Note: I want to make sure that those of you who follow my blog get a chance to see this guest blog, over on my pal Ellen Graf-Martin’s blog. She asked me to write about why I’m grateful for my adoption story, and all this richness spilled out.
My dad the Bookseller.
World War 2.
Books and story.
It’s all here! I would be honoured (Canadian spelling, which is appropriate for Canadian Thanksgiving!) if you read this very special blog!
Here’s how it starts:
“In 1967, a handsome young physical education teacher and a pretty young teacher’s college student had a fleeting romance, or, as my birth father would describe it to me 45 years later, “4 or 5 encounters.” At some point in those encounters, I was conceived. My first parents did not love each other. In fact, they would grow to loathe each other.
Vulnerable and alone in the big city of Winnipeg, my birth mother would resolve to give birth to me in total secret; her short term boyfriend had already fled the scene with dizzying speed.
I was born on a snowy Wednesday in March, 1968, to a 22-year-old mother who wept as I was taken out of her arms. She was alone in the cab which drove her from the hospital to her shabby apartment with its mattress on the floor, and a sleeping bag for a bedspread.
My story began in this mess, in the debris of lust, loathing, abandonment and grief. Yet this messy beginning would not have the last word…”
Click on link to read the rest. Also, some folks have said this made them think of their own family stories. Why not celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving and share why YOU are grateful for your story?