Welcome to my journey

Two mothers

Two mothers

By

I am assuming she must have done something very bad. However, for a brief moment that we made eye contact as two mothers, it didn’t matter. While sitting in the waiting room at the hospital on the day my first grandchild was born, I noticed what appeared to be a number of uniformed officers asking for permission to go back and forth through the locked area to Labor/Delivery. I didn’t give it much thought why security seemed to be so tight that day in a safe place where new life is welcomed into this world. Looking over at the door each time it would beep, to see if my son-in-law was there to proudly announce the birth of our grandson, it took a minute to register the surreal scene that was playing out before us. An ashen-faced young woman was being pushed out in a wheelchair by one of those…

Read More
Take Your Pick

Take Your Pick

By

When I was searching for my birth father, the old-timers mentioned three separate names as possibilities. None of the people I contacted seemed to be positive about who my mother, a lonely miner’s wife with three older children, was having a relationship with during the time period I would have been conceived. My first preference: Mr. Nice Writer guy because, of course, writing is one of my favorite things. 2. The well-respected Mayor who was married to the embarrassing town drunk. 3. A very bright geologist whose sometimes poor choices in life weren’t always quite as impressive. I had no intention of finding my half-sibling’s father instead. Ten months after my birth, my birth mother found herself with another unplanned pregnancy. She and number 2. (the Mayor) as it turns out placed my younger birth brother for adoption. Apparently, the proud Mayor always knew who his son was and watched…

Read More
Outside the Lines

Outside the Lines

By

As a young girl, I can’t remember spending any time being creative. I am not even sure I ever had a box of crayons or a coloring book. Our home only had oils paintings displayed of the magnificent Grand Tetons, where my parents often escaped alone on vacation. Part of me was afraid in school that I would color outside the lines. I didn’t want anyone to know that I couldn’t even cut straight; my favorite childhood doll’s bangs were proof. However, when I was in the fourth grade, I remember drawing the most beautiful cherry tree. I was so proud of my artwork. I wished I had saved the sweet memory. Always in the back of my mind over the years has been “my prize masterpiece.” The branches on my beautiful artwork became even more full and defined as I watched my daughters’ blossom. My oldest daughter, Tracy was…

Read More

Adoption