Tenderness & Ease
I was born left-handed in the middle of a snow storm in the early hours of a late November morning. My mother died that night and my father always said that a part of him did as well. I was lucky enough to have three older siblings raise me. They did so with a tenderness and ease that I’m sure my mother would have been hard pressed to match. I learned in my teens that she had been an orphan, bouncing from home to home until she was officially adopted by a sweet older couple when she was in High School. My father, twelve years her senior, was her next door neighbor. They fell in love and he stole her away from her new family who didn’t approve of the relationship. They left in the middle of the night. She never saw them again. When my father killed himself he left us a letter to tell us he loved us, but that he loved our mother more. We eventually found her adoptive parents, but they were living in a nursing home, and their biological children said that meeting us would be too hard.
I think of them both every time it snows.