A hint to those who want to use the little cheek swabs for DNA typing. Think twice before doing it, there is a chance you might learn the unexpected. Thanks to the folks at the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, they were able to match my DNA to a missing child report. A child the family had declared dead five years after he went "missing." Yep! How many people on this planet can say that they have returned from the dead. For the record there is a lot of paperwork involved. I found out what my original "birth name" was. I am keeping the name I grew up with. Too much change to deal with all ready.
I met with a lot of police officers regarding a murder-suicide that occurred six months after I was dumped in foster care down in Florida. Looks like my speculation that mother was hiding was true. She was running from an abusive husband, my father. He caught up with her in a small town in western Tennessee, killed her and then himself. I used to think mom was cruel for abandoning me like she did. Now I see it as the ultimate act of love.
The agents told us that her family had collected her remains, and where she was laid to rest. Z thought it would help me if we went up to Paducah to meet with Mom's people.
It was 11 a.m. when we arrived at the cemetery in Paducah. Z was kind enough to stop at a florist shop and I bought a bouquet of yellow daisies. He said I could buy roses, but I knew better. Daisies were mama's favorite. I remember picking them for her when I was little outside Atlanta.
The groundskeeper was kind enough to show me to Mama's grave. They still had my marker next to hers. It is a weird feeling looking down at a tombstone with your birth-date on it knowing it was put there for you, even if you don't recognize the name.
That's when I heard her voice a slow sweet drawl from over my shoulder saying, "That's a very pretty bunch of flowers you got there young man. Someone must be pretty special to you." I continued staring at the stones silently praying that she would go away and I simply told her that it was my mother. She replied, "Isn't that odd, she's my daughter."
I turned to see an old woman with silver hair holding a bunch of Black-Eyed Susans with some baby's breath wrapped around them. My eyes continued upwards until I saw her pale green eyes, bordered with a dark green outer ring. I introduced myself. She hugged on me for a very long time.
She told me how she came down to have dinner with her daughter and grandson everyday. She said, "This is a first. Do you know how many conversations I've had with you young man?" She pointed towards the hunk of granite on the ground. She told me she tried to imagine what "Christopher" would be like if "he" grew up. She said I turned out a handsome boy.
We shared her BLT sandwich as she talked to her daughter. I've told you how much I like and craved bacon, apparently it is a family thing. I gave her some of the high points of foster care and growing up. I chose to keep the icky bits to myself. She didn't need any more guilt, she was caring enough. After feeding the crusts of bread to the birds, we walked back to the cars.
Z had been chatting amiably with an older gentleman. That older gentleman turned out to be my grandfather. Grandma and I walked out of the cemetery hugging each other. A glassy sheen covered the old man's eyes as Grandma introduced me to him, making sure to use the name I grew up with. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out, and then hugged me.
We followed them to their farm house and I met more of mom's family. I have never seen people assemble so quickly. Most of her family never left the Paducah area. Her older brothers run the farm and care for their parents. I had to explain my degree path several times. Most were polite with their disapproval of the relationship Z and I have. They are thankful I am alive, and Z makes friends with everyone. But what can I say; Kentucky is part of the Bible belt, and the family IS Southern Baptist.
Z has been great. Turns out he can pitch a mean horse shoe. It's not a hard game to learn. I don't know how much money it cost for him to fly us here and lodge us. I know it's thousands. I shouldn't feel guilty but I do. He will likely read this, look at me and say I promised to care for you, this is part of it.
Z shared with Grandma about my raggedy old Pooh Bear. He told her how he tried to get rid of mine on many occasions but my heart was wrapped around it. Grandma laughed then disappeared into her room coming back with my mother's childhood treasure. Mom's Pooh Bear was more than twice the age of mine and it was in better condition. Foster care was harder on mine I surmised. Mom had a thing for Winnie the Pooh, so much so that she named her boy (me) after Pooh's boy.
We stayed at the best suite and all of Paducah, Kentucky. Ok, it's not up to Z's usual standards, but he is being a great sport as always. We came home with a box of photographs and memories. Grandma gave me mom's old bear too. Z has made a couple "zombie boy" jokes since we got home. He knows I am still chewing on my past. I have so much to digest, I see myself spending a lot of time with "Shrinky Dink" for the near future.
Christopher/Nadir/Chase (who am I?)
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