Moonbeams January 30, 2018
Because we’ve been talking the lunar calendar all month in math and because I like the sound of it. It makes me think of stormy nights, a break in the clouds, moonlight glowing in the darkest corners.
January is almost over. In truth, nothing much has changed. That said, there are a couple of little things that have morphed and moved and taken on a life of their own. I don’t think I’ve mentioned what I got for Christmas this year. A thoughtful person gifted me with a DNA kit. The Ancestry kit. I sent it off.
I got my results last Sunday. They’re rather fascinating.
69% Great Britain
7% Finland/Northwest Russia
5% Scandinavia
The remaining 19% a mixture of Europe, coast to coast, Ireland, Scotland and Wales, no more than 2-3% from any of them. A proper mutt. Hardy as they come.
The search turned up a couple of matches in the 1st-2nd cousin range. I’ve left a couple of messages, leaving my name and the fact I was adopted, from where and the year. I got a reply. Yes, I did. A woman in Caspar, Wyoming replied that she did have relatives in California at that time but she was unaware of any kids given up for adoption. Then again, she was only 17 that particular year. She’s calling her cousin in LA today to see if she can learn anything more. We’re related somewhere along her mother’s line. She’s a bit excited about how closely related we are.
I’m a little dumbfounded.
A Second Snowflake, February 10, 2018
In what, I hope, becomes a blizzard of beautiful moments for me in 2018.
This snowflake is from my oldest brother.
Last August when I made my final visit to my parent’s home, I cleaned out a block of eight file drawers filled with my moms collection of papers. I’d been looking for her journals and asked Dad if he’d like me to clean out Mom’s drawers. He was happy to turn it over to me. It took me the better part of 12 hours. In the end I found parts of her journals, lots of birthday/mother’s day cards and some adoption odds and ends. One of those odds and ends was a baby book for a little boy. I put it in a pile of things for my brother and was able to give it to him the weekend of dad’s funeral.
I called my brother a few weeks ago to ask advice. He’s the one person in our family who isn’t up in arms about the stepmother situation. He has no issue with her. I know, I know!! But that is another blog post.
He said he had something to tell me, and recounted the following.
“Remember that baby book you gave me? Well, before we left town I was telling my wife about this memory I have of a little red brick house that belonged to my grandparents. My original grandparents. Before we left Idaho we drove through the town and as I got closer to the address we had looked up, I was able to take each turn by memory and there it was. The neat little red brick house from my memory. Pretty incredible. After we got back home and after I caught up at work, I had a few moments one afternoon and I took out the book and studied it. It wasn’t completely filled in but contained my original last name, my grandparent’s names, my mother’s name. I remembered something that had happened when my oldest daughter was born. I told mom I was thinking about naming her Tina. Mom was surprised and said though she didn’t think I remembered, I had a younger sister named Tina. Hm. I turned to my computer and googled my mother’s name. No result. Turning back to my baby book I googled her with her maiden name. It brought up an obituary. I read it and there she was, daughter Tina. Not only that, but I found out I had an older sister, Roxanne. I, of course, wasn’t listed, but there they were, Roxanne, one year older, and Tina, two years younger. There she was, my mother, the obituary included her married name, my old last name. Looking back at Tina, it gave a married last name and city. I googled her and though the obituary was from 2007, I found Tina, still in that same city AND with a home number listed. Thinking it was probably an old disconnected number, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed. The phone rang once, twice, and then was answered by a woman. Now what do I do?”
At this point I was so excited I could hardly stand myself! What did you do? What did you say?!?
“I said hello, I’m calling for Tina. She said, this is Tina. I sat there silent for a moment wondering what I should say next. I finally said, this might sound odd to you, but my name is ____ _____ -. She started yelling into the phone – Oh my God, Oh my God! You’re my brother! You’re my big brother! I can’t believe you’re calling me! Oh my God!”
It gave me chills, brought tears to my eyes. Made my brother utterly speechless. He had no actual memory of Tina, just a name my mother spoke, a name written in pencil in a faded, incomplete baby book. He was taken completely off guard.
Hello, Tina said, probably afraid I’d hung up. I apologized and said, how do you know who I am? My brother asked.
Tina’s story
“I’ve known who you are my entire life. Grandma and Grandpa showed us your picture and talked about you every day. It broke their hearts when they lost you. Roxy and I have always known about you. In fact, when I was sixteen I found your parents number and called your house. Your mom answered and I told her I wanted to talk to my older brother! She told me you wanted nothing to do with us and I was never to call that house again. I was devastated. Not to long after that, our schools played each other in football. I asked a kid from your school if they knew you. They pointed you out in the pep band. I saw you that one time, but didn’t dare talk to you. I’ve missed you so much! I can’t believe you’re calling me! This is amazing!”
Of course, he had a million questions, and she answered them all. Between the two of them they worked out his adoption story.
His mother married his dad when she was 13 and pregnant with Roxanne. His dad was 18. He was born when she was 15 and Tina when she was 16. Not long after, (and not surprisingly) she had a nervous breakdown. Unable to care for her kids, married to a brutally abusive man who beat not only her but the children as well, she turned her children over to her parents to raise. His mother had been the youngest and her parents were older, thinking they had raised all their children. Though they loved their grandchildren, these three little kids were more than they could handle, along with their ailing daughter.
The grandfather worked with my great-uncle, who knew that his niece was pining for children. He talked the grandfather into letting mom and dad adopt the boy. (An aunt has said that mom and dad wanted to adopt all three but the grandparents just couldn’t give them all up) There was an agreement that the grandparents could stay in contact. Why that didn’t play out, no one living knows. He came to live with mom and dad when he was four years old. He came bearing the scars of the beatings he’d taken from his father. Cigarette burns on his arms and torso and thin white lines where he’d been whipped with the vacuum cleaner cord.
He and Tina concurred on the brutality of their father. Tina said mom wasn’t much better. Rarely, she was present and a good mom, mostly she was depressed and looking for her next hit. His father was military and served in Korea. When he returned, he and the mother divorced when he learned she was hanging around with college boys. Tina said they’d never heard another thing from him. She’d never met her father’s parents and thought they had stayed in Germany, never coming to America like their son. Gerry’s mom remarried in the seventies and he has 6 additional half siblings out there. She died of heart failure, though Tina says she and Roxanne are pretty sure it was some form of drug interaction or overdose. My brother is hoping to take a trip to visit his new sisters this summer.
After they got off the phone, he went back to the computer and was quickly able to track down his father. Found him living in Utah with several felony convictions and lots of mug shots. He has no interest whatsoever in meeting the man of whom he has very vivid memories. But he got something even more interesting, a current picture. The similarities are jaw-dropping.
He said he couldn’t make his wife understand, this feeling, this hole he’s lived with his entire life that’s suddenly filled.
“It’s nuts.” He said. “I can’t even explain it.”
“I know.” I replied. “That moment you look at another person, and your own face looks back at you.”
Life's Little Moments April 02, 2018
I wasn’t expecting much from this spring break. A few days off work, hanging out at home with the kids, write a little? Man, was I underestimating life.
Last Wednesday I was parked on Lansing Ave, waiting for the middle child to come out of school, while listening to the youngest jabber on about her day in school. I was trying to stay awake and concentrate on my Hidden City game after a long day of listening to kids jabber. Rudely, my phone buzzed, jolting me to full awareness, I glanced at the message and passed the phone to my daughter.
“It’s for you.” I said.
“It’s from Jetah!”
“What does it say?”
“Call me as soon as you can. Marvin and I are driving to Laura Mie(?) right now and the service is spotty, but we should be there by 3 our time.”
“Who’s Marvin?” I asked.
“Where’s Larawmie?”
“I think you mean Laramie, it’s in Wyoming. Why is she in Wyoming?”
“I have no idea.” She hands the phone back to me.
“Aren’t you going to call her?”
“I’ll call her later.”
The middle child appeared, the phone was put away and life went on.
Thursday morning I was just about to clock in at work when my phone buzzed again.
Did you ever message Zoe?
It was from my Ancestry.com cousin. I stared at it blankly for a minute. Then realized there was another message above it.
Call me as soon as you can…..
WHAT!!
I fired off a quick note letting her know I’d missed her message yesterday and no I hadn’t sent a message to Zoe and I was just getting to work and I would call her at lunch.
Then I spent the next four hours wondering what in the world she’d found out that would require me calling her. My imagination went a bit crazy. I admit it.
At lunch, I checked my phone and was dismayed to find she was at a lecture and would call me when she was done. I tried again after school but she wasn’t in a good cell coverage area and I heard every third word for about 20 seconds before service completely cut out. ARGHHHH
Finally at 5 o’clock that night my phone rang. She’d returned from her trip and wanted to let me know that she had messaged Zoe. Zoe was a new match that had showed up on Ancestry in both of our lists the last week. I don’t know all that much about DNA but my matching numbers with Zoe were double what they were with my cousin, Ann. She thought Zoe might be the granddaughter of the woman we think was my mother, and she asked her that in the message.
“Let me read you her reply.” She said.
Yes, I am Vicky’s granddaughter, though I didn’t know her well. I met her only twice in my life. My father is her only son, though she did have a daughter she gave up for adoption. We don’t know anything about her.
I don’t remember a word she said after that until at some point she said, “There it is. Plain as day. Confirmation. We were right, Vicky was your mom!”
After that everything gathered speed and information came fast and crazy. I had Friday off school and I asked Ann if I could start my family tree now, she said I had plenty of DNA to do so. After I added my mom, I started looking at my matches, searching for one that Ann didn’t share. I had to go down to 4-5th cousin matches but I found one. And I looked at his tree for one minute before I found a name I recognized. I spent five more minutes verifying my find then called Ann.
“Am I looking at this right?”
I was.
May I introduce to you, Vicky and John, my parents.
Over the course of the weekend I’ve looked at hundreds of pages, records, clippings and family trees. This is the story I’ve built around those records, with no input from anyone who actually knew them. Any mistakes are mine. In coming years I hope to add to my understanding of them.
John was born in Chicago, an only child. I believe Vicky was born in California but I haven’t got my hands on a record to prove me right.
1968 – John was married with four children, Vicky, a single girl. In 1968 John divorced his first wife and Vicky gave me up for adoption, the day I was born.
1969-John and Vicky marry.
1971- John and Vicky divorce, John immediately remarried.
1973- John and Vicky divorce again (? still looking for accurate/missing records)
1974- Vicky marries her second husband and gives birth to a son.
1979- Vicky marries second husband again(? still checking)
1984- John divorces his third wife.
1994- John dies.
2009- Vicky dies.
2018- Their daughter finally finds them.
Some things I never thought about, April 15, 2018
You’ll notice the awareness that there are countless thoughts I have yet to give my attention to.
These are just what have come up in the last seven days.
In no particular order……excepting the pecking my personal Hei-Hei has given them.
He was looking for me.
I was better off, however unhappy, where I was.
My heart would never have survived her.
Finally making contact is far more emotional than you ever imagined.
Genetic similarities are not bullshit.
Connecting with your roots can cause multiple daily existential crises.
He’s going to tease you about it like any little brother.
You’re going to cry, a lot. Get used to it.
You might have a real desire to do physical damage to the woman you’ve thought about every day for your entire life.
He took the bullet I dodged.
He struggled, feeling we were kept apart.
You’re going to cry, a lot.
He did so many hard things, all on his own.
He was looking for me.
The Life She Never Lived, April 22, 2018
This week I received a wedding picture; my parent’s wedding picture.
I’m so thankful for my cousin who finds these treasures for me. I’d love suggestions on how to thank the woman who gives you back your family. She insists I owe her nothing, but it surely doesn’t feel that way.
Speaking of feelings.
I know, I should have warned you this was turning into an adoption blog. I promise to go back to my mildly irreverent talking about whatever catches my eye, soon-ish.
Now, on to important matters, this week’s inner dialogue. I have to talk about this somewhere. How about with my captive audience? Hey, that’s a good idea! They have to listen, and if I don’t want to hear their opinions I can just shut off comments. It’s a win, win. Okay, it’s a win for me.
Something that has surprised me, no one in my house really cares about all of this, not even a little bit. I mean, I’m used to being ignored, but that’s because I’m usually just being mom. This, this shit is going down in real life! I’m talking about my parents, a brother, a niece, a metric ton of information, and they’re all like, (looking over my shoulder) Is that your brother? Cool, can I borrow a 20?
Sigh.
Yes, as a matter of fact, you should be glad you aren’t my brother. I can hear you out there breathing a collective sigh of relief that I’m not going to try to corner you and talk about it, either. It’s gotten so bad, this week I put myself on a strict training program. I call it, LEAVE THE POOR MAN ALONE FOR A MINUTE. I failed miserably, every single day. I messaged him last night at 1:45 A.M..
What’s that? Impulse Control?
Impul-say Con-ter-ol, is that French or something?
What were we talking about? Oh yeah, feelings.
So, this picture was exciting to see. I can hold it in my hand. I texted a copy to my brother ( see, a legitimate reason to message him) and asked if he’d ever seen it. No, he hadn’t. Cool!
Then suddenly, from some previously undiscovered cranny deep inside me, erupted this behemoth of bitterness and unfettered animosity. She was not happy. I had to stop messaging, drive to the store for Macadamia Nut Chocolate Coconut cookies, take a long bath followed by a longer tear filled shower before I could present myself in public as a human again. Even then I didn’t chance it. I just went to bed, exhausted.
The next morning I felt like I’d had five too many Fireball n’ Coke’s. What the hell, people, this is supposed to be the good part!?
There are things that rational me knows. The behemoth doesn’t give a shit about that. She wanted to grow up in California with an annoying little brother. One annoying little brother. She doesn’t care that the wedding picture would never have happened if she’d stayed in California. Neither their apparent happiness nor knowledge of how their life would play out, placate her. She wants to hear their voices saying her name, bury her face against their shoulders. She wants to know that comforting smell. She could not care less that there’s a brother (I do, I care!). She wants a mother.
After I’ve fed the behemoth cookies and water has put out most of the fire, she goes back to her corner. She leaves the door open, though, so she can see what I’m doing. I go about my business, no one knows she’s there. Yes, I’m going to have to take her somewhere and let her talk out her side of the story. I will. I’ll let her cry and rage about the live she never lived.
Keep Moving, April 29, 2018
Summer is here.
Time for the blog’s warm weather pedicure.
I don’t know what happened to Spring; I have my suspicions. I’ve gone from wearing my down jacket two weeks ago, to my fleece last week, to a tank top and 82 degrees today. For those of you who enjoy seasons that last roughly 3-4 months, this next week will seriously mess you up. We will be enjoying temperatures in the 30’s, the 40’s, the 50’s, the 60’s and the 70’s. One by one, my co-workers and I are hauling our snow gear out to take up space in the trunks of our cars. No one wants to be the first to take everything home and jinx the rest of us. Don’t laugh! The year I moved here it snowed on Memorial Weekend.
Life is starting to settle into a kind of rhythm. No, not like crickets and Long Island Iced Tea. Think more like twenty-four hours with Jim Carrey.
Last week showed me a side of myself that is taking me awhile to work out. I’ve actually contacted a therapist here in town, acknowledging I just can’t work through all of this on my own. It’s wearisome to realize that the skills I’ve honed, the tools I’ve used to survive my whole life are not only ineffectual, but perhaps even offensive to my own brother. It highlights the strangeness of feeling an instant kinship/intimacy with the complete stranger who is your closest living blood relative.
I could really use a beach right now.
Just set my Kombucha down by me and keep moving. I have a lot to think about.
A really wonderful blog post about releasing shame by no longer hiding your truth, speaks to how important it is to embrace the uncovering of hidden parts of yourself. While I highly recommend the read over at TinyBuddha, the read is much easier than the do. I’ve been scrupulously open with my brother, determined to do this thing right. What I wasn’t prepared for is my need to protect myself when I reach a certain level of well, nakedness, for lack of a better term. I don’t like feeling naked. I don’t think it’s my best side. I get nervous, and when I get nervous I talk fast. I say stuff off the top of my head and work as hard as I can to stay several steps ahead of the conversation. I need to rebuild that girl, clothe her, cover her back up. This becomes especially problematic when my problem solving skills kick in. That’s when I tell you what you’re thinking.
He called me on it. He called me on it, and it hurt. Because I haven’t known him my entire life, I can’t read him. Because we mostly text, I don’t even have tone to go by. I was chagrined by how difficult it was for me to handle. A droplet of criticism. A man I’ve never met. Pass the Fireball, no, no glass, just hand over the bottle.
True, April 30, 2018
“I’ve been scrupulously open…”
I’ve been thinking about that phrase since I pushed publish last week.
scrupulously, flawlessly, accurately, precisely, exactly
also carefully.
I’m eyeing that last word with a bit of relief. “I’ve been carefully open….” I bet that was what I meant.
Let’s think for a minute, about the last time we shared intimate information about ourselves with no filter.
Who was the person we shared so completely with?
When I say intimately/completely I don’t mean in a necessarily sexual manner. I believe there are intimate acts that touch places far deeper than any of the various pleasures of modern sexuality.
When was the last time you were only you with another person?
When was the last time you held nothing back?
When I think back on my life, looking for moments of pure me, I immediately think of living in Hawaii. That was my first taste, though it wasn’t any kind of intimacy with another person. Rather, it was the unfettered joy of living for myself. It didn’t last nearly long enough. For years after I came back to the mainland, I tried to recreate that Hawaiian peace of mind. It’s funny to me now, thinking I could find that happiness in a flower, or a vintage print, or the smell of an airport.
It would take years to figure out. I remember where I was, lying on my bed in my apartment in Bismarck. I could hear the kids playing in the living room. I was exhausted, depressed and basically immobilized with a back injury. I had to crawl to the bathroom and depend on my ten-year old son to feed his sisters. I laid in bed and slept and cried and swore to myself I would not come back to this place. I would not let myself be brought here again. It didn’t feel like an epiphany. It felt like a breakdown. So, what does all this have to do with the unvarnished truth?
I’m generally quite introverted. Ask anyone I work with and they’ll tell you it took me a year or two, maybe more, before I let myself begin to have the immersive experience of my workplace, the chats and food in the break room, the after work drinks, speaking up in staff meetings.
When I contacted my newest brother, it was with the same caution, but something happened in that first conversation. That little girl I keep away from people came out to play. She never comes out, not in a first conversation. She stays hidden and listens, deciding if this person is to be trusted or not. That’s her usual M.O..
It wasn’t scary until later, early in the morning when I re-read the messages. I was shocked by my candor. Surprised by his simple acceptance, I tried to remember when I’d revealed so much in a first conversation. Never, I’m sure, not the truth anyway. Five weeks later, I’m still concerned, but this little girl part of me just skips around smiling at me. It’s as if she understands something I can’t quite put my finger on; She has faith in us, her and me.
He hasn’t heard all of my truth yet.
I hope we have years to come in which we are free to roam about each other’s dusty basement levels discovering. He’s a steady one, the logician who points out I’m getting nowhere by running around crashing into walls. I’m the emotional one, excitedly jumping from stone to stone ten steps in front of him, pointing out everything he already sees. I’ve tripped more than once while looking back to see if he’s watching. He stands me up, brushes me off and shakes his head. I know he doesn’t understand yet; I’m smiling like an idiot because it’s just me he’s seeing.
Birth Order, Smirth Order May 20, 2018
It’s like astrology, right? At times, scarily accurate, often having nothing whatsoever to do with your real life.
This could be me.
I’m the firstborn of my mother’s children.
I’m the youngest of my father’s children
I was raised as a middle child.
It should surprise no one, how much I talk to myself.
One Last Piece June 1, 2018
On April 30th, 2018, after an embarrassing amount of Facebook stalking, I sent this message to Mary Ann Crysler. The woman I was sure had been my dad's third wife.
Laura
Hello Mary Ann, my name is Laura Shaw. I’m contacting you in hopes of getting a little insight into the man who was my father, John Henry Crysler II. My mother was Vicky Fiero. I was given up for adoption in June of 1968 about 18 months before they married. It’s just been within the last two months that I’ve been able to uncover their identities and,not surprisingly, I’m pretty much all questions. From his obituary I’ve been able to find his children from his first marriage and that sort of led me to you. I don’t know what all they know about me, if anything, and thought perhaps the best way to go was to contact you and not impose on them. I’d love to chat with you a bit if you’re amenable.
Sincerely,
Laura Shaw
Mary Ann messaged me back that same night starting with this- Hello Laura, I am blown away by your message and this information, as you might guess. I would be happy to talk to you
We messaged back and forth for quite a while that evening and Mary Ann mentioned she would be seeing Jeff and Bridget soon, and she asked if she could tell them about me. We talked a bit more and I agreed if she thought it was a good idea, to go ahead.
We messaged and called off and on until May 19, 2018 when she met Jeff and Bridget for lunch. That was a very long Saturday for me. Finally at 7:07 pm that night I got a message from Mary Ann. She was so excited because it had gone very well. Before I was even done talking to her Bridget and Jeff had showed up on my FB page with a friend request.
Since that day, they haven't known a moment of peace. lol Just kidding, I've tried to act normal, keep it cool. Last night Bridget called my phone (speaking for Jeff, of course) and nearly gave me a heart attack. A wonderful, hilarious, not to be missed heart attack, but a little scary anyway, to see Jeffery Crysler on my caller ID. I even got to talk to Jeff for a few minutes. I'm told that is a rare thing, err, by Jeff.
I didn't get a chance to tell him last night, but, as an adopted child, it really does something to your insides, when you hear that voice on the other end of the line. Your brother's voice. It fills an empty place you've tried so hard to cover for so very long. It's difficult to explain, and I sound like an idiot doing it.
I think this covers pretty much the whole story up till now. I sent these messages to Jeff and Bridget, as a kind of introduction, I'll just add a bit to the beginning and some pictures.
I live in Bismarck, North Dakota with my husband Allen, and three kids. They are Jacob (18), Julia (13), and Jora (11).
Hi Jeff and Bridget, I hope you're still enjoying the prospect of yet another sibling, and a girl at that! Perhaps in the light of day you're re-thinking your enthusiasm, lol. I wouldn't blame you! I thought I should probably tell you how this all came about, in my words. I don't know what all Mary Ann said, so maybe I can fill in some holes? What I've discovered so far.... Well, maybe I'll go back a little further. I was born on June 19, 1968 in the Downey Hospital in Downey California. My mother was a college student, Vicky Sue Fiero. I was born, checked over to ascertain health, swaddled and rushed from the room. The only thing the nurses could tell my mom and her sister (to my knowledge your dad was not present and may well have never known about me) is the adoption was pre-arranged to a couple from Idaho. I was in my new home in Idaho by June 21, 1968. Fast forward almost fifty years, and last November my adopted dad died suddenly on Nov 4th, 3 years, almost to the day, that my adopted mom died. Last year for Christmas my husband gave me a DNA kit for Ancestry.com.
Laura
I was raised in a family with seven other children, all of us adopted. It was something we always knew. I've certainly dreamed of finding my birth parents my entire life. Thought about living in California. On the one trip we made to California, when I was 16, I just about made myself crazy looking for people who looked like me. My mom finally told me to snap out of it and just enjoy Disneyland, 'for pity's sake!"
 | ||
| The Ed and Arlene Williams Family of Rexburg Idaho, my family I grew up with. From L to R on the couch Alan, Dad with Mary on his lap, Mom, Me, Gerry with Heber on his lap. The front row is David and Jennie with Marie on her lap. |
 | ||
| Laura Baby Picture |
 | |
| Laura 5th grade |
 | ||
| At Jennie's high school graduation. Jennie is 18, Laura is 19 |
 |
 |
| Laura at about 3 or 4 |
 | ||
| Jake, Jora and Julia in Nov 17 |
 | |
| Allen(21) and Laura(26) Engagement Picture |
 |
| Michael Thomas, my younger brother. We share our Mom, Vicky Fiero. |
