Beautiful Florence

Now this is a story of about how my life-got-flip-turned-upside down, and I’d like to take a minute just sit right there and I’ll tell you…that most of you know this line comes from a hit television show from the 90’s. Not only that, each word of that first sentence is accurate…

My curiosity was taking over; I had to dig deeper and find out more. I asked J one afternoon if his parents knew the names of our biological parents. My adoptive parents had not been privy to this information when they adopted me, but it turns out that his parents knew their names (due to other circumstances surrounding his adoption). Armed with that information, I told my dad about it, asking him what he thought we might do if we were to reach out to contact someone. He told me of a website that had public information for people, similar to what would be available in a phone book. After just a few minutes of investigating, I had found the information for our biological mother, father, and paternal grandparents that I was looking for (assuming they were all in the state I wanted, which they were). My quick find had motivated me to take the next step. Holes in my life could be filled in, just by making a phone call. It seemed like a no-brainer, right? The courage that it would take to actually d-i-a-l the number wouldn’t come easy. My dad told me growing up that even when a situation was hard, I would face it and move on. Well, it was time to face the music. So, a few days later, I decided to make a phone call to my biological mother, to see if I could connect with her. Choosing her first was not coincidence, as my adoptive mother, the only mother I had ever known, had passed away 3 years earlier and I was looking for answers that I didn’t feel the need to seek out before. When I finally made the call, I wasn’t sure what I would hear or who would pick up, but here I was, throwing myself out there. To my surprise, my biological mother was in a home, and the number I had dialed was the right one for her, but I didn’t reach her directly. I asked if I could speak with her, was told that I couldn’t, but I would be able to speak to her next of kin who was responsible for her affairs…her mother.

After bible study on Wednesday of that week I decided to make a call to my mother’s mother, my biological grandmother. What happens when you make a call? Someone usually picks up the phone on the other end, and sure enough (with the “oh-geez-here-goes-nothing” attitude), she answered. I explained who I thought I was and immediately she said, “Do you know you have a brother named J?” I said that I did certainly, and that I was in touch with him. We talked easily, as though the relationship had existed for many years. She went on to explain that J and I had been torn apart, and referenced a specific argument between my biological parents that changed our lives forever. When this argument took place, our grandmother took J out of the apartment and to the local hospital to be looked after. Our biological father called the police on our grandmother and they met her at the hospital (on grounds that she kidnapped the child). She told the cops that they could take her to jail, but that they should first take a look at the baby and tell her that she did the wrong thing…then they could take her.  The cops did just that, went in to look at J, then walked out, just nodding to her as they left, admitting with one nod that the baby needed to be right where he was. From this point forward, J was removed from the care of our biological parents.

Fast-forward a short while and I was scheduled to arrive (just 16 months after J). Authorities asked my biological father what he would change to ensure that the behavior in the apartment would be different from before (when J was taken away). He simply said, “nothing”, and that was all. When I was born a few months later, there was a court order to remove me from the custody of my biological family and to place me into a foster home, where I landed at 6 days old. At that point, our grandmother knew that she would probably never hear of us again.

We had a great discussion on the phone, and I soon learned about her faith. She was not hiding it, and never had, she said. There was a time when she was angry with God because of the decision she was forced to make, essentially ruining her daughter’s chances at a normal life, by taking her children from her. Our grandmother felt that she had no choice and explained to me, “If it was you and your mother (my biological mother) drowning in the water, I would’ve saved you boys every time. My daughter has had a chance at life, you hadn’t, and ultimately that’s why I decided to do what I did, knowing full well what the consequences would be of taking J out of that apartment.”  Wow. Goose bumps? Check. If something was going to happen to your children or your grandchildren, of course you would do anything for them. What would happen, though, if you had to make that choice, knowing it would be better for them and worse for you, probably for the rest of your life? She told me how she prayed for our well-being every day, praying that God would protect us and to send us to good Christian homes. I was finally able to get in a few words (trust me, at 81, she’s a firecracker and goes off at about 10,000 words a minute), and I told her of my faith and my trust in the Lord. What a joy to find out that she shared the same faith that I did, and that we could talk of it freely. There was a true peace there, knowing first that God had opened the door to allow me to reach her, then to walk through it not knowing what would come.

Several months later, I had asked her if she would like to meet in person….“Yes that would make me very happy!!” There were other exclamatory remarks from her side, but too many to list (trust me), so I’ll leave them out. We set a time, and she said we would go to a local “restaurant” near her house. Well, little did I know how much she liked Burger King, so that’s where we were headed (you would never know she ate there by looking at her…she’s maybe 4’6” and 85 lbs. soaking wet). Anyway, I picked her up at her apartment and off we went. At the “restaurant” I was able to tell her how I felt the Lord had a word for her, and that because of her faithfulness to him, we were able to come together. She agreed but acknowledged, “I never thought I would be sitting across the table from you, one of my grandsons.” A little while later, I said good-bye, and she walked backward toward her door. She told me later that she didn’t want to turn around and miss a chance to see me leave. I could only image what this woman must have been feeling at the time. She was responsible for taking her grandchildren away and then to have one of them return as an adult and enjoy some time with her must have overwhelmed her. She cried as soon as she walked through her door (happy tears, I’ve been assured).

We continued to stay in touch, and an opportunity had presented itself for our grandmother to meet my family. She had a chance to meet our daughter, her only great-grandchild, and they connected instantly…although our 2-year-old daughter made it easy when she said to her great-grandmother, “Could you write Dora?” on her doodle pad. Several “Dora’s” and numbers later, she was walking our daughter to the car. I couldn’t help but stop at that moment and appreciate what I saw. There it was, a three-generation difference, walking hand-in-hand toward our car. It hit me later, but what I was looking at was worth its weight in gold. She continues to pour out her love toward our daughter, and it’s a special relationship that they share.

On another separate occasion in 2012, an opportunity presented itself where both J and I were in Ohio on one of our journeys together. We had a plan to meet our grandmother for lunch one day at a restaurant near her house. Not Burger King. We ordered our sandwiches and were able to get to the heart of the matter very quickly. J spoke of how his life was literally saved by her, passing his gratitude along with that of his adoptive parents. I echoed the sentiment, stating that without her, we wouldn’t be where we are in life, wouldn’t have had the opportunities that we did to really live and to be loved like we might not have been otherwise. She was very humble about it all, saying how she just did what she felt was right. She explained how she never thought she’d have both of us together at the same time, and you could tell how moved she was to have us both (“my boys!” she said on more than one occasion). Then she did something I’ll never forget. J has a small scar on one of his hands from something that was done to him while he was in custody of our biological parents. Without saying a word, she very gently leaned in and kissed the scar. Her arms brought him to safety, saving his life, and 33 years later, she brought healing with one kiss. Where’s that daytime television special now? There were no cameras; it was real. I felt like holes in my life were again filled in at that moment watching from across the table. Conversation then easily flowed, moving to our jobs, what did we enjoy doing, our current adventure together, amongst other things. In the midst of our conversation, the food came. The sandwiches we ordered were huge! At first, they mistakenly gave her one of our sandwiches, and she laughed! Oh, how she laughed…almost like she hadn’t had anything to laugh so hard about in a looooong time. She said, “How’s a woman like me supposed to eat that!?” She calmed down only slightly when they corrected the error and showed her that her sandwich was smaller. But not by much.

As we prepared to leave, I asked that the server take a picture of us, as we wanted to remember the moment. As we’re standing next to her on either side, she said, “Woahhh, you’re both so tall, and I’m so short! Maybe I should stand on that chair over there!” We said that wouldn’t be necessary. As the server was taking our picture, other servers started to gather ‘round when she said, “These are my grandsons, and this is the first time we’ve all been together!” In that instant, she had the servers laughing AND on the verge of tears. She laughed and laughed once she saw the picture and how “mini” she looked. There she was. Our grandmother Florence. Beautiful Florence. Captured in a photograph between “her boys”. The picture would have looked much different 32 years ago had she not saved us. We will do our best to change the picture now so that we might be able to save her.

D