My Sister

My parents divorced when I was nine. That was when my father told me that I had a sister. Wow. Talk about a jaw-dropping moment. Apparently, he had been married before my mother and they divorced while she was pregnant. She was from a wealthy, influential family in Southern California and my dad had a blue-collar Northern Missouri upbringing. They had met one summer when he was working on her family’s ranch in California. They fell in love and settled in Iowa. Their romance was short-lived and when she left, her family contacted my father and struck a deal with him. If he promised to never try to contact the unborn baby, they would never come after him for child support. He was a young 28 and from humble means. He acquiesced.

Five years later, he was remarried to my mother and I was born. When he told me about Holly, I was excited and sad all at the same time. He told me her name and that she was five years older than me. That was it. End of discussion. He just wanted me to know, but also explained his vow never to contact her. I was an only-child and I would never meet my sister.

When I turned 11, I thought to myself, “Holly’s having her Sweet Sixteen birthday this year. She’s in high school. I wonder what she’s like…”

When I graduated from high school and was considering college plans, I thought to myself, “I wonder where Holly went to college… or if she went to college…”

When people would comment that I looked like my dad, I thought to myself, “I wonder if Holly looks like my dad.”

When I got married, I wished I could have my sister in my wedding. When each of my children were born, I thought of Holly’s children.

She haunted me for 18 years. My dad and I seldom mentioned her. She had her life. We had ours. But, somehow, that wasn’t enough for me.

Then, one Thanksgiving, my dad came to visit us. My daughters were 5 and 1 ½. Dad watched them play together and something was touched deep inside of him. Sisters.

When he got back home, he pulled out an old shoe box that he had saved for over 30 years. Inside were various, faded pieces of paper. Holly’s mother’s social security number. Address. The name of her divorce attorney. The telegram that he had received in early January of 1962 letting him know that a baby had been born and named. The few mementos he had saved all these years. He mailed it all to me with a promise that he wanted no part of the search. If I wanted to find her, that was my business, but he wanted to stay out of it. He had given his word.

I immediately went to work, with the help of the internet, trying to find out what I could. I managed to get a copy of her birth certificate (did you know that you can do that?) and eventually find out where she went to elementary school. But, after 6 months, I just didn’t seem to be making any progress. I told my dad about my frustration and he made me an offer to pay for a private investigator. I had to be the sole contact. He would simply write the check.

I found a P.I. in Southern California and $700 later, the search began. He called me every week to give me updates.

He found out her mother had remarried.
She went to high school in Arizona.
She went to college in Arizona on a music scholarship.

Each week when he’d call, he was always sure to ask me if I wanted him to continue. He became a sort of counselor for me, trying to prepare me for whatever we might find. She could be dead. She could be homeless, a drug addict, a prostitute. We didn’t know what she'd been told, if anything, about her real father. She might not know the truth. She might not want to know. Every week, I told him that not knowing was worse than anything he might find out.

He found out she was married and had kids.
She had lived in California.

Six weeks into the investigation, I answered the phone one day at my job in Northern Idaho, “Coldwater Creek. This is Kathy. How may I help you?”

“We found her.” The voice on the other end was familiar and tears filled my eyes. He told me that she was living in San Jose, California. He had her current, married name, address, phone number, husband’s name, and knew that she had two kids. He asked if I wanted him to stake out and find out where she worked, where her kids went to scho--

“Stop!” I’m sure I said it a little too loud. All I needed was her name and address.

That warm June evening, I wrote her a letter. I explained who I was, how thrilled I was to have a sister, and asked her to call me. In the envelope, I included a couple of pictures of me with my daughters. I sent it Certified Mail, Return Receipt Requested so that she would have to sign for it at the post office and I’d be notified. At least I would know that she received the letter, even if I never heard from her. Done.

On her end a few days later, she received the notice and had her teenage son in the car with her when she went to the post office to pick up the letter. Curiosity got the best of her and she opened the envelope as soon as she got back into the car. The pictures fell out in her lap and her son grabbed them. While she began reading the letter, Wes said to her, “Mom, why does this lady look so much like you?”

She called me that night and, as luck would have it, my dad was at my house for a visit. Turns out that she was raised with the truth. Her mom had remarried when Holly was 12 and he had adopted her. Her mother’s philosophy had been, “We were young and dumb. We have a nice life. Let’s hope he has a nice life.” Holly never questioned it. She was concerned that if he had done this once, he may have children everywhere. She might have half-siblings everywhere. Her life was good the way it was and she had decided not to delve into what might turn out to be very complicated. To her relief, it was not complicated at all. She was also an only-child, biologically. Her mother had adopted a brother for Holly when she was young but had never given birth to any more children. Holly and I were each other’s only biological sibling.

Holly was as anxious to meet me as I was to meet her. However, she was six months pregnant and wanted me to wait to visit until after the baby was born, so that I could meet the whole family.

In September of 1996, my dad bought a plane ticket for me to fly out to see Holly for a long weekend. Twenty years of imagining what my sister looked like. Twenty years of praying for her. Twenty years of sharing my life with her in the silence of my heart. Twenty years of waiting and wondering. As the plane circled over the San Francisco airport and began its descent, I began to cry. Twenty years of pain and loneliness washing down my face, tear by tear. By the time I left the plane and began to walk down that portable tunnel to building, I was a complete mess. I saw her immediately, standing next to her husband who was holding a baby-carrier. Her dark hair, dark eyes and that Kysar nose were all a dead give-away. I ran to her arms and blubbered something about being happy to see her. She was dry eyed and probably a little shocked at my emotion. A few deep breaths and several tissues helped me make my way to the luggage carousel and then to their car.

Holly and I spent that afternoon drinking Chamomile tea and sharing photo albums. I’d brought one with pictures of my childhood with my dad and she pulled out one with pictures of our dad and her mom’s wedding. It was like looking at a story book of strangers. It was strange and comforting all at the same time. The cracks were sealed. The puzzle was whole.

That weekend, we went shopping at the Wharf where people immediately recognized us as sisters everywhere we went. We went to Sears and bought matching sweaters and had our portrait made together – like we were kids. Our first portrait. We laughed and cried and talked and talked and talked. Sunday came much too quickly and we were back at the airport.

This time, she cried. I was all smiles. It was an answered prayer for me. A twenty-year mystery was solved. For her, it was just beginning. I had known about her for 20 years. She had known about me for only three months. She wasn’t ready for me to leave. We were sisters. The bond had been forged.

I left that day with a light heart and a smile that wouldn’t quit. I had a sister!

Holly and I are as close today as ever. We don’t get to see each other as often as we like. But, we have gotten our families together over the years, taken vacations together, and talk on the phone as regularly as time allows. Dad has even gone to visit her and they now keep in contact. She and her husband, Brent, came to visit me just this past summer in Homer. I can’t imagine my life without her and I’m sure she’d say the same.

Winter Thoughts

It’s an overcast, 28 degree Sunday morning with snow in the forecast and many things on my mind. Sundays are often reflective days for me and this one is no different. Its days like these when I really wish I had a close friend who lived nearby. Not having a friend/partner to confide day to day thoughts is difficult, but it’s just the way life is for me.

Losing Weight. Because of Take Shape for Life’s incredible weight loss program, I’ve managed to lose 25 pounds since the first of the year. That comes to 2 pants sizes! I’m determined to lose another 25, hopefully by the end of March. We won’t talk about what my starting weight was, but my goal is to get back to where I was about 8 years ago. Also, because I’m such a believer in this medically-backed (by doctors at Johns Hopkins) program, I’m now a Health Coach helping others to get healthy, too. Food is such an important part of my life and with my own bakery/restaurant looming on the horizon, it’s time to be in control of what and, more importantly, how much I eat. (as a side note, if you want to know more about this incredible program, ask me)

The Restaurant. It’s beginning to feel a little daunting. As summer slowly approaches, out-of-state friends/family talk about coming to visit. Normally, I’d be jumping at these chances to show folks my slice of paradise here in Homer. However, this summer will be my first summer at the restaurant and I’m anticipating 18-hour days with no time off. We serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner, in addition to providing catering, box-lunch services and a full-on bakery in a booming tourist destination May through September, with June-August being the busiest months of the year. Summer is over in September, and the snow flies in October. Despite my excitement over running the restaurant, there is some disappointment that my days of summer halibut and salmon fishing are over. No jumping on board a friend’s floatplane for a last minute flight over the glaciers in mid-July. No lazy days picking Fireweed flowers in August for homemade jelly. No time to spend with friends and family hiking across the bay or paddling a kayak or just driving around taking pretty pictures. Summer vacation? What’s that?

I still want people to come visit in the summer because there is SO much to do here. However, they might just have to do it without me. (sad face) On the other hand, I’ll make sure they’re well fed!

My Sister. Her father is suffering from end-stage Diabetes and everything that comes with it. He’s in the hospital for the last time. He’s 85 years old. It’s sad. Heartbreaking, really. I was with my sister when she lost her mother to Lupus eight years ago. I helped her pick out a dress to wear to the funeral. Actually, I could hardly see her in the dressing room through all of my tears. I feel things very deeply where she is concerned. You must be wondering why I’m talking about “her” father and “her” mother when we’re sisters. The short version is that she and I have the same biological father but she was raised by her mother who married a man who adopted her and she’s always known him as her dad. Holly and I met for the first time 15 years ago and we’ve been sisters ever since. (detailed story to be revealed in an upcoming blog post) That said, it’s extremely hard for me to watch her lose her parents. After all, she’s my sister. I feel it almost as if I’m losing my own parents.

Sarah. Time is ticking away. Tomorrow, it will be the end of August and she’ll leave for college. The house will be quiet, too quiet. I’ll pour myself into the restaurant. Her cats will be lost without her. I am so very happy for her and proud of her. Still, there is a heaviness in my heart as the day nears for my last little chick to leave the nest.

Work. I worked two 12-hour days this past week (I know, I know – that’s nothing compared to what’s in store for me this summer…) in addition to the other three regular 9-hour days. I’m trying hard to reach the required budget numbers on a variety of projects at the Homer News. I not only have the weekly paper to sell ads for (3,000 copies distributed weekly), but am also working on the beloved Homer Map (40,000 copies distributed the first of May), Shorebird Festival Guide (27,000 copies distributed mid-April), online Tour Guide – www.HomerAlaska.com (still trying to fulfill that project that went live online January 1), and we’re trying desperately to find a replacement for me in time for me to train them fully before I leave the first of May. Overwhelming? Yes. Can I do it all? Definitely. It’s a weighty feeling to know that 90% of the newspaper budget depends on what I do, or don’t do. I love the Homer News and want it to be successful and thriving, always.

Car. I wrecked my car in a blizzard on the Beluga Slough bridge 3 weeks ago. It took the insurance company 2 ½ weeks to get it together and finally issue a check for damages. I used that check along with my wrecked car as a trade-in (I did not like that creaky, problem-riddled Chrysler Pacifica from the get-go) to buy a worthy 2010 Jeep Patriot 4WD this past Tuesday. Taking care of that kind of a hassle takes a lot of time, especially when you live 90 miles from the nearest car dealer or used car lot. I consulted with my dad over the phone, a lot, throughout the process. Again, it sure would be nice to have a significant other by my side in times like those. In the end, I thought I got a great deal with a good interest rate and all. Because of all of the issues I’d had with the Pacifica, I got the extended warranty and I even talked the dealership into throwing in a set of studded tires (a “must” in Homer). When all was said and done, I walked away with a $260/month car payment and I was all smiles. Of course, when I talked to my dad the next day, he expressed his disappointment in me for the deal I made concerning the warranty and the tires. I try so hard to make the right decisions and I think I made the best decision that I could, all by myself. Still, his disappointment always gets me down.

Men. I’ve been back in touch with an old flame from Louisiana. Things didn’t work out between us all those years ago because I was too afraid of my ex-husband and my mother. My ex had a nasty habit of filing for custody of the girls every time I had a serious boyfriend. My mother tended to side with him. It was ugly and I was a young mother and couldn’t handle the thought that I might lose my kids. I finally gave up and never had another serious relationship. I just couldn’t handle the backlash. I was weak, I know. I’m stronger now. My kids are grown. It’s time to reclaim that part of my life. Michael was a wonderful man, still is. We are both in good places in our lives, now. I know we live a million miles apart, but if he’s willing to see where this goes, so am I. He wants to come visit this summer… (see “The Restaurant” above)

That about sums it up. I feel lighter now. I think it's time for a walk on the beach...