Just plain lucky

Occasionally I hear J tell M how lucky she is. And when I hear him saying that, I know he is speaking way more about himself and much less about her.

J's birthmom was an immigrant who was in the US temporarily. She got pregnant and gave him up at birth. J spent the first six months of his life in an orphanage/foster care system until he was adopted.

J's adoptive parents weren't in a position to adopt. His father was already engaged in an affair, his mom was young and angry and scared. We think they adopted J with the goal of some sort of reconciliation, but things went sideways almost immediately.

Soon after J was brought home his parents split up. J was shuffled between his now single mom, his dad, and grandparents. As he grew into kindergarten years, folks seemed to lose track of him. He'd spend an entire Saturday sitting on the curb outside his house waiting for a dad who never showed up. His house caught fire once - and his mom and grandparents escaped the burning building, and in the confusion had forgotten about him. He was left in that burning building until a firefighter found him and rescued him. He remembers the oh, that's right, we forgot J when he was carried out. An afterthought at best.

As J grew older he grew into himself - he travelled the world and moved around the country, from working in an Alaskan fish farm to jumping freight trains. He spent a year in India. He was always on the move.

When we met he carried still his wounds with him. He'd always felt motherless, and being the tender soul that he is, was deeply affected by that. After a while we engaged in a bit of a search, obtained his adoption file and learned more about his birth mom. We chased some dead ends and came to the conclusion that finding someone in South America was a task that we weren't up to. We might revisit that in the future, but for now we've put that on hold.

M was the first flesh and blood relative J has ever met. I remember vividly the moment she was born and he was able to gather her in his arms and utter the words "my daughter". I know and I do not know what that means to him. I know that when he sees her being loved unconditionally and passionately it makes up for the fact that he was not. I know that he feels deep and unabashed pride in the ability to grow and encourage her young life.

And I know it's no mistake that she looks exactly like him in every possible way.


Don't forget our second Just Post Roundtable is around the corner. If you have a post of yours or one you've appreciated that was written by someone else, please send them my way (to girlplustwo (at) yahoo(dot) com) by February 8th and I'll send you the button.

We'll link all posts and anyone who refers one (or more) in our Just Post Roundtable on the 10th. If this is new to you, please feel free to check it out here.