San Francisco Dreamin'
30 September 2007
Sibling Update - Not Scared Any Longer
Heather from The Wishful Writer comments that she and her partner are getting serious about having kids. Fabulous! (See her comment on my last post.) It was important to us to have a "known donor" as well. But, you know, when you first make the decision, and you're trying to Just.Get.Pregnant, the idea of ever meeting the donor is worlds away. Even so, I have sometimes wondered if we would even "run into" a sibling some day - since we knew there would be a maximum of 10 births possible. But, back then, it was so far into the future of possibilities it didn't seem quite real.
Then a decade passes, and someone on the Great Internet tilted the table a bit by providing a Donor Sibling Registry. All of a sudden, all bets are off. And by mutual agreement we are enabled to get to know half-siblings and their parents. I wonder if the donor looks at the registry... Perhaps he views all this with some trepidation. It will be a while before we know that - unless he reveals himself before the eldest child's eighteenth birthday.
So, back to the here and now.
It turns out that Indiana Mom who contacted us is a single Mom who wanted a child. After a couple email exchanges, we sent her a picture of the girls together taken one afternoon when we were on roadtrip. It is a fun picture, they were playfully hugging one another in the cold wind off the ocean. A few days later Indiana Mom sent us a picture of her daughter at 10 years old (she is 11 years old now). I'll call her "P," since I don't have their permission to expose their identies.
P had the same dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. She is a pretty girl, and JB thinks her eyes look very much like our Cait's (our older daughter's) eyes. I don't know about that. Maybe a little, but P is a bit on the "chunky" side, rather than on the very lean side as are Cait and her sister Zoe. Cait is four months older than P and is a tall beanpole (a term my brother used to call me when I was her age).
Indiana Mom also included a couple of email addresses of other parents. So, I was mulling this around in my head as I set the table for dinner. Then it dawned on me. I knew one of those names. It had stood out but I didn't know why at the time. It needed to roll around in my head until it finally came to me - it was the name of a fairly well-known lawyer in lesbian circles in San Francisco who handles second parent adoptions and tenant disputes. So. She has a son by the same donor.
As we both talk about this, getting used to the idea, it is getting easier to understand, to figure out going forward how we want to handle this hot potato.
(Well, sometimes that is what it feels like - a hot potato!)
We're going to start deliberately opening up the topic a little more than we usually do, a little at a time, to give the girls opportunities to ask questions. Although nearly two years younger, Zoe has been a lot more inquisitive about the donor than her older sister has ever been. I expect she'll be our guiding force.
Viva la familia!
Then a decade passes, and someone on the Great Internet tilted the table a bit by providing a Donor Sibling Registry. All of a sudden, all bets are off. And by mutual agreement we are enabled to get to know half-siblings and their parents. I wonder if the donor looks at the registry... Perhaps he views all this with some trepidation. It will be a while before we know that - unless he reveals himself before the eldest child's eighteenth birthday.
So, back to the here and now.
It turns out that Indiana Mom who contacted us is a single Mom who wanted a child. After a couple email exchanges, we sent her a picture of the girls together taken one afternoon when we were on roadtrip. It is a fun picture, they were playfully hugging one another in the cold wind off the ocean. A few days later Indiana Mom sent us a picture of her daughter at 10 years old (she is 11 years old now). I'll call her "P," since I don't have their permission to expose their identies.
P had the same dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. She is a pretty girl, and JB thinks her eyes look very much like our Cait's (our older daughter's) eyes. I don't know about that. Maybe a little, but P is a bit on the "chunky" side, rather than on the very lean side as are Cait and her sister Zoe. Cait is four months older than P and is a tall beanpole (a term my brother used to call me when I was her age).
Indiana Mom also included a couple of email addresses of other parents. So, I was mulling this around in my head as I set the table for dinner. Then it dawned on me. I knew one of those names. It had stood out but I didn't know why at the time. It needed to roll around in my head until it finally came to me - it was the name of a fairly well-known lawyer in lesbian circles in San Francisco who handles second parent adoptions and tenant disputes. So. She has a son by the same donor.
"JB, look! I recognize this name. She is a lawyer who has published papers on gay and lesbian adoptions."Okay, so sometimes we're not always on the same train of thought - not even on the same track. I put out the salt and pepper and explained,
JB looked at me with a sort of quizzed expression, "But, you've already adopted the girls. Why do we need to see a lawyer?"
"No, no, no. She's one of the names that Indiana Mom sent us - she has a son by the same donor we used! Don't you see - she and her partner are here and accessible!"I could see the lightbulb click "on" over her head.
"Oh! Oh. Hmmm. We gotta think more about that. That makes it all that much more real doesn't it? I mean, it's not just some possibility, it's more real."Sure does.
As we both talk about this, getting used to the idea, it is getting easier to understand, to figure out going forward how we want to handle this hot potato.
(Well, sometimes that is what it feels like - a hot potato!)
We're going to start deliberately opening up the topic a little more than we usually do, a little at a time, to give the girls opportunities to ask questions. Although nearly two years younger, Zoe has been a lot more inquisitive about the donor than her older sister has ever been. I expect she'll be our guiding force.
Viva la familia!
Labels: family
posted by Tawanda at 5:38 PM
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25 September 2007
Siblings - What to do...
As I have said in an earlier post, (or maybe it was a comment I made elsewhere?) JB and I have two daughters. They were conceived via what is referred to as a "known donor." What this means is that when the girls are 18, the donor has agreed to meet them. They both have the same donor-father. You see we went through a reproductive service in San Francisco. We were presented with a list of prospective donors, and we chose one that best suited our likes and dislikes. Neither of us has ever seen a picture - not allowed. But woman we worked with did know the donor, and she said he had beautiful eyes and his ancestry matched mine, which was very nice since I wasn't to be the bio-mom.
The girls have been everything we had hoped and dreamed about. They are each sweet and wonderful kids, and we are proud to be their mothers.
Fast forward about a decade... to a couple of months ago, while JB was sleeping, I was watching flipping through the TV channels. She was lying next me in bed, peacefully snoring away (as usual - heh). I stopped on channel 3 because they were teasing the next story - something about a donor siblings. It was NBC Dateline. They were doing a story about a young man, Ryan Kramer, who wanted to find out about his own donor and if he had any siblings. He is a very bright kid and he put together a website called the Donor Sibling Registry.
The possibilities came raining down on me. Our donor could have up to 10 pregnancies - is it possible that we could actually find out about the girls' half-siblings? How would the girls feel about that? We haven't yet explained to them about meeting the other half of their DNA. We haven't even thought about their half-siblings.
As soon as the show was over I went to my computer and looked up the registry. I looked up our donor, and I was astounded to find that other parents had listed the off-spring of the same donor that we used. There were five siblings already posted. Oh. My. Gawd.
In order to see the messages posted by the parents, I had to subscribe for a year. The next day JB and I discussed it, and we decided to go ahead and post the birth month and years of our daughters, and a little message about them. It was a big step for us. We took it with a bit of trepidation, but I am not quite sure why?
Fast forward again to today. This morning when I checked my email there was a message from one of the mothers of an eleven year old girl in Indiana. She says that she has exchanged email and information with other half-sibling parents. She wanted to know if we wanted to do the same? Again, should we take the next step? Is it time? Are we ready? We talked about it.
And we talked.
We decided it was time to take a small step forward and share information in hopes of finding our way with the other parents. I think it could make the road a little less lonely, if not for us, then maybe for the kids.
I'm still a little scared, but I don't know why...
The girls have been everything we had hoped and dreamed about. They are each sweet and wonderful kids, and we are proud to be their mothers.
Fast forward about a decade... to a couple of months ago, while JB was sleeping, I was watching flipping through the TV channels. She was lying next me in bed, peacefully snoring away (as usual - heh). I stopped on channel 3 because they were teasing the next story - something about a donor siblings. It was NBC Dateline. They were doing a story about a young man, Ryan Kramer, who wanted to find out about his own donor and if he had any siblings. He is a very bright kid and he put together a website called the Donor Sibling Registry.
The possibilities came raining down on me. Our donor could have up to 10 pregnancies - is it possible that we could actually find out about the girls' half-siblings? How would the girls feel about that? We haven't yet explained to them about meeting the other half of their DNA. We haven't even thought about their half-siblings.
As soon as the show was over I went to my computer and looked up the registry. I looked up our donor, and I was astounded to find that other parents had listed the off-spring of the same donor that we used. There were five siblings already posted. Oh. My. Gawd.
In order to see the messages posted by the parents, I had to subscribe for a year. The next day JB and I discussed it, and we decided to go ahead and post the birth month and years of our daughters, and a little message about them. It was a big step for us. We took it with a bit of trepidation, but I am not quite sure why?
Fast forward again to today. This morning when I checked my email there was a message from one of the mothers of an eleven year old girl in Indiana. She says that she has exchanged email and information with other half-sibling parents. She wanted to know if we wanted to do the same? Again, should we take the next step? Is it time? Are we ready? We talked about it.
And we talked.
We decided it was time to take a small step forward and share information in hopes of finding our way with the other parents. I think it could make the road a little less lonely, if not for us, then maybe for the kids.
I'm still a little scared, but I don't know why...
Labels: donor
posted by Tawanda at 7:02 PM
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21 September 2007
The Long Cold Shadow
We have been a very lucky family - so far. Cancer has not found its way to the vast majority of us living today. One notable exception might be one sister-in-law who has been (and still is) treated for a brain tumor. She is in her mid-sixties and her cancer is in remission. We are so very thankful.
A good friend and co-worker's family has not been so lucky. Two years ago his wife was having problems swallowing. The family was getting ready to take their yearly June vacation up north and she thought she'd better go to have it checked out by the doctor. X-rays and scans detected the devastating tendrils of a cancer seeking her vocal chords. I remember talking to Joe about it. We were in his office shooting the breeze about this and that. Neither of us talks much about our personal lives outside of bragging rights about our kids. We have mutual friends, but Joe and I don't socialize. Different circles, and all that. But, I like Joe a lot. He's one of the Good Guys. So, I stepped over the boundary separating work and home and asked,
You know that's not the end of the story, right?
So then, earlier this year, the cancer reared its head anew. This time its tendrils were wending their way into her chest. By late spring, Joan couldn't walk fifty feet without stopping to rest. I asked Joe why that was?
Joe and I were working again together one afternoon early last week. We had been working through an engrossing problem. Finally, as we relaxed and chatted a bit, I realized it was late afternoon and his calendar had said that he would be away that afternoon. He has been taking Joan to UCSF every two weeks for treatment - this was supposed to the day they went back into the City. So I asked him what was up?
Cancer casts a long, cold shadow.
A good friend and co-worker's family has not been so lucky. Two years ago his wife was having problems swallowing. The family was getting ready to take their yearly June vacation up north and she thought she'd better go to have it checked out by the doctor. X-rays and scans detected the devastating tendrils of a cancer seeking her vocal chords. I remember talking to Joe about it. We were in his office shooting the breeze about this and that. Neither of us talks much about our personal lives outside of bragging rights about our kids. We have mutual friends, but Joe and I don't socialize. Different circles, and all that. But, I like Joe a lot. He's one of the Good Guys. So, I stepped over the boundary separating work and home and asked,
"Hey Joe. How is your wife doing?"He looked at me for a moment. His look was tinged with a small bit of sadness, wariness, and a measure of grace.
"Well, we've got a date for surgery. The doctors say it will be tricky, but they think they can get most, if not all of the cancer. It's twining itself around Joan's vocal chords. The worst of it is that they don't know if she'll be able to talk after all is said and done."Fast forward a bit. Joan's voice did come back, if a bit raspy and without a lot of volume. By Christmas things were looking up. Maybe the surgeon did get it all. He said he couldn't be sure. There might be some bits left behind, because of the vocal chords he couldn't cut everything away without paralyzing them.
You know that's not the end of the story, right?
So then, earlier this year, the cancer reared its head anew. This time its tendrils were wending their way into her chest. By late spring, Joan couldn't walk fifty feet without stopping to rest. I asked Joe why that was?
"The cancer has started wrapping itself around her aorta."I stared at him in disbelief. How can that be? The surgeon wasn't able to get all of the cancer, and it had started growing again. Kaiser sent them to a cancer treatment center about 40 miles from here. They had never seen this kind of cancer and wouldn't even attempt to treat her. Next, they tried UC San Francisco. Chemo-therapy and radiation were on the menu - but it was difficult find a good combination. Thankfully, Joan improved with each treatment. She could walk around the block, play with the kids, cook and sometimes even drive them to school. In short, she had her life back again.
Joe and I were working again together one afternoon early last week. We had been working through an engrossing problem. Finally, as we relaxed and chatted a bit, I realized it was late afternoon and his calendar had said that he would be away that afternoon. He has been taking Joan to UCSF every two weeks for treatment - this was supposed to the day they went back into the City. So I asked him what was up?
"We were supposed to go to UCSF today, but there was no point. They said the treatment is no longer working. It's growing again."Their struggles continue. I am reminded of that saying, "There but for the grace of God goes I." I cannot imagine what it must be like to being in the great shadow of death. On the one hand, it is a gift of sorts. You can choose to live with meaning and purposefulness - but you live knowing you may not see your children grow into adults. You cannot live fully for the pain and weakness. Chilling.
Cancer casts a long, cold shadow.
Labels: illness
posted by Tawanda at 2:50 AM
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20 September 2007
This Marriage Thing
I never really wanted to be married. Marriage always meant boundaries and financial responsibilities. I never even wanted kids. Not in my deck of cards, I thought.
So, it has always been with some small measure of ambivalence that I view the efforts by the gay community to gain marriage rights. This is not to say that I think that the effort is misguided. Not in the least. The right to marry is actually the the achievement of legal standing to co-mingle ones rights with that of one other person. In this country, it is the legal mingling of a male and a female rights to act as one entity - as a married couple. I want that for myself and my partner and our children. We do not have it. Instead we have reams of paper, powers of attorney, etc., attempting to find some level playing field with one marriage license.
No, I am certainly not opposed equality in marriage rights for gays and lesbians. I am proud to stand up for it as an institution for all, and I am proud that so many others are taking a stand as well.
It is just the personal side of the marriage thing that keeps coming back to me. Many years ago my proposal of marriage to JB was accepted.
I still don't know what I was thinking.
It must have been some damned romantic surge inside of me that goaded the question out into the open. I was possessed. Where did that come from? I wondered. Well, I was hopelessly in love, for one thing. Love, of course, has been known to addle the brain.
I am still hopelessly in love with my JB. And, I have never regretted beingmarried in a committed relationship - but I am reminded every day that we are not legally married. My paycheck reminds me. My last name reminds me. Filling out forms reminds me. Social Security reminds me - my own spouse cannot benefit from my social security. After all - our society won't allow it. Another reason why it is called "Social" Security?
It's a conundrum.
So, it has always been with some small measure of ambivalence that I view the efforts by the gay community to gain marriage rights. This is not to say that I think that the effort is misguided. Not in the least. The right to marry is actually the the achievement of legal standing to co-mingle ones rights with that of one other person. In this country, it is the legal mingling of a male and a female rights to act as one entity - as a married couple. I want that for myself and my partner and our children. We do not have it. Instead we have reams of paper, powers of attorney, etc., attempting to find some level playing field with one marriage license.
No, I am certainly not opposed equality in marriage rights for gays and lesbians. I am proud to stand up for it as an institution for all, and I am proud that so many others are taking a stand as well.
It is just the personal side of the marriage thing that keeps coming back to me. Many years ago my proposal of marriage to JB was accepted.
I still don't know what I was thinking.
It must have been some damned romantic surge inside of me that goaded the question out into the open. I was possessed. Where did that come from? I wondered. Well, I was hopelessly in love, for one thing. Love, of course, has been known to addle the brain.
I am still hopelessly in love with my JB. And, I have never regretted being
It's a conundrum.
Labels: marriage
posted by Tawanda at 3:51 PM
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19 September 2007
Catholic Folk Mass Redux
I have been wondering what ever happened to Ann. She introduced me to the music of Joni Mitchell and Judy Collins, and yes, even John Denver. I was quite naive in 1972 - not like I am today. Then, I was young and fresh, a guitar slung on my back wherever I went. I'd earn a bit of money at the local coffeehouses singing folk tunes. I could sing much better than I could play, but then, it was a package deal.
Ann was a year older, and seemed so much wiser than me. She was catholic, and was active musically in the catholic church. On Sundays, the priest at St. Francis had the traditional 9 o'clock mass. But at 10 o'clock, they also allowed for the more popular folk mass. I'm not catholic, but I could sing, and sing well. But Ann could really play. Her fingers would work those guitar strings. Listening to her play was wonderful - as though the music was magic - it was entrancing. She had a talent that just couldn't be learned. It was her gift.
We spent nearly a year together, but I knew I just couldn't stay. Although I was 300 miles from home, I was still too close to my parents. And living in the closet with Ann was driving me crazy. Loving someone, but never acknowleging that deep, sweaty love was insanity. But in 1973, it seemed there were few choices. The economy sucked, so by then I had applied for a position with the postal service - woo-hoo. Now there was something to look forward to.
What to do? Stay in school? I had just completed a year of commercial photography school - it just wasn't what I had thought it would be, although I learned a lot. And, it has served me well to this day. Still...
I left home. I joined the Navy. Saw the world.
Often I wrote to Ann. Sometimes she'd write back. The letters finally stopped coming, she didn't answer mine any longer. It hurt, but I was distracted.
Life goes on.
Twenty years later I came across her parents' old phone number. I rang it and her mother answered.
"Hi, do you remember me?"
"Well, of course I do, hon. How are you?"
We talked a while, and I learned that Ann worked for a parish in Seattle. Her mom gave me her number there. Should I call her? What on earth would I say? Well, the truth is always good, I was thinking of her and thought we might re-connect as old friends. Simple as that. I dialed the number.
"Hello?"
"Hi! do you remember me?"
"Yes. How did you get my number?"
"I talked to your mom. She gave it to me. How have you been? Gosh, it's been a long time."
"I'm surprised she gave it to you."
"Surprised? Why?"
Silence.
"Ann, I just wanted to re-connect. You know, look up an old friend. That's all. Maybe we could get to know each other again."
"Why? Are you dying or something?"
"Uh, no. Well, it seems you're not interested in re-connecting."
Silence.
"Okay, I get it. That's really sad. Bye."
"Bye."
Talk about a cold-call. I think that was the chilliest call I'd ever had. Icicles. Nothing like the warm person I recall, but then we all change, I suppose. We had left our friendship on good terms, I had thought. Her coldness surprises and saddens me even now.
Fast forward to "today." So, the Pope dies. Brings to mind those small experiences with the catholic church, so many years ago. I go online and google Ann's name.
Look at those hits! It turns out she's a pastoral assistant of youth ministeries.
Ah, perhaps now things make more sense. She doesn't want anything to do with me because I could "out" her. How goche.
Sometimes old friends are just old.
There's a hole in my heart where a friend used to be.
Ann was a year older, and seemed so much wiser than me. She was catholic, and was active musically in the catholic church. On Sundays, the priest at St. Francis had the traditional 9 o'clock mass. But at 10 o'clock, they also allowed for the more popular folk mass. I'm not catholic, but I could sing, and sing well. But Ann could really play. Her fingers would work those guitar strings. Listening to her play was wonderful - as though the music was magic - it was entrancing. She had a talent that just couldn't be learned. It was her gift.
We spent nearly a year together, but I knew I just couldn't stay. Although I was 300 miles from home, I was still too close to my parents. And living in the closet with Ann was driving me crazy. Loving someone, but never acknowleging that deep, sweaty love was insanity. But in 1973, it seemed there were few choices. The economy sucked, so by then I had applied for a position with the postal service - woo-hoo. Now there was something to look forward to.
What to do? Stay in school? I had just completed a year of commercial photography school - it just wasn't what I had thought it would be, although I learned a lot. And, it has served me well to this day. Still...
I left home. I joined the Navy. Saw the world.
Often I wrote to Ann. Sometimes she'd write back. The letters finally stopped coming, she didn't answer mine any longer. It hurt, but I was distracted.
Life goes on.
Twenty years later I came across her parents' old phone number. I rang it and her mother answered.
"Hi, do you remember me?"
"Well, of course I do, hon. How are you?"
We talked a while, and I learned that Ann worked for a parish in Seattle. Her mom gave me her number there. Should I call her? What on earth would I say? Well, the truth is always good, I was thinking of her and thought we might re-connect as old friends. Simple as that. I dialed the number.
"Hello?"
"Hi! do you remember me?"
"Yes. How did you get my number?"
"I talked to your mom. She gave it to me. How have you been? Gosh, it's been a long time."
"I'm surprised she gave it to you."
"Surprised? Why?"
Silence.
"Ann, I just wanted to re-connect. You know, look up an old friend. That's all. Maybe we could get to know each other again."
"Why? Are you dying or something?"
"Uh, no. Well, it seems you're not interested in re-connecting."
Silence.
"Okay, I get it. That's really sad. Bye."
"Bye."
Talk about a cold-call. I think that was the chilliest call I'd ever had. Icicles. Nothing like the warm person I recall, but then we all change, I suppose. We had left our friendship on good terms, I had thought. Her coldness surprises and saddens me even now.
Fast forward to "today." So, the Pope dies. Brings to mind those small experiences with the catholic church, so many years ago. I go online and google Ann's name.
Look at those hits! It turns out she's a pastoral assistant of youth ministeries.
Ah, perhaps now things make more sense. She doesn't want anything to do with me because I could "out" her. How goche.
Sometimes old friends are just old.
There's a hole in my heart where a friend used to be.
Labels: that girl
posted by Tawanda at 9:10 PM
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18 September 2007
Bringing Down the House
Vignette in time. A memory, from a time so long ago.
A bottomless pit grew in my stomach as I gazed over the grey ocean below. As I stood at the edge of the cliff, ice plant and moss under my feet, all I could think about was the woman I had loved for a brief time. My stomach did flip-flops as I recalled the intimate moments we had together.
It would never happen again.
The turmoil of the ocean was mirrored in my gut. How could life bring me to such a high only to dash everything down onto the rocks? How could I love with my whole being and find that love would not be returned in kind?
What else could I do? The rocks below, at the foot of the cliff, well they could be no more painful than the ones I had already been thrown to. The whole idea seemed appealing at that moment. I couldn't trust myself. I had lost her. It just would never happen again. There is no golden touch. I was lost. I don't even know if I knew where I was at that moment.
"Hey, Tawanda! What are you doing out here?"
It was Lynn, a co-worker. I hadn't heard her come up on me. She stirred me out of myself and back into the moment.
"Oh, hey. I was just watching the ocean." I didn't really want to talk to her. But she lingered anyway.
"Well, you sure looked like you were ready to jump or something."
Was it that obvious? I had no clear thought that I wanted to do anything like that. My body language must have spoken more loudly than I could know.
"Nah. I was just thinking. Stuff. You know."
And with that short exchange, I felt somehow renewed. Ready to build again. How can that be?
It just was.
And I started to live once again.
A bottomless pit grew in my stomach as I gazed over the grey ocean below. As I stood at the edge of the cliff, ice plant and moss under my feet, all I could think about was the woman I had loved for a brief time. My stomach did flip-flops as I recalled the intimate moments we had together.
It would never happen again.
The turmoil of the ocean was mirrored in my gut. How could life bring me to such a high only to dash everything down onto the rocks? How could I love with my whole being and find that love would not be returned in kind?
What else could I do? The rocks below, at the foot of the cliff, well they could be no more painful than the ones I had already been thrown to. The whole idea seemed appealing at that moment. I couldn't trust myself. I had lost her. It just would never happen again. There is no golden touch. I was lost. I don't even know if I knew where I was at that moment.
"Hey, Tawanda! What are you doing out here?"
It was Lynn, a co-worker. I hadn't heard her come up on me. She stirred me out of myself and back into the moment.
"Oh, hey. I was just watching the ocean." I didn't really want to talk to her. But she lingered anyway.
"Well, you sure looked like you were ready to jump or something."
Was it that obvious? I had no clear thought that I wanted to do anything like that. My body language must have spoken more loudly than I could know.
"Nah. I was just thinking. Stuff. You know."
And with that short exchange, I felt somehow renewed. Ready to build again. How can that be?
It just was.
And I started to live once again.
Labels: that girl
posted by Tawanda at 7:23 AM
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