In Memory of...

The world lost an amazing person today.  Kris had worked at the adoption agency I used for 19 years before passing away suddenly from a stroke.  She was 40 years old.

When I called the agency in 1998, it was Kris I spoke with.  She made an appointment to come see me and talk through all my questions about open adoption, including that which I didn't know I didn't know!  She was always smiling and laughing, and she had a touch of cynicism and sarcasm so I knew I could always be myself around her.

She was a birthmom too, her son was 7, I think, when my son was born.  Kris had since married Brett, a police officer, and became pregnant about 3 months after I did.

We spent time together during birthparent group, which was our quasi-therapy sessions to which all birthparents were invited.  We also talked a lot during the preparations for our annual adoption picnics.

We lost touch for a bit until we ran into each other at the liquor store one day.  I noticed that the man in front of us had an enormous bottle of Jack Daniels, and I looked at the man himself and realized I KNEW HIM!  And of course, it was Brett, and Kris was with him.  The four of us stood there and talked a bit, realizing that we lived just down the road from each other's house.  We made plans to get together for dinner.

We spent a bit of time together, never realizing the camping trips that we spoke about, unfortunately.  The pain of losing Kris is tremendous to me, but that's nothing compared to the void left in the lives of her husband and two children (ages 12 and 3). 

Sometimes you really have to question why God makes these types of decisions.  I can't possibly understand how the world is better off without Kris, or why these kids needed to grow up without the love of their mom.  We will miss her laugh, her smile and her warmth every day.

Remembering

In Denver, it was 6:46 a.m. when the first plane hit. I was out of the shower listening to my favorite morning show, Dom and Jane. They usually had the Today Show on in their studio and suddenly, they were talking about how a plane inexplicably just flew into one of the buildings.

17 minutes later, the second plane hit. I continued to listen in shock, not turning on the TV for fear I would miss my bus to the office.

Everyone on that bus was talking about what happened. Those who hadn't heard were filled in. Those who had watched news channels that morning relayed the horrific scene in New York.

As soon as I got into the office, I pulled up Mapquest to get a picture of the buildings. The buildings imploded shortly after.

I called my boss, who just the night before had supper with me because he was leaving town to go be with his family. I cooked for him when he had no one else to eat with. I caught him on his cell phone, cruising oblivious down the highway toward Phoenix.

"Turn on your radio, find a talk radio station." We got cut off.

The head honchos at the office determined that we were not fully safe in our office building, being so near one more than 50 stories high. We didn't yet know whether all skyscrapers in the country were being targeted or if the damage was yet complete.

They told us to go home.


So, we did.


Most of us spent the next eleventy hours glued to the television, watching replays of what happened that morning. The planes, the smoke, the fires, the ash, the horror.

This morning, I woke up and looked around my neighborhood. There are flags flying today where there were none yesterday.

I thought about the women who were pregnant at that time, whose babies lost their fathers that day. They'd be in first, maybe second grade this fall.

It was incomprehensible then. And no less so now.

A Little Broncos love 'Fro Me to You

Before I began my life as a gypsy and moved eleventy times, I lived in California.

I tried to play peanut league baseball (where I can remember losing every game, some with scores such as 19-2). I wasn't good at sports. But I wanted to be.

My dad was a baseball fan. He took me to a San Francisco Giants game and an Oakland A's game.

On television I watched Joe Montana and then Steve Young become idols for the San Francisco 49ers.

My grandma and aunt both lived in Colorado. Sometimes they would give me presents that reflected where they lived, who they rooted for. The likes of another idol, John Elway.

Not being married to one regional sports team, I proudly wore my Broncos attire lovingly given to my by my Colorado family.

The thing I want people to understand is that I was a Broncos fan before being a fan was cool.

I wore the attire of the Orange Crush before Elway led the Broncos to back to back SuperBowls.

I'm the one on the left.

Love the stance, don't you?

It says, I am too cool for my own good.


Third graders RULE!

And the rolled up cuffs on the jeans? Klassy!

I wonder what happened to the neighbor girl on the right?

For other hysterical 'Fro' moments, please check out We are THAT family!