Teller’s Adopted Family

Teller and Katrina first met in late 1997. The relationship they subsequently established could most accurately be described as “on-again, off-again.” It was a chaotic experience that occasionally drove Teller right to the edge of his ability to cope. However, despite everything, he believed himself to be totally invested in, and committed to, the relationship; Katrina was almost always ambivalent about it.

Still, the unpredictable nature of the union did not stop Teller from loving Katrina completely. And, along with Katrina, came the matter of her three kids. In 1997, Tamson, the oldest, was 20 years old and was no longer living at home; Beccalynn, the girl, had just turned 17; and Bryan, the “baby” of the family, was 13. The younger two were living part-time with Katrina and part-time with their father.

That Katrina loved her offspring utterly and completely was undeniable. And, though, at the time Teller met her, Katrina was still struggling with her ex-husband’s sexual-orientation announcement (the turning point that had doomed their marriage), and Beccalynn was exhibiting a number of typical, adolescent, acting-out behaviors, it was evident that all of them were still a family that cared deeply about one another.

If all the world’s a stage, then, it was on this set, within this particular family-in-transition, that Teller found himself a player.

And so it came to pass, Teller ended up not only being in love with Katrina, but also with Tamson, Beccalynn and Bryan. It was a package deal, or so it seemed. It wasn’t ever a matter of Katrina saying, “love me, love my family,” however. No such suggestion or demand was ever made or needed. To Teller, these people, all of them, were, simply, lovable. Teller couldn’t help himself. The sense of family and community he found with Katrina and the kids was unparalleled in his life. He had never experienced such inclusion and warmth, and once he was a part of it, he could not imagine his life, ever again, without this feeling.

Teller had told Katrina early on that he believed the best chance for success, for his insertion into this cast of characters, was to establish direct (i.e., not mediated by Katrina) relationships with each of the kids. He had “studied” step-parenting dynamics while in a previous relationship, and understood that this approach was likely to yield the most healthy result. And so that is what he did: little-by-little, he inched emotionally closer to each of them individually and, additionally, allowed tons of space for them to move in his direction.

For whatever it was that Teller did “right,” and for whatever other cosmic forces aligned to make it possible, Teller did, indeed, establish successful, loving relationships with each of the kids. In his heart, he adopted all three of them. There was nothing legal about the adoption, of course…it was an off-the-record, in-Teller’s-heart-and-mind, secret emotional adoption. Teller ultimately referred to Tamson, Beccalynn and Bryan, privately, as “the kids he never had.”

He embraced their presence in his life, totally and without reservation. And there never seemed to be any Katrina-like ambivalence on the part of the kids about their individual relationships with Teller. So, when it finally became evident to Teller that there was no future in his relationship with Katrina, he vowed to stay as available to each of the kids as they might desire.

And, the kids have wanted Teller to be around. He has been invited to, and attended, all three of their weddings, the most recent one (Bryan’s) in November (2010). And Beccalynn, just last week, sent Teller a note informing him of her involvement in a photography class…and how much she was learning.

Still, it was with utter amazement that Teller opened up his email two days ago and found this wholly-unexpected message from Katrina (who is now re-married and a step-parent to a young girl named Charlie…):

hi teller-

in these weeks of living-in step-mothering (since we moved into our house in december, charlie is now in my life half time, just as she always has been with her father), i’m understanding more and more the complexity of step-parenting, and what it takes to fulfill this role. charlie is a real dearheart and i enjoy her very much. nonetheless, my life has changed and it’s not always easy! i’ve been reflecting upon how thankful I am that you were so interested in my kids and appreciating with now-more-aware eyes some of the complexity you may have experienced in all of it. i’ve always appreciated this about you, but want to call it forward again and recognize again how you put your heart into them and into that role despite all of the challenges. i have not forgotten, nor will i.  thank you, jacobadam. 

warmly-

katrina

Upon reading these words, Teller’s eyes opened wide, then moistened, with the tears finally streaming down. His heart was both heavy with loss, open with love.

Oh, how he misses Tamson, Beccalynn and Bryan. And, of course, Katrina.

For two days he read this note again and again. And the tears welled up every time, even as he, finally, dragged the message into the folder labeled “family.”

Good Day, Bad Day

I’m back from the quick visit I made to America’s Dairyland. The trip from rural southern Oregon to rural northern Wisconsin is a long and rather arduous one (two drives and two or three flights each way) and I did it twice in three days. Whew!

Doing this trip coincident with moving from one city to another (and dealing with the anticipation of a new job) has stretched me physically and emotionally, but I seem to be hangin’ in there ok. Mostly.

Of course, I went back to spend just a little bit of time with dad, who, at 92+ years of age, is in declining health. His life these days seems to be characterized a lot by the terms “good day” and “bad day.” The Saturday afternoon I spent with him, along with my mom and siblings, seemed to be on the order of a good day. And, it was good for me to be able to spend even just one more afternoon with him.

This has me thinking that my life, and well, come to think of it, everybody’s life, can be divided up into the good-day/bad-day categories. Doesn’t it seem that way? It’s just that “reality” for each of us is so different, that what constitutes a disaster of a day for one person could be a walk-in-the-park for another.

I suppose that a lot of my bad days are self-created, and not externally-determined (as are dad’s, as his body slowly declines). Even when things are mostly falling into place for me, I know that I have the tendency to complain and whine and generally make myself miserable. I know that my attachment to having the universe be one way or another leads to the suffering I experience. Although I believe that “life is suffering,” I also believe that it would be healthier for me to be less invested in a model of a world that simply does not exist.

Into The Dark

Apparently, when signing up for this lifetime, I raised my hand for the full-meal-deal. Sometimes stuff can keep happening that pretty much will take your breath away; the past two and a half years have been a lot like that for me. As much as I remind myself to take care of myself, to walk, to write, to breathe, and to not panic: I still can wind up exhausted, depressed, and conflicted about my life, my direction, and my decisions.

That’s the negative emotional space I’m in this evening, anyway; I’m rather in a funk as I compose this little note. I suppose it’s not been helpful that for five straight nights I was kept awake by the inhabitants of this neighborhood with their absurdly-loud and persistent fireworks. Simply: I’m beyond exhausted. I went for a walk this afternoon but, literally, had a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other.

And, I’m anxious. There’s too much to do. Even without an office to go to this month, my to-do list is ridiculously long and involved.

I’m scheduled to move from Portland to Roseburg next week. This will be my second major move in two years, both times the result of job losses. At the moment, my current landlords are expecting their house back; the movers are scheduled, confirmed and re-confirmed; and the new apartment complex down south awaits my money and my occupancy.

I’ve been living in a maze of cardboard boxes since the beginning of June. I knew I was going to move, even before I knew where I was going, so I got started in on the packing early. More or less, I have lived in a campsite for more than a month.

After reading an email note from my mom yesterday, indicating that my dad had had a good day, I was feeling rather relieved. He is seriously ailing, and now resides in a nursing home. I had learned earlier that he was dealing with a case of pancreatitis, and ever since then his condition has been up and down, up and down. The serious nature of his situation led, after discharge from the hospital, to residence in a “convalescent center” (i.e., a nursing home).

So, a report of a good day was a good thing to hear. However, my sister called me this afternoon to say that that day may have been good, but things, overall, are not. He keeps slipping and slipping, and today, for the first time ever, apparently, asked mom if she would be OK if he weren’t around. From what I can tell (from this distance and frequency of contact), my 92-year-old dad has pretty much been in denial about the possibility of his own death until just recently.

He is not eating, has been losing weight for some time, and we really don’t know how much time he has left. The guess is: not much.

For me: I am overwhelmed with feelings of loss: of jobs; of friends; of computer hard drives; of cities, places and homes; of things familiar; of a significant other; of my own health; of sleep; of control; and, now, likely, of a parent.

I feel a weight pressing down on me, and I wish it would lighten up a tad. The probability that that will happen anytime soon, seems remote.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Love of mine some day you will die
But I’ll be close behind
I’ll follow you into the dark

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no’s on their vacancy signs

If there’s no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I’ll follow you into the dark…

(“I Will Follow You Into The Dark” – Death Cab for Cutie)

Amazing Grace

Man, woman, birth, death, infinity. What is this business of living, anyway? Isn’t this existence just a total mystery? If things are totally clear to you, congratulations, for I have to admit, I’m sure having a heckfire of a time figuring things out.

Why didn’t I die during my drinking days? How did I make it through the Vietnam era without suffering a bloody, painful death in a jungle a million miles away from home? How did I luck out with a mere kidney stone, having been diagnosed with bladder cancer by two doctors one night in the emergency room? How have I made it through my depressing times of relationship and job loss?

I may be living in a state of grace, but I am still having problems figuring out why I am here. Is life totally about love and work? Is that what we’re all really here for? Do those things sum up our existence? Are they reasons enough to be born?

Surely, for love, I suspect that is the case. I fell in love with and, in my heart, “adopted” three young people (my significant-other’s kids) during the course of a years-long relationship that I have referred to in other essays here. One of those kids, two years ago, on January 9, 2004, had a child of her own. I had an incredible “first” (for me) of holding this infant at the age of six hours. This was a totally-wonderful experience, and something, at age 56, I was not ever expecting I’d have the opportunity to do. I was enchanted, enthralled, delighted, thrilled, and even a little scared. I was immediately drawn to this little one named Grace. Grace’s second birthday is coming up and I’ll not be there, now being separated from her grandmother for some months now—and no longer a part of the family circle.

I miss Grace, her mom, her uncles, and her grandmother. Even absent from them, I love them all, and send them light and love across the miles from where I reside here in Portland.

Birth. Life. Living. Loving.

Grace.

Amazing.

Thoughts on Family

I just finished reading Borrowed Finery by Paula Fox. The book is a memoir -- a series of short vignettes, actually -- by the now-aging Fox, author of several novels and children's books. From my perspective, Fox's early life was amazingly difficult, as she was early-on placed in an orphanage and then shuffled in and out of a variety of other living situations...all the while maintaining distant and strained relationships with both of her parents. And her parents! Her mother was cold, detached, unloving. Her father was slightly more emotionally available, but also highly dysfunctional and alcoholic. I find it amazing that Fox survived at all.

I have a 'round-about connection to Fox. (Am I allowed to claim that?) The daughter that she gave up for adoption, and speaks briefly of in the last chapter, is Linda Carroll. Linda is a therapist in Corvallis, Oregon (where I lived for twenty years), and someone I have known for more than a quarter century now. Well, not only have I known Linda a long time, I rank her as just about the most influential person I have ever known in terms of my own growth as a human being. Really, Linda's impact on my life has been profound. She was the one who helped me through a very difficult time in my post-divorce period...and, through the years, has always been at least one step ahead of me developmentally, ready to guide and teach.

Richard Bach has observed that "rarely do members of the same family grow up under the same roof." Linda, ever since our first meeting, has felt as if she is part of my family on this planet. So, I was very interested to read about the growing-up experiences of the person who gave birth to her.

Linda has her own extremely interesting biography...having been given up for adoption, of course, and then finding Fox not that many years ago (the mid 90s) in order to attempt the never-established mother-daughter connection. Further, Linda's own experience as a mother includes having given birth to singer-actress controversial-figure Courtney Love. (And, to extend the story, Courtney's daughter is her child with tragic-rock-figure Kurt Cobain.) Linda's book talking about her life and relationship with Courtney is due out in a couple of months, so I know I'll be among the first to read Her Mother's Daughter.