A Grandmother I'll Never Know

My Grandmother died in January in North Hollywood, California. That's sad. It's sadder still, because I never knew her.

As readers of this blog know, I am adopted. I hired a private investigator to help me to locate my natural mother. Fortunately, the clues and research I already compiled led to the discovery of my mother's address and phone number. The investigator contacted my mother, who quickly told the P.I. that she wanted no contact with me. The amazing thing was that she was at the home of her mother, my grandmother, who was not doing very well. My grandmother was 94 years old as of her last birthday. 94! That was incredible to me, and gave me hope that my genetics would help me to live a good, long life. Still, I had hope that if I wrote to my mother, she might at least agree to send me some information on my family, if for no other reason than tracing my family tree.

As you might already know, she refused and, in fact, didn't even answer my letter.

As I picked up my research again through Ancestry.com, I ran my grandmother's name through a search engine, hoping to pick up some other information. I did. I found a two-line obituary notice, stating that she had died about two weeks earlier.

I didn't know this woman. I don't know what she was like. I didn't know any stories that she might have kept in her memory about her ancestors, and what led her family here to the U.S. from Ireland and Scotland. And yet, I feel a profound sense of loss, precisely because I didn't get to know her.

It isn't the kind of mourning where you weep over someone that you knew and loved. It is just a knot in the pit of my stomach, and a bit of bitterness towards my natural mother who refused my overtures. I'm sure it is hard for her, and a bit shocking, to be contacted by the child you gave up for adoption 47 years before. But I told her that I didn't want a "relationship" of "mother and child". I just wanted to know where my ancestors are from. I just wanted to know a little of what kind of genetic material drives my personality. Perhaps I could find out a bit about my natural father. And perhaps I could have learned a bit from the woman who was born just before World War I began. Now I never will...and I will have the regret that I didn't start my search ten years earlier, which might have allowed me the time to make inroads and perhaps establish contact with my grandmother.

Goodbye, Mrs. P. I never knew you except through my family tree. And I am truly sorry for that.