It’s never too late to get to know your family.
Adri and her boys.
I met Adri at my half-brother’s memorial service. She was his cousin, but they were raised so closely, she said he felt more like a brother. Afterward, she friended me on Facebook and said, “If you ever get to Michigan, you’ve got a place to stay.” Highly unlikely, I thought at the time, but I was touched by the generous gesture.
I’d met Adri’s parents and sister, Jessica, in 1976 at my father’s courthouse marriage to his second wife, Vicky. That was an event wrought with jumbled emotions for my siblings and me, and one I barely remember. But at Rich’s service, Vicky’s sister, Sandy, also extended an invitation to visit anytime. When Sandy and Adri saw through the blog that we were headed in their direction, they both made sure we knew their invitations were serious.
Sandy and her husband, Neal, have a century-old farmhouse in Stevensville (next to St. Joseph), where they raised their girls. It has a huge flat yard with plenty of room for Bessie. They have an RV themselves, which they moved off the drive to give Bessie the prime parking spot.
Sandy and Neal.
“This could be a little weird,” I warned Kate as we were driving there. It’s not like she didn’t know the circumstances. After that courthouse marriage, things went sour between Dad’s first family and his second, and by the time my half-brother was born, we were barely speaking. When Dad and Vicky moved, they left no forwarding address, and for many years, we had no idea where they were. Vicky probably got more than her share of the blame for the way things went, but her name was a bad word in our house.
It was only after Vicky died unexpectedly in 2005 that Dad reached out to his “original” kids. He even went to see my mom, who had Alzheimer’s and her rage against him had faded to bewildered warmth. In 2007, we kids set aside decades of deep pain and resentment and all went to Missouri for Dad’s 80th birthday. That’s when I met my half-brother, Rich, for the first time. He was 30, he had my green eyes, and I liked him instantly. Four years later, Rich died suddenly of cancer.
Marco with Gypsy.
Connecting with Vicky’s family was not something I ever expected to do, but I’m glad we did. They welcomed us with such warmth and enthusiasm. Adri came over with her two boys, and we all hung out in their spacious yard with the pets. Gypsy got to see her first cat, but Sam was highly disinterested and made himself scarce the rest of our visit. Their dog, Marco, fell in love with Gypsy and followed her everywhere, showing her gentle affection and snarling at anyone who came between them.
St. Joseph Harbor.
Adri and the boys took us on a little tour of St. Joseph, and we walked down the pier, past the lighthouse, watching sailboats come and go. She talked about Rich, their shared childhoods and close friendship into adulthood, what a true mensch he was. It’s still so hard for her that he is gone. Back at the house, Sandy and Neal grilled steak and shrimp kabobs, and by the end of the evening, we’d gotten beyond chatting to real talk, and I felt an unexpected kinship with these people I barely knew.
Sandy looks a lot like Vicky, and that threw me at first. Vicky, like Sandy, was beautiful and smart and talkative. But there was a brittleness to her, a simmering brew inside. She had claws to watch out for. Sandy, on the other hand, wears her heart on her sleeve. It’s a big heart, and her sentiments are genuine. It was lulling, almost, watching her. Listening to her stories, her passionate bursts of opinions, followed by little gulps of apologies. It reminded me of the parts of Vicky I really liked, and a side of Vicky I wish had been there.
Hanging out in the yard.
By the time Neal had served up blueberry pancakes in the morning, we were all wishing for more time together, and we decided to stay another day. Adri went to work after breakfast, but the boys stayed and swam in the pool most of the day. Kate and I did about ten loads of laundry and took care of some errands, including buying Gypsy a carrying case, vest (ferret-sized), and leash. Bailey and Gypsy were so comfortable hanging out in the yard, I think Bailey wished we’d just move in. Sandy and Neal took us and Adri out to a great place for dinner, and the next morning, Adri came over again for a breakfast feast.
We were in no rush to leave that second morning, and when we did, it was with big bear hugs and hopes for meeting up again before the year is out. What an odd thing, to connect after all these years. I still can’t quite make the leap to think of Sandy as my aunt. (She’s only a couple years older than me.) But I definitely feel as if I’ve found new members of my family, and I’m so grateful they reached out.
Adri took this photo of us.