They have the same hands

I was watching my mother and my aunt the other day and for about the one thousandth time in my life, I noticed that they have the same hands. This similarity between them has always fascinated me as my hands are mine alone. They don't look like my mom's and they didn't look like my dad's. If I had a sister, they wouldn't look like hers either. The reason for this is of course the fact that I was adopted at the age of 18 days. I've always been open about that fact and have never minded discussing it or answering questions.

I tend to cycle through periods in my life when I start wondering about that "other" family that I have never met, and then not thinking about it for months. Lately though, it has been on my mind a lot more than normal. I think it came back to me the most aggressively a couple of months ago when the daughter of Christian recording artist Steven Curtis Chapman was killed in an accident. Steven and his family are wonderful advocates for adoption and had three adopted daughters of their own with Maria having been the youngest. I worked with Steven for many years, and was absolutely heartbroken when I heard the news. It is devastating when any child leaves this world too soon, but the Chapman family is strong in their faith and I knew that they would make it through and find their way to acceptance.

So now I'm back to thinking about my other "family". I use that term loosely as obviously my family is Ralph and Betty Kingery and all the aunts, uncles, and cousins that came with them, but for ease here, I will use that term. I know bits and pieces of information - she was 30/he was 35, she was English and Irish/he was Italian, she was married/but not to him. But I don't know the important things - what would I have been named, do I look like either of them, does he even know I exist? Does any of that even matter? Honestly - no. I have a fabulous family and have never lacked for love, but I still wonder some times about those missing pieces. I could have brothers and sisters in this world that I've never met. That is the one thing that gnaws at me over and over as I grew up an only child and always longed for an older brother. I've considered searching, but have always stopped myself before taking that next step.

My heart tells me that if I'm blessed with a biological child of my own that some of the void will be filled as I will be able to finally have the experience of looking at another human being and knowing my blood runs through them. But what if I don't have a biological child? Will there always be just a little something missing? Will I always marvel at the likeness of my mom and and my aunt and wonder what it is like to share that unbreakable bond? Or is that when the search for answers will begin?

I'm going to have to leave that question unanswered at this point.

My mom gave me a plaque when I was a young girl, and to this day I keep it hanging above my desk. Whenever these questions begin intruding and the confusion starts - the words always help to calm and comfort me:

Not flesh of my flesh

nor bone of my bone

but still miraculously my own

Never forget for a single minute

you didn't grow under my heart

but in it.