Kinfolk

Kin. Relatives. Blood Relation.

These are ways that we describe the people in our family that are related to us biologically and although I have a lot of people in my life who are family, the biologically related ones are a little scarce.

When I was born, my mom was married to my biological father, but by the time I was two years old, the marriage disintegrated. My father spent time with me after the divorce, but didn't seem to have much interest in really being in my life. When my mom married her second husband, my biological father turned over his parental rights so that her new husband could raise me as his own. This happened so early in my life that I only remember my dad as the one who I call Dad to this day...although he is not my blood relation.

In the meantime, the brother of my biological father was keeping up with my life through regular letters to my mother. I always knew who he was, but only met him once when I was around 15 or so. I would see the letters and cards come in through the mail. It was so commonplace that I never asked what the purpose was, what was said or anything. I just knew they were from my uncle, my "real" uncle.

When I turned 18, I was contacted by the side of my family that had always remained at a distance. I met my father. I met my grandmother. And from that day forward, as an adult, I kept in touch with my uncle and my grandmother through written correspondence. When I was in my early twenty's, the man who fathered me, died of cancer. My relationship with my uncle and grandmother continued on.

Five or so years ago, his wife and my aunt died of cancer. I continued to stay in contact with my uncle.

Around two years ago, I received a phone call from him to let me know that my grandmother, his mother, had passed on.

I continued to stay in contact with my uncle. He had remarried and moved to Springfield, MO around the same time that I moved to Dallas, TX area. He asked me if I would consider coming for a visit, that he would really like to see me. I thought I might do it sometime.

And I did this past week.

My daughter, my mother, and myself went to visit this uncle who had so diligently stayed in contact with me. He seemed very pleased that we were coming. When we pulled up, he was waiting on the porch, just waiting for us to arrive. His wife pulled me aside and told me over and over how excited he was that we were there.

I was excited too. I was happy for my daughter to meet him and become aware of some of her history. I, for the first time ever, was able to ask about my paternal side of the family. Medical history that I have always answered, "Unknown", I can now give correct answers. I now know that my recently diagnosed hypertension is genetic from both sides of my family. (I was doomed from the start.) And I have looked into the face of someone who I "belong" to. Besides my mother and my children, it has been a rare occasion for me to look into the eyes of a person who shares my blood...kin. By brother died thirty years ago and my grandfather right after him, so it has been that long. And what a cool thing. I could see the resemblances that I have passed along in my boys, especially my oldest one, who carries the body stature and blond hair from this side of the family.

So, we talked. He and his wife (also an old classmate from way, way back) reminisced. Another classmate came by and had dinner. And I watched. I listened. I smiled.

I belonged.