It's Going to be One of Those Days

Due to my own odd physical issues, medicine side effects and general, all around weirdness, I usually don't sleep longer than 4:30 am.  That give all sorts of opportunity for Internet mischief-making, except I use mine for genealogy.  

The Husband spit in a cup (vial) for a couple of reasons.  

First, he wanted to see what made him.  Knowing migration patterns of ancient and not so ancient man, we weren't surprised - 63% Great Britain, 20% Ireland, 5% Scandinavia, 5% West Europe, 4% Italy/Greece, 1% Iberian Peninsula, 1% East Europe, <1% Finland/Northwest Russia.  Anything else is so far back it doesn't show.  I should wear eclipse glasses when I look at him, he's so pale.

Second, he is, as am I, adopted.  In every adopted person, there is a hole.  It doesn't matter how well adjusted that person is or what type of parents they were raised by.  That Hole exists.  I know this from experience.  I'd seen edges of the Hole, but didn't know how big it was until 1992 when I was being hugged by my birth mother in her front yard and she whispered, "Now I feel complete."  

The question is, how deep is that Hole.

So, he spat in the cup and we sent it off.  I started building his mirror tree.  Using information already known, I entered his birth mother and him.  Then we got the results.  The Husband was born in Appleton, Wisconsin so we both assumed his people had lived in the Upper Midwest.  Imagine our surprise when his test came back and he had very strong connections to the Ancestry Genetic Community "Settlers of Central Georgia & Central Alabama".  Wait, what?!?!  *insert the sound of a record needle screech here* 

I worked more on the mirror tree and kept finding one specific family again and again.  I exported his information to GEDMatch and who do I find, but the same user that matched so highly on Ancestry.  She's his first cousin, once removed. 

Comparing their DNA, if I'm reading the information correctly, it appears that her father and his grandfather were brothers.  This family bounces between Alabama and Georgia.  So, I'm working on pulling all brothers' families forward to see if I have a candidate before I drop this in her lap.

Oh, and a relative on The Husband's father's side from this family?  Actually, much closer than "a relative" - if not a half sibling, then another first cousin, once removed.  I went to high school with him in far western Kentucky.  It's going to be one of those days.

The Sacrifice of Love

The summer of 1961 was a hot one.  She was young, only a few months into seventeen.  She lived with her parents, her sister and brother.  Life was typical in Richmond, Kentucky at that time.  She baby sat and would spend time with her friends and older sister.

He was spending the summer with his sisters.  He was born in Dayton, Ohio, but split his time between there with his mother and in Richmond with his sisters and grandparents.  One sister lived on the Kentucky River and it was a perfect place to spend your eighteenth summer.

They met that summer and began spending time together, but the path of first love is never easy.  We've all been through that first heartbreak.  He got into trouble and left town, not to return for many years.

But you see?  There was a reminder of that first love left behind.  Soon, the realization of what that reminder was became known by the family.  The young girl went to live in Louisville, Kentucky, with other girls that were in her same situation.

The details of that summer, I never ask about.  The details of the following years, I discuss with her at times.  I know that as she worked as a waitress, she would occasionally see a young girl with a family passing through.  She'd study the various children.  Who's eyes does she have?  Does she look like my mother?  Does she look like him?  She was always searching for that lost little girl.

In 1992, I had some heath related issues.  I needed to open my adoption file to see what health problems might be hereditary.  At two in the afternoon on an early Spring day, my doctor called to let me know my biopsy was clean.  At three in the afternoon on that same day, the judge called to give me my birth mother's name and phone number and stated there was a note in my file from her.  The note said that she wanted to meet me if I ever came looking.

In early June, I made my way to Richmond, Kentucky.  I met the woman who gave me life.  I met my sister, my nephew and I even met my birth father's sisters. 

After I spend three days getting to know my new family, my birth mother and I hugged as we said good-bye.  She whispered to me, "Now I feel whole again."

It's been nineteen years since I received that phone call from the judge.  It changed my life.  Most reunions are not like ours.  We're the lucky ones.

Like my birth mother, I feel whole.  I didn't even know I had pieces missing. 

Happy Mothers Day.  The gift you gave me, I treasure.  The gifts you continue to give me, amaze me.