You and No Other

by Jane Weiss

  Nevertheless, Brian’s relationship with Marilyn had progressed to the stage where he wanted to be free to marry again. Just into the new year of 1984, he asked Bonnie for a divorce. Within the month, they sought legal advice and determined together that it would be more beneficial to pursue divorce through mediation.

  I admired their ability to problem-solve thoughtfully and sensibly even the most potentially volatile situations, whether it involved the children, the York Avenue home, or the financial decisions involved in legally nullifying their marriage. Bonnie received her divorce decree June 25, 1984, and soon after, Brian married Marilyn in a quiet ceremony attended by their respective children and witnesses.

  Several months earlier, I decided that I would use the impetus of Bonnie’s preparing for divorce to muster the courage to begin my own. Having heard horror stories about divisive couples trying to manage a divorce through mediation, I determined that I would not give Charles the opportunity to use this unprotected arena to vent his anger at me or to prolong the process. At the recommendation of a financial adviser from whom Bonnie and I had sought advice shortly after we were together, I found a lawyer whose specialty was supporting the rights of lesbian mothers in divorce. At our first meeting, she told me that I probably would not have to worry about securing joint custody, for the Hennepin County Court system was sympathetic towards lesbian mothers. I was truly grateful to God that I had unwittingly initiated our divorce in that county; for if Charles had filed first, the divorce would have been processed in a court system which my lawyer said was notorious for denying custody rights to divorcing lesbian mothers.

  Sensitive to how serving Charles divorce papers unannounced would seem like yet another hard blow, I considered alerting him. However, I was strongly advised not to, for the risk of his serving me first—and, therefore, not being in Hennepin County Court—was too great. This was the first of many instances in which the legal system advocated rude and almost inhumane behavior between us, as “adversarial parties.”

  Over the next few weeks of weighing variables, I resigned myself to the fact that in Charles’s present state of mind, he would never agree to allow Bonnie and me to assume responsibility for the house and children. Not without an ugly custody battle. We each worked with our lawyers to prepare documents that named and equally divided our total assets in accordance with Minnesota divorce or “dissolution” law.

  On March 27, 1984, the lawyers presented their cases in a trial to a judge, who decreed the stipulations of our divorce. The courtroom proceedings, with opposing lawyers artfully sporting their demeaning craft, mirrored the fear-filled angry patterns Charles and I had experienced over the past two years. I was pleased with my ability to pull up my inner resources to remain calm and centered. Charles had resisted every step of the procedure, increasing both the time it took for completion and the legal costs, which required nearly three-quarters of the cash settlement I received.

  The divorce outcome seemed especially painful for Charles, whose primary base of security was money. He couldn’t accept that I, who had already “ruined” his life, should receive any of the money he had earned. He stridently and obsessively proclaimed the assets I was taking were monies he had put aside for the children’s college fund. So now, according to Charles, I was not only the cause of the family’s great unhappiness, I was placing selfish claims on the children’s future by taking their college funds for myself. Charles continually aggravated the issue, for whenever the kids asked for money, even for incidentals, his response was, “Ask your mother.”

  So, accepting my portion of the settlement was a dilemma. Once again I consulted our financial advisor, who strongly advised me to retain the monies. Her rationale was that because I had possibly twenty-three years left to work, a current salary just above median income level, and only a bachelor’s degree, my potential to earn and accumulate sufficient funds for even a modest retirement was not possible without investing the “nest egg” from the settlement. Using what Charles arbitrarily categorized as “the children’s college fund” for my own financial needs was simply a necessity now. Once again, his anger and accusations compelled me to stand up for myself, as much in defense, as in indignation at his judgments.

  Going Home

  Just as the dust was settling from the March divorce, Charles and I attended our daughter Lynn’s graduation in June in Reading, Pennsylvania. There was no question in my mind that I would be with my daughter when she graduated from high school, no matter what the circumstances. Bonnie and I decided it would be easier on Lynn if Bonnie didn’t accompany me on this trip. And in some ways it might be easier on me also, for I wasn’t sure how I would be treated by my family face to face. If not respectfully, I’d have only my own welfare to look out for. This would be the first time Lynn would be with Charles and me together in more than two years.

  I hadn’t held more than a few terse conversations with my parents and sister, and hadn’t seen my parents or brother’s or sister’s families since the summer before Charles and I separated. I’d be spending three days around Charles. The longest period we had spent together since February 1982, the month we separated, was two days during our divorce proceedings in the courtroom, only a few months earlier. The stage was set for an interesting, long weekend—and probably a fascinating psychological interplay of intra-family dynamics.

  Going to Pennsylvania was going home to my roots, where the earth’s smells, sights, and sounds triggered deep, organic reactions for me. As my sister Carol and I drove from the Philadelphia airport to Reading, I let myself sink into the arms of this familiar and amazingly verdant Mother Earth landscape that had nourished me as a child.

  I recalled steamy summer mornings, just like this one, when I packed a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich lunch and took off for a day’s adventure on my bike. I’d head for nearby Rattlesnake Hill, where its narrow, winding macadam road led me through lush, deep-green maple and oak forests. Most of the way was shaded by tall goddess trees, whose arm-like branches and hand-shaped leaves created a dense, protective canopy. Through breaks in the tall roadside brush, I caught glimpses of the dark forest floor, and smelled its loamy-rich earth, formed from season after season of composted leaves. There was one scary stretch of wide-open road, where the sun’s heat rose up in waves, and cacophonous cicadas dive-bombed me as I ducked my head and peddled as fast as I could through thick swarms to safety on the other side.

  My favorite spot on Rattlesnake Hill was the creek. Even before I saw it, I could hear it splashing over rocks, and felt and smelled its cool, fragrant mist. Finally there, I quickly jumped off my bike and steered it into the tall, scratchy weeds by the side of the road. I bounded down the soft fern-covered creek banks, kicked off my shoes, and waded into its cold, clear spring-fed water, which barely came up to my knees. The creek was a study in critters—unseen critters who bored holes in the creek’s soft banks, finned and footed critters who scurried out from under overturned rocks, and critters who left tracks the size of my ten-year-old hand. It was an amazing place.

  Carol saw me looking wistfully out the window, and asked if I was okay.

  Jarred from my revelry, I answered, “I’m just remembering how much I love Pennsylvania.”

  I had decided on the plane that I would use our drive time together to thank Carol again for her generosity towards my older daughter. “Lynn told me in her letters that you’ve been so sensitive to her needs. She’s really appreciated your providing piano lessons, new clothes, and even a prom dress, which she treasures. She’s felt cared for, like your own daughter—ten o’clock curfew and all. I’m grateful you opened your home to her, and pleased that she was willing to risk creating a new life for herself here.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. I was so concerned about what was happening to her that I had to step in. I just wish I could have taken Marie, too. At first, I was worried that Lynn and Elizabeth might not hit it off together, but the cousins have become great pals. You need to know, though
, that it hasn’t been an easy road for any of us.”

  I was quiet for a long time, thinking about how embarrassing this was for me to have my little sister step in and take over responsibility for my daughter. But this wasn’t out of character for Carol. Five years my junior, she had always been the dependable one. From ages ten through thirteen, she babysat every day after school for a neighbor’s two children. When our father lost his job the year I left for nursing school in Chicago, Carol at age fourteen pitched in and actually helped with family expenses, working weekdays after school and every weekend at the drugstore across the street.

  She dated responsibly, too, never causing our parents to fret about where she was or what she was doing with whom. After a courtship, which took place primarily in my parent’s living room, Carol married Gary at age twenty, and dutifully became her family’s primary breadwinner after only a couple of years. Even after Elizabeth and Arthur were born, within the first five years of their marriage, this beautiful, bright woman had the personality, drive, and take-charge abilities to develop her own successful in-home sales business. I was proud of her, and chagrined at our current situation.

  “I’m sure that adding even someone as easygoing as Lynn to your household was difficult. And under the circumstances, I’m certain she needed a lot of emotional support from you, Mom, and Elizabeth. I want you to know that I don’t fully understand what this part of my life is all about. I’m devastated over what’s happened between my children and me.”

  I explained to Carol that if I hadn’t left Charles, I would not likely have lived many years longer. I was more emotionally bankrupt than I knew and that Bonnie’s love and belief in me brought home this realization and helped me rescue myself.

  Carol retorted, “I don’t understand now, and don’t know if I ever will because I couldn’t have done what you did.”

  Fighting back tears, I fell quiet again. Yes, I was proud of how she had managed her life and grateful for her support of Lynn, but I was also beginning to suspect that Carol was enjoying having me fall off the family pedestal—way off. We completed the trip in silence.

  Lynn was inside the house when I arrived. Excited to see her, I threw my arms around her and held her until she gently unwrapped herself. Even though Lynn had been warm in her letters and our telephone calls, she was cool towards me now. I wondered if she felt she needed to show my sister and mother that her allegiance was to them after all they had done for her.

  Fortunately, Charles wasn’t coming until the next day, so Carol’s husband, their children, Lynn, and I joined my parents for dinner at a nearby restaurant. Conversation was stilted. As the evening wore on, I felt myself becoming more and more defensive and separate from this family of mine. Since Lynn and her cousin Elizabeth had plans to meet with some friends, we headed back to Carol’s, and I sought the comfort of my room. I lay awake, hoping for sleep to end this day, but found vignettes of Lynn parading past my closed eyes.

  From the first time I held Lynn, I sensed her innate gentleness and her need to create her own physical—and probably emotional—space. This laidback, lovely baby girl, who yawned for posterity in her hospital newborn picture, was able to make it perfectly clear that she wasn’t going to be enveloped by anyone, as she gently but firmly pushed me away with her little arms the very first time I held her. When she was a toddler, I remembered how, if big brother Michael happened to hurt her physically or emotionally, rather than expose her true feelings, she would say she was crying because her finger hurt, and she held it up to prove her injury.

  Sincere and soft-spoken, Lynn was determined to learn and do things her way, which especially included how she dressed. If I laid out her clothes for the day, she spent a good deal of time deciding what she’d rather wear, pouring over her wardrobe to mix and match a creative, colorful (and often outlandish) outfit. Her love for art became apparent as early as three. I remember her laying on the floor tummy-down, drawing whimsical happy-faced animal characters and flowers for hours—such sweet memories of my beloved, sensitive Lynn, the family emotional barometer.

  Did Lynn move to Pensylvania because she couldn’t continue absorbing the family chaos? Did she need to retreat to here to heal and get on with her life, with some desperately needed grounding and direction? I fell asleep imagining us years from now, sitting by a lake together, sharing our understandings of what transpired during this difficult period of our life.

  The next day was full of activities that led up to the late afternoon graduation at Wilson Senior High School in West Reading, Pennsylvania. Lynn looked beautiful in a white dress with red pinstripes that she and Carol picked out especially for this occasion. Charles arrived just in time for the event.

  After the ceremony, we all had dinner together at another restaurant, where Lynn opened gifts to honor her accomplishment. As no one initiated conversation with me or even chose to look at me for any length of time, I worked hard to include myself in the group, for Lynn’s and my sake.

  I did hold myself together, despite feeling I was still being shunned and punished. Even Charles and I managed to avoid any confrontations. We maintained pleasantries for Lynn’s benefit. All in all, I was grateful to have spent time with Lynn, and I was pleased to have witnessed her receive her high school diploma and be duly honored at the family celebrations that weekend. I left Pennsylvania exhausted and eager to see my beloved partner at the other end of my plane trip home.

  Chapter 12 - “Our” Son

  Bonnie

  In January, 1985, Jane and I planned a trip to Hawaii, the land of paradise. We needed to recoup some alone time after being back in the York Avenue house with my three younger children for a year and a half. And I was doubly excited about the trip because I knew we would get to see David. Following his discharge from the Army, he had moved to Honolulu in October 1984, after visiting his biological mother there a year earlier. David found himself at home in Hawaii with the preponderance of Asian and Polynesian people. He fit in well and enjoyed being in the majority population for a change. These same factors made the University of Hawaii appealing to him for college, and he had just registered there.

  Within a day of our arrival in Honolulu, David invited Jane and me to meet his biological mother at her home in central Oahu. On the appointed day, he drove his friend’s car about an hour through lush tropical countryside until we pulled into the driveway of a modest, dark-brown, one-level house. Before the car came to a complete stop, a diminutive, attractive Asian woman was out the door and bounding towards us. She was already crying.

  When David introduced me as his adoptive mother, she embraced me in a tight hold. I could feel her whole body shake with silent weeping. Here we stood, two women who shared a son and daughter, holding one another in gratitude for the role each had played in their children’s lives. We stood locked together for some time before I finally managed to disengage myself and introduce June to “my friend” Jane. June shook Jane’s hand and bowed, then motioned us into the house.

  I was astounded at what we learned that afternoon. June confided in broken English, between episodes of sobbing, that she had married solely to get to the United States to search for her children. It took seven years for her to discover that a family in Minnesota had adopted them. She eventually located us by calling the numbers of names she found in Minnesota phone directories that she thought sounded like ours.

  June shared that, as a very young child, David insisted that he come to the United States. He had been quite enamored of American soldiers, and he understood that he had an American father. In preparation for sending him to the U.S. one day, June raised him Christian rather than Buddhist, and sent him to a private kindergarten so he’d have a head start in public school first grade. When it became too much for her to support her two children, she told David she was sending Moria and him to live with his American father and his father’s wife. Unbeknownst to Brian and me, David arrived in this country thinking Brian was his biological father!

  I a
lso learned from June that Moria had lived much of her young life at the home of June’s brother’s family because, according to June, “She eat alla time—too much. I can’t pay.” When I asked if anyone at her brother’s house might have spanked or hit Moria, she wept uncontrollably and indicated that her sister-in-law’s father hit Moria when she cried too much. Our language barrier precluded my ascertaining the extent of the possible abuse, but with June’s confirmation of my suspicions, all three of us mothers sat in silence together and cried. June and I continued talking for nearly four hours while Jane sat next to me and listened.

  During David’s years at the university we didn’t often hear from him. So I couldn’t have been more surprised or heartwarmed when a handwritten letter arrived from him in November 1985. Excerpts from it read:

  The other day, a friend and I were discussing how not only our actions, but actions of other people, affect our lives. While talking, I thought about what my life would have been like if I had not been adopted, or if I was adopted by some other couple. I feel lucky that you guys chose me and Moria. My life has been pretty good, and I can’t complain. I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you for everything. I realize that I don’t show my thanks, and I also realize that I haven’t been staying in touch, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t think of you often. Because I do! I do nothing but praise you to all my friends …