“The problem with the world is that we draw the circle of our family too small.”
—St Teresa of Calcutta
The photo above was taken in the 1970s, soon after my parents brought me home through the gift of adoption.
Please enjoy the plastic Bakelite phone (and the fact that I had it at the dinner table).
Until my adoption, I was fostered for a little while by a couple who, as my mother recalled, had two small boys of their own and had hoped to adopt me themselves.
All the while, my brave and beautiful first mother’s heart was breaking at the inevitability of saying goodbye, at a time when being a young, unmarried mother meant next to no support and no small amount of shame.
So much letting go.
Older than me by eight years, my brother and I may not share the same DNA, physically, but in another sense, we do. In the way in which our earliest childhood memories and shared experiences of family first bond us, and make us who we are, we absolutely do.
My story has shown me how God can knit family together, outside the womb. And it is no less mysterious or miraculous.
Aged 18, and with the blessing and practical support of my parents, I set out to find and, eventually, meet my birth mother and, years later, Italian papa.
It’s a journey that, over twenty-something years, has taken me from the leafy suburbs of south west London where I grew up, to Florence, the terracotta rooftops of Tuscany and on to a small town on the Ligurian coast where the sunlight dances on the sea, the shutters are dark green and the cobbled streets come alive with the clatter of espresso cups and animated conversations.
My birth father, half-brother and sister, nonna and cousins welcomed me into their homes and at the family table in a way that made it feel like I’d always had a place there, but had just been away for a while.
Years later, I would return to those same streets with my own young family, and watch our daughter play in the sunlit piazza where our story began.
Today, that place feels like home to her, too.
Along with the joy and the reunions, there have been devastating losses and grief.
Over the years, I’ve struggled with the anxiety which is now so much more understood and is, thankfully, recognised among those who have suffered separation at an early age—what is referred to as a “primal wound”.
My mother loved and cared for me through all of it, with the fiercest, deepest of mother loves.
Over the years, I’ve found myself sharing our story in the unlikeliest of places, at the most unexpected times. I am always honoured when someone entrusts something of theirs with me.
It feels sacred.
Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special attention to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstances, are brought into closer connection with you.
—St Augustine
There have been a lot of “accidents of time” along the way.
Holy encounters.
I am the daughter, sister and mother I am today because of my mum and dad, my first mother, my papa and that young couple who gave me the gift of home and family for a time.
I still long to find those foster parents, to thank them. I wonder what happened to those boys who were, too, brothers to me for a while.
All of them gave me family, every one, and their legacies of love are woven into the DNA helix of my heart.
The “nature versus nurture” debate wages on, but I believe that what makes us family and who we are cannot be categorised in this way. What brings and bonds us together, and what it means to belong, is complex, mysterious, sacred ground.
And it calls to the soul, “welcome home”.
Speaking of accidents of time
… just before sending you this week’s newsletter, I discovered it’s National Adoption Week here, which makes this feel especially timely.
The UK charity Home For Good has some good links and info below, for those who might be interested.
As always, thanks so much for reading and for sharing your stories, too (in the comments, by replying to this email or via Instagram. I’m looking into ways of exploring this more in this space, too).
Jenni, When this edition came in, I filed it in my To Be Read folder to make sure I didn’t miss it. I finally opened it this morning and read it as the first snow blanketed us in Indiana. How beautifully you have shared your experience and also ours as we are being knit together in a broader family. May it ever be just so. I’m also reminded to continue reading St. Augustine! Blessings from across the pond. C
I love the way I learn more about you each time you tell your layered story of home and belonging. And accidents of time feels so providential, so serendipitous, so much like the way life really does unfold. Brava!