Accepting the Unexpected

In my third book – a memoir due out in October 2024 (She Writes Press) – I write about a potpourri of events which occur during my formative years. These experiences helped determine my values, faith, and sense of family and belonging. They also impacted my opinions, perspectives, and general outlook on life.

When my parents married in the 1950s, the most important thing to them was starting a family. But in the early years of their marriage, my mom suffered numerous failed pregnancies. The issues with infertility led to the adoption of my twin sister and me. Two years later, my folks adopted again. This time a little boy. Remarkably, once adoption helped my parents assemble the American family they craved, they added to it with three biological children. Sprinkled in between those three successful births, Mom experienced other difficulties in carrying to full term. 

I was eleven when my mom delivered my brother, Mark, a stillborn. Because of my age, I am old enough to remember the circumstances, which had a profound impact on me. The lesson I learned because of it, is universal, and worthy of sharing here.

Here’s an excerpt:

On April 1st when we came home from school, Mrs. Seitz, the babysitter who had stayed with us during mom’s miscarriage, stood in our kitchen wearing Mom’s apron while she spread chocolate icing on a pan of warm brownies. Mrs. Seitz greeted Howie, Jenny, Patrick, and me with a somber smile. 

We barraged her with questions. “How’s Mom? Did she have the baby? Boy or girl? Did we get our miracle? Is it alive?”

Mrs. Seitz’s face was serene as she ignored our pestering. 

“Your father called. He’ll be home soon. Until then, how about a chocolate brownie and a nice cold glass of milk?” 

By the time the garage door went up, it felt like hours had passed instead of minutes. The worrying had done us kids in. Lizzie played listlessly with her stuffed animals in the corner of the family room. Patrick and Howie lay sprawled against one another on the sofa taking in another rerun of Bewitched, and Jenny and I pretended to do math homework at the kitchen table. 

When my father burst into the family room, his face flushed from the cool spring air, he tossed his overcoat across the arm of the sofa. 

“Scoot over boys,” he said as he plopped down between my brothers, and then he patted his legs and called out to Lizzie. She climbed onto his lap, her strawberry blond pigtails splaying out against his chest. Jenny and I dropped to the braided rug and sat cross-legged at my father’s feet. We repeated the questions with which we’d barraged Mrs. Seitz not quite an hour ago.

Dad closed his eyes. When he opened them, his blue eyes were bloodshot, and his smile thin and forced. 

“Your mother’s going to be fine. She’s tired. She’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few more days to catch up on her rest. Mrs. Seitz will be here until then.” 

He gave my brothers a sharp glance as he threaded fingers through his wavy auburn hair. “You’ll cooperate for her, won’t you, boys?” 

They looked Dad in the eye, their faces solemn, and nodded.

“Good,” Dad said, and a hint of his usual dimpled smile emerged. “I promised your mother we’d call her after dinner. Wouldn’t you like that, Lizzie?” 

Dad stroked my sister’s soft hair for a second, and then he forced out unwelcome news. 

“Kids. You have a brother, Mark Edward. The doctors were right. When he was born this afternoon, he wasn’t breathing.” 

I stiffened as Dad choked up and pulled the boys tight against him on the sofa. His chin dropped and nuzzled the top of Lizzie’s head. Seated on the floor, I moved closer to Jenny, our shoulders and arms touching. We stared at our father. None of us knew what we should say. 

When my dad spoke again, his voice was thick, measured.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to pick you up from school. Then we’re going to the funeral parlor to make some arrangements. I’d like your help.”

The boys blinked up at our dad, while Jenny and I gaped at one another. None of us knew what this entailed. None of us had the nerve to ask. 

When it came to choosing a casket for Mark, the brother we’d never met or held, Dad looked first at Jenny and me. I liked the white one and said so right away. Jenny agreed. Something about the purity of that stark white casket seemed appropriate for a soul that had never committed an earthly sin. 

“It’s decided then,” Dad said to Mr. James. “The white one, please.”

My father picked up Lizzie and held her. His eyes filling. “Now, you kids have an angel in heaven to look out for you.” 

A few days after my mother returned from the hospital, I came upon her in the dining room. She sat alone, staring out the front window at the park, her brown eyes weary and morose. 

I asked her, “What’s wrong, Mom?”

 She fingered the rosary beads in her lap and said she was thinking about Mark. My heart melted. After we hugged, Mom studied the veins on her hands and shared details about my brother’s death. Images that remain with me still. 

My mother looked up and said, “The doctors said the cord had wrapped around Mark’s neck several times. It cut off his breathing.” 

And this is the part that has stuck with me, the wisdom that I have had to draw on so often in my own life.

Mom reached for my hand, her dark eyes wide and serious.

“Julie, life is a fragile gift. We’re not in charge of how long we live, or when we join Our Lord in heaven.” 

My mother’s faithful words rang true then. Today, they still do. 

Over the course of my life, I have considered how lack of control relates to many things including my adoption. Like the circumstances causing my brother’s death, adoption happened to my sister and me. We had no say in the matter just like my mother could not affect the circumstances of Mark’s unfortunate death. Mom believed her own words and I observed her put them into practice, which allowed her to cope with the many losses she experienced building her American family. 

I was a young girl when my mom professed her belief that we are not in charge of our destiny. As an adult, I have expanded on my mother’s perspective. Whether one believes in a higher power or not, if we accept that we lack full control over the events in our lives, frustration and anxieties loosen their bind, acceptance and forgiveness are possible, and the road to joy and gratitude becomes less fraught.

NEWS & UPCOMING EVENTS

• Julie’s interview on the Bookish Roadtrip aired on Authors on the Air Radio Network Thursday, August 31st, 5:00 pm Eastern. The episode also appears on www.LaunchPadRadio.com.  
• Julie’s forthcoming book Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family and Kinship (Muse Literary) releases on November 1, 2023. It’s now available for preorder in hardcopy, paperback, and Kindle. The audiobook, which Julie just finished recording, will be available in November. 
• Reader’s Favorite Trade Review gave Julie’s new book, Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family and Kinship its first FIVE STAR REVIEW saying the “story relates to millions of people in America, and her work is sure to start many conversations,” and the book “is a great selection for an adoptee or a family member of an adoptee.

And in case you missed it…

• Julie recently guested on “Top of Mind” podcast with Julie Rose where the topic discussed was: How can we do better by those impacted by the adoption process and create a system that enables children and families to thrive? You can link to it here.
• The interview Julie did this month at AllAuthor.com is posted here.
• An article featuring Julie’s writing journey at The Writer’s Studio, University Chicago, Graham School can be found here.

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