Sibling Love

As soon as my ex-sister-in-law contacted me with the news that Dallas’s grandfather had taken a bit of a turn for the worse, I knew we had to go see him. We could not have known that Grandpa Wayne would die within just a few hours of our first visit with him in 13 years.

Many months back I went on Facebook and found Dallas’s little sister and her family. They were immediately open to us and we quickly exchanged photos and stories. Like Dallas, a wonderful man adopted his sister Jodee and raised her as his own.

You know, men get a lot of bad press and there’s no doubt that some of it is deserved. I mean, men have the luxury of walking away from their children, and many do. BUT, there are tons of great men out there who become daddies not because they have to, but because they want to! Dallas and Jodee have both been blessed with that kind of a daddy.

As soon as I knew we would be traveling to Memphis, I contacted Jodee and her mom, Carm. They live five hours from where we’d be staying and I told them we’d love to visit. They gave us a resounding “YES”, and even offered up their home to us.

On a chilly Saturday morning in March, Dallas and I made the drive through some of the most beautiful countryside in America. The Amish communities in Missouri are just gorgeous. The rolling hills are dotted with big barns, simple wooden houses wrapped in wide porches, cattle, and lush trees reaching to the sky.

As soon as we walked in the house my son and his sister embraced as their moms cried happy tears—as moms are wont to do. Carm captured the moment on video and I snapped still pictures.

Carm and I look nothing alike, but our children share so many physical similarities. DNA is an interesting thing. Dallas and Jodee both have blue eyes, the same nose, and that cleft in the chin. I loved Carm and Jodee the moment I met them.

We had a great few days with the family. Carm, Darin, their other daughter Kiera, and Jodee are just fabulous. We spent the first evening eating and laughing. On Sunday we went to church in the morning, and hung out in Branson, MO all afternoon. Sunday night – more eating and laughing.

Later Sunday evening we watched a video Carm had of her family celebrating Christmas 1988. It was of interest to us because that’s when Carm and Terry were together, and he was featured prominently with the rest of the family as they celebrated the holiday.

I wasn’t prepared for the tears that came when I heard Terry’s voice and saw his face staring back at me from the television monitor. He would have been 29 that year—so much hope and promise. If love had been enough, Terry would have been wildly successful. I loved him, Carm loved him, and our families loved him too. His own family showered love and favor onto that boy (his Grandma Mattie doted on him).

I watched on that tape as Carm’s family interacted with its youngest member – a one-year-old boy with bright eyes and blond hair. Dallas was 4 in 1988, and he hadn’t received a birthday card or Christmas nod from Terry in three years. I stared at that grainy old VHS video—looking for any sign that my son’s dad was thinking about him on that day. Was he? I don’t know.

Everywhere we went on our trip, people were always saying, “Wow, Dallas looks so much like Terry.” Dallas had seen pictures, but as the tape played that night, he was listening to Terry’s voice and watching his mannerisms for the first time. Jodee didn’t remember ever seeing any pictures, so this was all new to her. We all now agree that, when comparing them side-by-side, Dallas did not look quite as much like Terry as we thought he did (although the similarities are unmistakable).

My marriage to Terry was hard and there have been times I wished it never happened. However, because of him, we now have an extended family in Missouri for whom we are so grateful. Dallas loves his sister Giana so much and watching them together is a blast. He summed up Jodee as “tight" and if they’d been raised together he imagines he’d have a similar relationship with her that he has with Gia. They were awfully darn cute together.

Dallas and his sister, Jodee

So, to all the family members who hosted us when Dallas and I were in Tennessee, Mississippi, and Missouri – thank you! You guys rock, and I can’t wait to see how our relationship grows over the years ahead.

Finding My Son's Sister

Before I tell you about the amazing moment when Dallas met his other little sister for the first time, let me tell you how I first learned of her.

Even though Tom isn’t Dallas’s birth father, he’s the only daddy my son has ever known. Tom had planned on adopting Dallas from the moment he kissed me goodnight after our first date. Yes, HE kissed ME—don’t believe anything you might hear to the contrary. :-)

In 1988 Dallas was 4 years old and Tom and I had been married for two years. We gave a lawyer $200 to begin the adoption process, but shortly thereafter he closed up shop and skipped town. It would be five years before we could start the ball rolling again.

We did all the adoption heavy lifting ourselves—filing paperwork, securing letters from family, putting ads in local newspapers, etc… Terry had never made any real attempt to see Dallas, despite receiving a letter from him in 1989 in which he promised to come see his son soon. He never paid a dime of court-ordered child support. He said, “God told me” he didn’t have to pay because he was “going to win custody”.

I had to prove I’d done all I could to give my ex-husband ample opportunity to respond to the adoption request, so I worked like crazy to try to track him down.

Terry’s dad hadn’t talked to him in years and his mom stopped contacting us when Dallas was about five years old. I’d always sent both grandparents letters and pictures of their grandson. They’d been divorced for years and did not live near one another.

Grandpa Wayne was great at keeping in touch with his first-born grandchild. However, one day I sent an envelope filled with new Dallas pictures to Grandma, and it came back to me with the red words “return to sender” stamped on the front. The phone number I had was disconnected and she stopped sending birthday cards and Christmas cards. We wouldn’t hear from her again for many years.

I knew Terry had gotten married again after we divorced, but I was pretty sure they were no longer together. I had to find her.

Vicki had lived with my son’s father in Springfield, Missouri. I called long distance information and dialed the number provided to me by the operator. Vicki answered the phone. She told me they’d gotten divorced and she had no idea where Terry was living. I asked her if they’d had any kids—if maybe my son had a brother or sister we didn’t know about.

Sadly, Vicki had miscarried, but yes, Terry had fathered a child in Missouri. Shortly before he married Vicki, a young woman from a small town 20 minutes outside of Springfield had given birth to his daughter. She gave me the mom’s name and I think she even had a phone number. As soon as we said goodbye, I dialed the number I held in my hand.

The young mom who answered the phone was delightful, and so happy to chat with me. That night I learned that Dallas’s little sister was five years younger than him. Like my son, she had a cleft in her chin, blue eyes, and blond hair. Her name was Jodee.

You Have Another Sister!

I love roller coasters. I check and recheck the safety strap and shoulder harness as the car gets pulled higher and higher, moving slowly up to the top of the coaster mountain. Every once in a while the wheels on the under carriage catch and the car lurches slightly. Then you realize…what goes up, must come down! Aaaaahhhhh!

I’ve written about some of the deep dives and scary turns, but on this Wild Ride Wednesday I’ll tell about a surprising high in my life—a mountaintop high.

My phone rang. It was my dad’s voice on the other end of the line. I didn’t hear from my father very often – maybe a couple times a month – and a phone call usually meant he had something on his mind.

“I’d like you to come over to see me. Can you stop by the store some time tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

My dad was a checker at the Safeway grocery store. He’d had that job for as far back as I could remember.

I walked up to the front door of the large market and the automatic double doors slid open. Dad was working the middle lane and was ringing up a costumer’s order when I walked up to the end of the counter. Dad gave the woman her change and told her to have a great day. He looked at me.

“You have another sister.”

My parents had been divorced for about 22 years, and Dad had had a girlfriend or two in the ensuing years. The fact that he might have fathered another child didn’t surprise me. I was, however, surprised by her age.

“How old is she?” I felt a wave of curiosity wash over me like a warm shower.

“She’s nine.”

Nine years old? Was he kidding? My oldest son was nine!

Later that afternoon I went to Dad’s house. He went to his closet and brought out a shoebox filled with neatly folded letters, holiday cards, and lots of photographs. He took out a picture and put it in my hand. The smiling little girl was my sister!

I immediately fell in the love with the blue-eyed girl with long dark blond curls. My mommy heart and my sister love came spilling out. She looked just like my kids and my siblings. She could have walked in the door at that moment and I would have known she was family. Her mom and dad had done a fabulous job of keeping my dad in the loop as his little girl grew over the years.

Megan always knew she was adopted and now that she was 9 ½ years old she was asking questions about her biological family. The adoption agency had contacted Dad and asked him for more info. He asked me to write a letter.

I wrote to Megan’s mom and told her all about the family. From my dad’s branch of the family tree, Megan had three older sisters and an older brother. She also had nieces and nephews that were just about the same age as her. It turned out, in fact, that Megan and my son Dallas had been due the same week in late 1984. Megan was born a few weeks earlier than she was expected, and therefore she was three weeks older than her oldest nephew.

Before long I was getting to know my sister’s adoptive mom over a lovely lunch at the Peppermill Restaurant in Fresno. On a beautiful summer day in 1994 Tina, Sheila, Robby, and I met our baby sister. We’ve had the privilege of being a part of her life ever since.

Each morning we wake up thinking it’s just going to be another day, but we never know what surprise might be around the next sharp turn of the wild ride that is life.