Responsible Party

A glance at my watch told me I needed to hurry. I grabbed my purse and scrambled for the elevator. When the doors slid open, a man about my age tumbled out.

“This isn’t the lobby?” he asked, a confused look washing over his face. 

“No. Down one more,” I said.

During our descent to the main floor, we realized our paths had crossed once before. The week prior, I’d stumbled upon him demonstrating to his thirtysomething daughter how to navigate the lobby stairs with crutches. In her hospital gown and thickly bandaged ankle, she was fresh from emergency surgery.

“How’s she doing now?” I asked as we stepped out of the elevator.

In the moments it took for us to traverse the small lobby and spill into the parking area, he revealed how anxious he was about leaving his daughter to care for herself so soon after major surgery.

My hazel eyes stared into his concerned brown ones. “I raised four children. So, I get how you feel about leaving her like this.” Without hesitation, I said, “I’d be happy to check in on her.”

Watching the tension leave his face was like witnessing a rainbow after a storm. “Would you? That would give me great peace of mind. I’m Paul by the way.”

Before Paul climbed into his Uber to catch a flight, we traded contact information. And as I wandered over to my SUV, I marveled how a chance encounter had transformed my own immediate circumstances. In an instant, I had gone from being a Midwestern snowbird—a widow wintering alone in Sarasota—to something new, yet familiar. I had someone to care for once again.

Merging into traffic, my mind wandered, picking through a loose weave of memories, and teasing out the thread linking the present to my past. I remembered the time when my own mother had been equally relieved to find a responsible party in which to entrust the well-being of my sister and me. 

Much like the day Paul and I crossed paths, the day was steamy and hot. At dawn, my twin sister and I had helped our parents pack up Mom’s station wagon for the four-hour drive south to Indiana University to start our freshman year. Once we arrived in Bloomington, the process of unloading our belongings, picking up dorm keys, IDs, and meal cards, and then commandeering the elevator to ride up to our side-by-side rooms was a nightmarish blur. In a whir, I heard my twin meeting her roommate at the same time my roommate introduced her parents to me and mine. The mood was an odd cocktail of fatigue, pent-up nerves, excitement, awkwardness. Combined with the unbearable heat, it threatened to push all of us to a breaking point.  

A reprieve came in the form of our resident advisor (RA) who introduced herself to my mother. “Welcome to IU. I’m Mariel, a graduate student. I live across the hall from your daughters.” 

Within seconds of Mariel’s introduction, Mom stopped nagging me with, “What can I do to help?”, “Shall I make up your bed, honey?”, and “Where would you like me to put your shoes?” Instead, she brightened. It was like watching the sun appear after several days of serious downpours. Mesmerized, I watched Mom lean in close to Mariel in the hallway, chatting away. 

When it came to say our final goodbyes, it went easier than I expected.

“Your RA seems like a nice young woman. I’ll rest easier knowing someone like her is watching over you from across the hall.” 

As I drove along reminiscing about that poignant college scene, I felt certain that Paul had mirrored my mother’s angsts about leaving a vulnerable daughter behind in an unfamiliar place. In fulfilling my promise to Paul—an effort which also satisfied a need within myself to care for another human being—an unexpected outcome occurred. 

One night after dropping off dinner, Allie invited me into her apartment to watch a movie. 

“I’d like it if you treated me more like a friend than someone’s daughter,” she said.

My heart melted. “Ok, I’ll try.”

When I told Paul I would check up on Allie, I anticipated taking out her trash, collecting mail, and dropping off an occasional meal. I hadn’t expected to make a friend with a woman about the same age as my daughters.

“Never underestimate the power you have to take your life in a new direction.” – Germany Kent

Follow Me Here

This just in! Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family, and Kinship was named Winner in the Parenting/Family category by Firebird Book Awards. 

Julie’s conversation with fellow adoptee author, Sherrie Eldridge is live here at 20 Things Adoption podcast.

On February 5, Julie’s conversation with social worker and psychotherapist, Paula McMillan-Perez, on the “Why Don’t We Talk About This?” podcast airs. 

On February 8, Laura Swanson hosts Julie on her Social Work Bubble podcast where they discuss how social workers can best support adoptees in their search for identity and belonging.

On February 16, find Julie at J. McLaughlin’s on Longboat Key. She will be signing her books and donating proceeds from the “Sip n Shop” event to benefit the Longboat Key Library. 

On February 27th, Dr. Meg Meeker will host a conversation with Julie on the Parenting Great Kids podcast. 

To listen to other podcasts where Julie shares about her books, adoption story, and perspectives on all things related to identity and belonging, go to the media tab on her website.

In Other News:

Feathered Quill recently reviewed Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family & Kinship, saying: Written in a simple-to-understand manner, Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family, and Kinship is a must-read for everyone who has found themselves caught up in the adoption triangle.

To read the full review in the Quill, go here.

Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family & Kinship, (11/1/23) became a Barnes & Noble Bestseller in mid-December 2023. 

Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family & Kinship, was also awarded a Silver Medal in the Nonfiction Book Awards by the Nonfiction Author’s Association. Belonging Matters is featured in the Award Winners section of the Nonfiction Authors Association site AND the new Nonfiction Book Club site. 

Don’t miss a blog post!

Receive my blog posts directly to your inbox.