Monica's memoir

The Story:

It was brought to my attention a few months ago that my biological grandmother, along with her six siblings, had written their memoirs some years back. As I recall, my sister Amy told me that during our first meeting down in Florida. She had helped our grandmother edit and revise the document, as well. Apparently, they all wanted to document the family history so that future generations could appreciate the family’s origins.

Recently, one of my great aunts, Maureen, asked if I would be interested in having a copy of my grandmother’s memoir. I jumped at the chance! I wanted to know as much as possible about my biological heritage. Subsequently, my great aunt Joan mailed me a copy of the document a short time later.

Upon receiving Joan’s package, I began sifting through its contents. There was a hand written letter from Joan, a copy of each sibling’s tribute to my grandmother’s life, and the 50-page memoir. I read Joan’s letter immediately. Her words to me were very kind and comforting. Until recently, though, I had chosen not to read the memoir.

Her story read like a movie. It was absolutely incredible. The story’s timeline begins with her birth in Dublin, Ireland, and ends during her teenage years around London, post WWII. She, along with her siblings, didn’t have it easy during that time while living in England. Her life throughout that period seemed to have set the stage for how she would be as an adult. She helped to care for six kids and her parents, at times. Not to mention that she survived multiple near death experiences as a youngster.

Ultimately, my grandmother’s story is a crucial part of my family history. Perhaps, her story is only important to those of us in her family, but her life speaks of a very different time of which we younger generations have little knowledge.

The Emotions:

I’m so thankful that my grandmother had enough appreciation of our family history to write her story. I wonder how long it would have taken me to learn all of the same information had she not taken the time to write? I’ve realized how special it is to have access to such a document. Especially, since she is no longer alive.

I’m excited to hopefully read the memoirs of my great aunts and uncle, as well. I harbor some disappointment, though, since I know very little about the history of my adoptive and step families. I suppose it’s primarily my fault. I don’t think that I’ve asked. However, there are very few memories of anyone else in my family asking either. I suppose I have a lot of work ahead in learning about each line of my family history.

A side note, I feel very uncomfortable divulging the juicy details of my grandmother’s memoir. Placing them on the web for all to read seems inappropriate. However, I will be more than happy to make them public knowledge once a movie director has paid my great aunts a huge sum of money for the rights!  Until then, though, I don’t feel that it’s my place to disclose such personal information.

The Advice:

This time it’s short and sweet. One thing that I’ve learned is that my family history is critical to my understanding of how I got here. I’m quite certain that I will attempt to further document my life and family history at some point in the future. I think everyone ought to do the same. The process will certainly be time consuming, but the final product will be a story rich with experience and wisdom. The future generations of our families need to know these touching tales.

- Andrew

George Bernard Shaw

The Story:

In a previous post, Meeting Amy, I noted that my great great-grandfather (illegitimate) was the famous Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw. I feel that it’s now time for me to explore those roots in some detail. Considering that I only learned of that fact a few months ago, I’m still learning about his life and how my biological family has been affected by the historical significance.

Rather than writing an article by regurgitating cited facts about his life, I’d prefer to provide some facts while focusing on his historical significance to my biological family. G.B.S. was born in Dublin, Ireland on July 26, 1856 and died on November 2, 1950. He is most notably known to the world as being a playwright, critic, and political activist. In 1925, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, an Oscar in 1938, and an Academy Award for Best Writing for his screenplay Pygmalion in 1938.

            Now that I have some of the facts out of the way, it’s time to find out Shaw’s connection to my family. Based on what I currently know, my great great-grandmother, Margaret, had a very unique relationship with G.B.S. One thing led to another, and she learned that she was pregnant. According to my grandmother’s memoir, Margaret was thrown out of her home because she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, which is a true testament to those times.

As far as the story goes, that’s all I really know for now. However, there’s a paragraph at the very end of my grandmother’s memoir that might shed some more light on the subject.

Gran’s mother’s maiden name was Shaw. When Bernard Shaw died, Gran picked up the newspaper and saw his picture and said “that’s Bernie.” Margaret Kelly (Monica’s childhood friend) was with me at the time.

Whatever the real connection was between Gran and Bernard Shaw, I’m not sure…I’ve always felt there was a more personal relationship.

I hope that I’m not the only one slightly confused here. Anyway, I believe the bigger picture looks like this: G.B.S. and my great great-grandmother were not married, but decided to get a little frisky. That’s how my great grandmother, Essie, came to be. Luckily, I enlisted the help of one of my great aunts, Maureen, to help make some sense from all of this. If I mixed up the story, I must apologize. All I can say is that family trees are quite complex.

The Emotions:

When I learned of my biological family’s connection to George Bernard Shaw, I had mixed emotions. Initially, I recognized his name, but I had no recollection of his historical significance. Once I began researching his background, I realized what all of the fuss was about. His historical claim to fame filled me with some pride, but I found it sad that our family’s connection was more than likely based on an extramarital affair.

However, I feel no significant connection to the man, myself. The entire situation seems quite distant from my life in the U.S. While I think it’s wonderful that my family’s history touts such a historical celebrity, I find it hard to feel any direct personal connection with him.

The Advice:

For all adoptees, I believe that it’s our task, and right, to learn as much as we can about our biological origins and histories. Of course, I had no idea that I would learn of my genetic connection to a Nobel Price-winning writer, but now I’m informed. Does it matter whether the stories you hear or the facts you learn are of epic proportions? Hell-to-the-no. I’m satisfied with just knowing that my biological family has been through a lot, and that I come from a strong stock.

Please, don’t allow your history to disappear along with your relatives. It may very well end up being the task of a lifetime when trying to navigate your biological history, but it’s rare when hard work doesn’t payoff. I don’t think I’ve even scratched the surface of my family’s history, and it truly seems like a daunting task to figure it all out. Luckily, I began my search early enough so that I might actually have a real chance of truly understanding where I came from.

- Andrew

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust

THE STORY:

During one of many phone conversations with my sister Amy, we got on the subject of our mother’s ashes. We had not spoken much about our mother’s funeral, or what had been done with her remains. I assumed that she had been buried, but I learned that Amy was the guardian her ashes.

By the end of that conversation, she had made me a very interesting offer. It was not the type that you get at a mall, or from a car dealership. This offer was more melancholy, and by no means financially advantageous.

Her proposal was quite simple. She wanted me to have half of our mother’s ashes. She felt that it was “only fair.” I reacted with a sheepish chuckle because the offer was so unexpected. How could I turn her down, though? Well, I couldn’t, and so I happily accepted.

THE EMOTIONS:

Not that it needs to be written, but I’ve never been a big fan of death. I have always found the associated pain, regret, helplessness, and depression to be uncomfortable topics. I’ve been to my share of funerals for both the too young and the not quite old enough, and they never get easier to stomach.

Even though I wasn’t able to meet my biological mother, I was given the opportunity to have a part of her physical self. However “morbid” (her word, not mine) the offer may seem, it was necessary and appreciated. How could it not have been? She was offering me the cremated remains of our murdered mother! As unexpected as her offer had been, it was the most considerate thing she could have done. I felt like I deserved to have part of our mother’s remains, and it was obvious that Amy felt the same.

However depressing it was to consider my mother’s murder, I felt that there was at least one positive aspect; I had found my biological family before too many other members had succumbed to death. I can only imagine how much more painful it would have been had I wasted anymore time.

Our conversation did force me to question my own mortality, once again. I don’t really know whether I’d prefer to be buried, or cremated. Cremation is the economical option, but burial is so much more traditional. Plus, there’s the issue of determining where to be buried. My connection to the Midwest is very strong, but I’ve never lived so far away from this area that I ever yearned to come back. I’ve never truly missed this place. So, I don’t feel obligated to rest here.

THE ADVICE:

Dealing with a parental death is a big deal. Especially if you were adopted, and you never had the opportunity to meet said parent. I have complete empathy. If you find yourself in a position similar to mine then my best advice is this; find satisfaction in the family that is still living. Those are the people who can help you feel closer to the departed.

I could whine about my biological mother’s death, but what could I possibly expect to accomplish? Sure, it’s somewhat of a crappy deal, but her murder shouldn’t negate all of the positives to come from my search. Even with the death of my mother, I still have tons of family, and I’m quite satisfied with that. They have managed to provide me with details of my mother’s character and personality. So, now I know her better than ever.

If you’re offered the chance to visit your deceased parent’s grave or receive their remains, then you ought to accept. I have no idea what I will do with my biological mother’s ashes, but at least I’ll have them.  At least I’ll be able to have her closer to my life no matter how morbid that might seem.

 - Andrew

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

The Story:

Recently, a columnist with the St. Louis Post Dispatch published an article about the search for my biological family. The story, smack-dab on the front page of the newspaper’s Community section, was primarily about my search and how he and I came to meet one another. Interestingly, his article came at a time when the Illinois legislature passed a new law requiring “the state to provide basic medical information and an accurate birth certificate to adoptees…” (clarification: the photo next to the article headline in the image to the left is of the columnist, Tony Messenger)

That’s how my search began. I needed to know about my biological family’s health background. Unfortunately, the state of Missouri still requires a court order to open those records. Luckily, I didn’t end up having to take that route. Instead, my adoptive uncle was able to track down my biological aunt via his family connections.  

When I woke up the Sunday that the article was published, I decided to read the web-based version first. Afterward, I ventured out to the local market and purchased five hard copies of the newspaper. I stood at the publication racks and flipped through the massive paper searching for the community section. I yanked it out, and got my first glimpse of the article on the front page.

When I arrived home from the store, I proceeded to package and mail copies of the article to some of my family members. Throughout that day, I received a few phone calls and text messages. All were very congratulatory!

Here’s a link to the article at www.stltoday.com.

The Emotions:

There’s no doubt that I felt quite accomplished when I read Tony’s column. My story had finally achieved some more recognition. My attempts to get the article published were not all for selfless reasons. Indeed, I wanted my blog to receive more local exposure. This, in turn, would hopefully provide me with a larger list of subscribers. I certainly wanted the conversation about child adoption to spread, and I knew that breaking that barrier would help others.

The selfish reasons weren’t sinister, though. I simply wanted my story, and the stories of my family, to be heard by a larger audience. I felt that the stories were historically interesting and emotionally charged. I have no interest in splashing my family’s secrets all over the web and other media. I just knew that people would eat that stuff up like an orphaned child at dinnertime.

My overall satisfaction came from knowing that all of that had happened because I made the effort. I wanted more exposure for my story and the institution of child adoption, and I helped make it happen. My goal was accomplished, and now I’m moving onto the next. Will my family’s story make it onto the NYT’s Bestseller list, or will someone write a screenplay? I suppose there might be a chance if I continue to spark the conversation.

Besides all of that, reading a news article about oneself is certainly strange. I was anxious to see how I was quoted, and whether the story was presented accurately. Overall, I was very satisfied with Tony’s column, and I’ve let him know.

The Advice:

Once again, my advice focuses on making more people aware of child adoption. I have found that the best way to do that is to talk about something I know. Well, I certainly know about my own personal experiences with adoption, and I can’t think of a better source for material.

Like I stated previously, I’ve been writing about my adoption for different reasons. The point is that anyone with the interest in telling their story can help to spark more conversation on the subject. It has been a strange trip for me, but I’m taking it all in day by day.

If you don’t like the idea of placing details of your family’s history on the web, then don’t. I’m always worrying about that, but I’ve done my best to write detailed accounts while limiting the amount of embarrassing or inappropriate material. So, I would suggest everyone else do the same with their stories. Either way, telling your story should be an enlightening and valuable experience.

So, do you think it’s wise to write about your personal situations on the web where all can see? Is it more reasonable if those personal stories are meant to help and inform others? If you have any thoughts, please feel free to leave a comment.

- Andrew