As some of you know, I was given up for adoption at birth.  I always knew I was adopted and had constructed scenarios over the years about who my birth family was, and what the circumstances were that made them give me away.  I never felt badly about being adopted, but the irony wasn’t lost on me when my parent’s marriage self-destructed and then they each began to self-destruct.

Being adopted eventually wound up being a comfort to me when I realized that I wasn’t biologically connected to my parents, some of whose issues must have been genetic.  It also provided a creative outlet for me because I had a built-in Mystery.  One day, I could be the lost heir to a throne someplace, or the next day I could be a truck-stop waitress’ son.  Over the years, I developed all kinds of story lines to account for the big Unknown of my lineage.

It wasn’t a secret that I was adopted, so people always had comments and questions – chief among which was about locating my natural parents.  I had no interest in finding them however, being very content with that particular unknown.  As I said, each day they could be something different.  If I found out who they were, that would put an end to that – there would be no un-knowing the facts of my birth.  So I took no steps to find out who they were.

That changed when Mary Elizabeth and I met.  She made a compelling case for finding out more information – perhaps because she wanted to know what she was getting into – but certainly when we had children. I was resistant at first, but she continued being gently, respectfully persuasive and it was when we were expecting our first child in 1998 that I had a realization.

That baby would be the first blood relative I had ever meet.

So we set about trying to learn more about my birth parents.  That story is a separate post in and of itself so I won’t go into detail, but in July, 2000 my birthmother stepped off a plane at Laguardia airport and came home with us for a weekend.

It was a dramatic moment, made more so by the people who were waiting alongside us for somebody else on that flight.  We told them what we were doing there when the flight was delayed, so by the time the plane arrived at the gate, they were weeping copiously at this “Oprah moment” unfolding before their eyes.

We spent the weekend together getting to know each other.  She met a new granddaughter, and showed us pictures of my new siblings – two half-sisters and a half-brother. It was intense – in a good way – and strange.  Several months later, we traveled to Texas to see them all, and brought with us the news that Mary Elizabeth was expecting twins. It was a great time.

In the 11 years since then, there have been visits, letters, cards and gifts exchanged.  There’s been less direct communication now, but thanks to Facebook and this blog, we’re keeping up to date (hi guys!)

There’s no template for a relationship like this one; we kind of just make it up as we go along, doing what feels right – or sometimes what just feels easy – as we move forward with thankfulness, love and a sure sense that there’s a future together.

There’s no model for a marriage affected by stroke either.  Mary Elizabeth and I are still very much in love, and share many of the things we did before the stroke.  But it’s no secret that things have changed, and as dedicated readers of this blog know, it hasn’t been easy at times and I’ve been particularly challenged accepting the new me, the new Mary Elizabeth and the new Us.  I’ll repeat what I just said above:

There’s no template for a relationship like this one; we kind of just make it up as we go along, doing what feels right – or sometimes what just feels easy – as we move forward with thankfulness, love and a sure sense that there’s a future together.