world wide web and get hooked up.

"He'll Come Find You One Day"

Those were the words my grandmother said to me many, many years ago while discussing my biological father. "He loved you and he will come find you." I wasn't sure, it had been so many years and I just thought that would never happen. The story I had in my head was that he chose to give up parental rights so Craig could adopt me. That was so long ago and now I have heard some differing information. I really am not ready to find out the real story, but I will...eventually.

For now, I want to share the last week and a half of my life with you. On Oct 27th my former husband, Mike, brought me a letter. When I first looked at it, I was sure it was my handwriting I was looking at and I was sure it was probably from a doctor's office or something. Then I skimmed up to the return address. Wilder-in Kansas. I had to sit down. Immediately all the emotions from 38 years came crashing in my ears. The room actually did spin a little bit-I only ever thought that happened in movies...

I tore open the letter and it was from a man whose name is Steven Wilder. He said he knew me when I was little and that he wasn't even sure I would know who he was. Well, boy diddy, I totally knew who he was. He was my biological father. The one I had always wondered about...Did he really love me as Grandma and my uncles had said? Would he pursue me one day? That would be yes, he did. And I was knocked off my rocker.

Over the years I had been curious about this Steven Wilder who was my bio dad. But I knew nothing except my mom met him in Nebraska, she got pregnant, they married and lived in Denver. They split and Mom and I moved back to Hastings. Mom and I moved to Spokane, she met Craig, they got married and Craig adopted me. End of story. My mother was not so big on talking about Steve-which I get; a relationship that did not end well and produced a baby-I perhaps wouldn't want to talk about that pain either. Finally, I just gave up talking to Mom about it and so every so often I would as Grandma questions. She was always open and honest. I am grateful to her for that.

As time went on the internet came into play and every so often I would look him up. I didn't know anything but his name, so maybe I found him or maybe not over the years. I guess it doesn't really matter now. I didn't try and contact any of those men because I didn't want to hurt my Dad and I knew my mother would be mortified. In the last couple of years; however, Dad said that if I wanted to find him I could. So I've mulled it around, did a little investigating, but it never went anywhere until now.

The first thing I did, was call my sister. That is what I always do with big news. I think she was in just as much shock as I. "What are you going to do?" she wanted to know. I told her I was going to email him back the next day. He must be going crazy wanting to know if I got this letter. Good, Bad or other, the man needed to know he found the right daughter.

So I did. And so started a week of email conversations I will write about next...Life changes in one breath-I now have had the experience for myself and I know it is true.

Working Relationships...

I work with wonderful people. No, really I do. For the most part, always have. Sometimes people say that and don’t mean it, but for me, I am reminded of it again and again. Take tonight for example. I played bunko, a game I haven’t played I don’t think since my daughter was in my tummy, with a bunch of awesome gals from the elementary I work at. They are loving and kind and fun. They are my now coworkers. I appreciate them and show gratitude for their role in my life which is now. Everywhere I have been I have coworkers who have made a difference. Tonight, as I write, my last coworkers, really businesswomen who I cherish, miss and love are on my mind.
At one point of my life, I was a direct sales gal. I LOVED my job! It gave me the kudos I needed, the confidence I did not have and the bravery to step out of my box. In some ways, it really did make me the person I am today. At the time, I was not a hobbyist. I was in full boar. I wanted and did earn the vacations. I wanted to be in the top 10 and was. I wanted to get all the free gifts and product I could. I did. I was somehow proving my worth to myself and those around me. I don’t know if everybody in my life “got” that, but as I look back, I certainly get it and I guess that is all that really counts. But, here is the part that as I look back matters the very most out of everything…the people I met along the way.
Last weekend was the Convention of the company I was with. I didn’t go because of money and time and the fact that while that position I held gave me self worth, I have grown to find other things that provide self worth to me. Two of my closer friends in life did go. We always meet and greet our friend from Indiana and have dinner and she stays with us before Convention…then we all used to go together. Not this year. They went without me. As we ate sushi (delicious I may add) the night before, I was kinda sad. Not because I felt like I needed to be there, but because I miss rooming with those girls. I miss messing with their make-up and them with mine. I miss picking out jewelry and oogling over their cool dresses. I miss standing on stage with them knowing that the accomplishments we had were together. I wasn’t there when N won the highest award our company gave. Will I always regret that?
It wasn’t about lotion or skin care or scrubs, it was about relationships. Building relationships with women I Value. And Love. And Respect. Who would give you the coat off their back should you need it. Building relationships while we talked about bum spa classes, or when our kids excelled, or didn’t. Or when we had babies or husband issues or just bad cramps. Those were the best times. Those were the times I remember. When J would push me to be the woman I almost was and then became. When D & D loved me just because. When S was pregnant and had her precious baby. When K and J and N just supported me and told me it would all be okay. I believed those women and they were right.
They are still right today. I may not work with them every day now or even talk to them but every once in a while, but many times their voices still ring in my head. I miss them although I mostly feel like an outsider now.
I have new woman that will push me and prod me in a million different and new ways. And I will love and appreciate them. I will continue to grow. They will leave imprints upon my heart and so the cycle goes.
Thank you to those who have mentored me and shown me my value and taught me that I am the one who makes me become who I am…I do love and cherish you and always will.

Ok-my last post and this one are items I have written before, but I wanted to "publish" them...that is why they are my first entries....

My daughter’s baba blanky disintegrated this week. I don’t mean got lost or went away to blanky heaven or any of the other excuses we use to describe when our children’s items need to go. I mean it disintegrated. This is something I have been waiting for, watching and monitoring you might say for about the last year and a half.

My daughter’s baba blanky actually started as a blanket that was made for my son by my grandmother. It was powder blue on one side and had little teddy bears on the other on a white back ground. Each bear had a little saying underneath it. I am sitting here racking my brain as to what they were and even though I have read them about a hundred times to my daughter, I can’t remember them to save my life. Isn’t that just the way it goes? The inside of the blanky had a once thick piece of batting, but by the time this story is over let’s just say it got thin. Really thin. Like transparent thin.

The blanket came into my daughter’s life when it once began as a thick and very soft blanket that I would wrap around her in her baby carrier. It was the perfect size. It didn’t fall over the edges and drag and yet it wouldn’t let her tiny feet peek out the end either. It really was wonderful. As time went on, my daughter just claimed it as her own. My son didn’t care, he was never attached to blankets and I don’t think he really even noticed. So, the blanket became her property. That’s when the name Baba came into being. Blanket wasn’t quite in her vocabulary and so Baba it became. As her verbal skills enhanced, so the full name, Baba Blankey was given. She would carry it around the house, lay with it on the couch and eventually wrapped it around her pillow to lay her head on at night.

My daughter loved this blanket. She loved it like a child loves a family pet or their first pacifier or how an adult loves their first car or the first thing they can call their own. She would hug it and sometimes even kiss it as she caressed the fabric across her cheek and whisper it sweet nothings. Her water blue eyes would sparkle when she held it or spoke of it or even sometimes just touched it. The blanket had gone through the normal stages of a young girl’s growing up. Fevers, the flu, vomit in the car, scary doctor and dentist appointments, traveling to Lake Tahoe or Florida or Alaska or Spokane just to see the grandparents. It went through a divorce and the horrors children’s emotions go though along the way in that life experience. Many a time was spent driving it back and forth if it was forgotten as the tears and lost sleep were not worth the savings of gas. It was an extension of her, or so it seemed, and its nearness was of great importance to the happiness of my girl.

About a year and a half ago she was sitting with me and I noticed the hem loosening along the edges. I asked my daughter if she would like me to mend Baba. She agreed it needed some tending to. I carefully restitched the edges and took a long look at the fabric itself. It wasn’t as thick as it used to be for sure, but it was holding up. A few months later, my daughter came to me and said Baba needed more repairs. I looked and yikes, it really needed some help. I restitched the edges and then started mending the thin areas where the blanket had split. Now, I am not the best seamstress, so I did what I could and this, for now, satisfied my daughter.

Soon stitching wouldn’t cut it. The holes were larger and you couldn’t cover all the batting inside. So we improvised and just did the best we could. Now at this point, I thought it would be in my best interest to start preparing my daughter for the demise of Baba. I said, “I notice your baba is looking pretty thin, you do know someday it will probably have to go, right?” Her eyes were so sad. She just looked like I didn’t realize that Baba was never going to go, but rather always going be there. Was I crazy? Perhaps. But better to plant the seed then have a big watermelon drop from the sky later. After time, I would wash Baba and pieces would end up in the dryer; I would quickly put them in the trash and cover them. My daughter would bring me the blanket and tell me it wasn’t time for it to go. It was still good and working. Last month I noticed there where only three or four pieces of the front of Baba left. She would find the biggest piece and make sure it was what she wrapped it around her pillow to lay her head on at night.

Finally, the Baba’s thinnest, most fragile threads unraveled. I was lying in my own bed trying to sleep and she came in. “Baba’s done mom. “ She was beside herself. Now, I should let you know for the sake of me not sounding like a hardass mom with no heart, I have been training my daughter to sleep in her own room. In her own bed. In the time since the separation of my marriage, she had gotten used to sleeping more often in my room than her own and truthfully, I think it suited us both in an emotional attachment, healthy or not. However, it was time to move on. So when she came in and told me what I really wanted to do was grab her and hold her and tell her I was sorry, then cuddle her next to me and let her cry and sleep. I couldn’t do that though. I had to grab her and hug her and hold her and tell her I was sorry, then send her back to her own room to sleep without Baba. No one really got any sleep that night. My daughter missed her comfort and I worried that she would never sleep again. In the morning, she showed me how she wrapped the last strings of material around her stuffed kitty and duck, so they could have some Baba time. My heart ached for her. I know what it is like to have an attachment to something that gives us comfort, makes us calm and content…and then it is gone. I had a garden of perennials like that and when I lost it, my heart broke. Just like my daughters.