They Call Me Junebug

DAR, here I come

Extant

Today I learned that the word Extant means “to be in existence”, as in “those records are extant in the courthouse”.

I also learned who I am today, or at least a small piece of who I am. I learned that my maiden name should have been McCaughtry, and that my great-grandparents are from Chickasaw, OK. I have relatives that I can trace back to England in the very early 1600’s. There was a Colonel in the British Army. A Captain in the Revolutionary War. I’ve seen pictures of a house, still standing, in Maryland that was built in 1758 by a relative.

My paternal grandfather was adopted as an infant, something that I’ve always known as far back as I can remember. His adoptive parents were older and never had any biological children, so his mother died in the late 80’s, he’s had no family save the own he made.

It’s been only recently that my grandmother was able to convince him that for health reasons he should petition to have his records unsealed. We had obtained a copy of the adoption papers that had all identifying information blacked out, which proved to be more frustrating than informative.

We learned that his birth parents were from Oklahoma. We knew that his father was 19 and came home for Christmas break one year and left a little more than fond memories with his 16 year old girlfriend. Though the teens wanted to get married and keep the child, their parents decided that they were too young and the girl, “Lee” was sent to a home for unwed mothers here in Texas.

Today, I know who I am. Where I come from. That I could be a Daughter of the American Revolution if I so choose. I learned that I have Great-Aunts and Uncles, cousins and a heritage I’ve never dreamed of before. I have roots. I have a history.

I also learned that my grandfather, after a lifetime of feeling unwanted and discarded and uncertain of who he really was, is scared. Scared of seeing the siblings he never knew existed. Scared of who they are and what they feel about him. He has to face the knowledge that he will never really know his mother and his father. Imagine discovering your parents, only to learn they’re both dead and gone. He’ll never have the closure of asking why? And of being assured of their love and whether they ever thought of him.

He’s scared. And sad. And uncertain. And he’s a McCaughtry.

posted by The Call Me Junebug @ 12:41 PM