Once upon a time, around Christmas of 1963, there was a family consisting of five members.  Mother, Father, Son - 2-1/2 years old, Daughter - 1-1/2 years old and yet another Baby Son - 3 months old.  The Mother was from Nova Scotia where her two oldest children were born, but was living in Ontario (at the bequest of her Navy husband) with his parents prior to the birth of Baby Son and she was very unhappy.  So unhappy, she wrote letters to her two younger sisters of longing to live back home in Nova Scotia .   In personal anguish, she attempted suicide a few times with pills to escape the life situation she was in.
As a result of her deep depression, she succumbed to Cirrhosis of the liver on Christmas Eve of 1963 at the age of 23 - not the result of alcohol, but from attempting suicide one too many times.  She left her three children behind with their father who was only 26 years old himself.  He took an honourable discharge from the Navy and attempted to find employment to care for his children, however, it was the 60's and Social Services were not as helpful to the Paternal Parent as they are today and his skills were limited from having been in the navy for 10 years. 
        His three children were given over to foster care.  The Baby Son was adopted out
almost immediately, being an infant.  The Daughter spent approximately one year in
Foster Care and was then adopted by a family who had one son of their own, but could not have another child of their own, but wanted a little girl.  Unfortunately, the Eldest Son had a more difficult time of it because the Father kept attempting to take him back sporadically over a period of almost five years.  He was finally adopted into a family who coincidentally (but unknown to either until years later) lived relatively close to his sister's adoptive family.  All three children were brought up in homes where they were given the utmost in opportunities to grow into wonderful people.

        Back in the 60's the Children's Aid Society lied to the deceased mother's sisters when they came to visit the children in foster care and told them that "all three" children were adopted into the same lovely home.  The sisters were distraught and so were their parents because they had been working on a plan to raise their sister's children, but were eventually consoled by the fact the children stayed together.
        All three children grew up knowing they had siblings somewhere, but as is usually the case, the female child was the one to initiate a search first.  She registered with the Adoption Disclosure Registry and met her Birth Father first when she was 27 years old.
        He was a lovely, quiet man, who had lived a hard life until he met the woman he is still with and he's content.  The Daughter didn't keep up this relationship because there wasn't really a bond there after all the years (in her mind, she already had a father), but her curiousity was sated and she wishes him nothing but the best life has to offer.
        She next met the Baby Son when she was about 30 years old and connected with him immediately...there was definitely a bond there.  They stayed friends for a few years and because he was so far away, and had a family of his own, like her...that dwindled down to the odd phone call.  The daughter didn't meet her oldest brother until she was about 42 years old.  The bond was there as well, but he lived so far away...provinces no less and was just starting his family and career and she had her problems here, so they didn't see much of each other.  A few visits back and forth have been managed over the last 8 years.
        A most excellent thing happened for the Daughter in between meeting the two brothers.  She met her natural Aunts, who both lived in Nova Scotia.  She now visits them every year or two and they came to her wedding and helped with the preparations and laughed and loved.  She finally realized where her genetic being arose from because they were so much like the Daughter herself.  They even had some of the same pictures on their walls and loved to garden and paint.
        When the Daughter was visiting her Aunt's & Uncle's the first time, they took her to see the homestead of her Great Great Grandparents which was still standing and still being lived in by relatives.
        It was at this historical home, the Daughter's Aunt took a cutting of the wild rose bush and rooted it for her during her first visit and packed it lovingly, ensuring it stayed damp on the plane trip home.  When the Daughter returned to her home, she planted it immediately in proud prominance in the front garden of her home.
        Ten years later, the Daughter moved out to the River to a beautiful new home with her husband after all their children had left the nest and replanted a new cutting of the wild heirloom rose and it still has a prominent, welcoming place near her front door.
This always reminds the Daughter that
"Your History Makes You Who You Are"
6/5/2012 09:00:26 am

Wendy, what a beautiful, heart aching story! Thank you for sharing. It is beautifully written! The roses...oh, my. Gorgeous! Thank you for sharing. Also, thank you for the visit and sweet comment @TheDedicatedHouse. It means the world. Wishing you a grand evening. Toodles, Kathryn

6/5/2012 11:04:41 am

Thanks so much for taking the time to read my wee story. I don't usually like talking about personal things, but it goes hand in hand with the rose bush! xo

6/5/2012 09:31:03 am

I loved reading this part of your life even though it is bittersweet....I am glad we are "adopted" spirits...I don't know anyone else that was. Thanks for sharing and the rose is just beautiful and so special!

6/5/2012 11:05:39 am

Aw Tammi! That we are! I knew that the first time I read your bio. Thanks for the kind words... xo

6/5/2012 02:49:07 pm

Oh, this one made me cry! That very special rose bush is a beautiful symbol of your roots and a truly wonderful way to greet everyone who enters your door!

6/5/2012 08:27:39 pm

Thanks Maureen! xo

Rukmini Roy
6/5/2012 05:46:40 pm

I really dont know what to write... I just found two teeny drops of tears and goosebumps after reading the entire story and twice. Your mother was beautiful...
If I ever get to Canada, I'd love a cutting of that. It'll always remind me of you, my friend. Yes, your roots make you who you are.

6/5/2012 08:31:41 pm

I shall give you one of course! Thanks Rukmini....xo

6/6/2012 02:34:19 am

What a beautifully well written story... and with such a happy ending. You are so blessed to have reconnected with your mother's family, and to have that beautiful rose as a reminder of your heritage. Thank you for being so transparent.

6/11/2012 08:32:26 pm

Geneva, you are so sweet...thankyou for reading my personal post. xo

6/10/2012 06:44:13 am

Hello Wendy,
I found you from a comment you left over at At The Picket Fence, and have been very glad that I did.
I am especially drawn to adoption stories, and yours is one I won't forget. I too am adopted. I have found my birthmother (now deceased), and family members too, and have such special times with them.
Thank you so much for sharing your story. I have been trying to decide whether or not I should do so or not. I'm leaning more and more on sharing it! Each story is so huge and significant...and they all need to be told. Thank you for giving me some much needed courage to do so.
Many blessings to you...

6/11/2012 08:35:10 pm

I'm so happy you feel inspired to talk about your story and I'll now be watching for it. It's something I didn't know whether I should or shouldn't share and just decided...ach...what the heck. If people don't want to read it, they can skim and skip it. Anyone who is interested or has a similar story will read right? Not to worry! Thanks for the lovely compliments. xo

6/17/2012 10:02:20 pm

What a lovely and heartwarming story. And I just love that you have the rose from your great, great grandparents home.

6/21/2012 04:42:33 am

Oh Wendy... you truly have gift. Your story is so inspiring and so beautifully written. Thank you for sharing it with all of us. My goodness you are talented in so many ways... but I firmly believe that if you ever found the time to write professionally (as a published author) you would be livin' the high life my dear! It's innate - and you certainly HAVE IT!
I love your blog and am in awwww of what you accomplish!


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