A Family Affair

In an unguarded moment, fueled by a half bottle of Chianti, my mother’s loose lips reveled a family secret, nonchalantly and known only to her.  An extra family member. She must have wanted to confide this enigmatic story to me because it was at the forefront of her recent thoughts. Or maybe it was the alcohol talking and not her. For an instant I wasn’t sure. 

As she disclosed her kin’s private story under the guise of being buzzed without revealing who it was, my eyes widened, realizing that the words she was now slurring could be true. And I choked on a mouthful of spaghetti and meatballs. It was all I could do to chew and swallow then take a sip of my wine to clear my throat. As mom lifted her glass toward the ceiling toasting an imaginary relative, I regained normal breathing. Maybe she was thinking of another time and another place of her youth.

I was ready to ask her to repeat what she stated, in the event she didn’t remember what she said or even maybe I didn’t hear what she said very clearly. Instead mom gulped down the remainder of her glass, rising from the table. “Would you clear the table and put the leftovers in the fridge. I’ve got a terrible headache and I’m going to take some aspirin and go to bed.” She patted my head and said good night. I nodded wide eyed and returned the good night and wondered about our family.

The stairs squeaked as she padded to her second floor bedroom. Alone I finished the last meatball on my plate and grabbed the last piece of homemade garlic bread to sop up the remaining tomato sauce. I planned on staying overnight and would leave the next afternoon. My old room was the third bedroom in the house and it was always available. Mom’s a great cook and always made sure that I would have a good solid meal anytime we were together. Even when I left, she gave me a container of leftovers to take home.  

I trudged up the stairs later after cleaning up, pondering her shocking revelation. At the top of the carpeted stairs I could hear mom snoring. Obviously the extra wine had its desired effect. I changed into my sweatpants and got into bed. Lying there, my mind raced playing a variety of scenarios to which my mother alluded. Who was this additional member of the family? I had a host of questions, but no specific answers. Was it a brother? A sister? Aunt? Uncle? Cousin?

When dad was on the road for business, particularly on the West Coast for a couple of weeks, I would come and spend a night or two at the old house rather than my city apartment since mom was alone and my presence kept her from going stir crazy and she felt safer with a man in the house. And we would get caught up with events in our lives. We were a close family and I was the “one and done” child of our family. Mom always said that she “was happy that the Lord gave your father and me at least one child. And a good one at that.”

Mom was a stay-at-home wife.  When I was young, she got a part-time job in a fabric store but she was home after school making sure I had a snack before going outside to play for a while. Ours was one of the millions of small homes built in the 1950’s to accommodate the flood of veterans coming home from WW II or Korea. The two-story house had three bedrooms and one and half baths. Dad figured we didn’t need anything bigger for the three of us and the spare room became an office and storeroom for him. I still have a room with a single bed and a change of clothes when I stay overnight. The mortgage was paid early so it’s free and clear, making it easier for them.

Dad had two brothers and a sister. He was the third child and like many middle children, got away with more than his older brother, Tom, named after his dad but whom everyone called TJ, his sister Michelle, nicknamed Miki and the youngest Scott the baby of the family. My dad’s parents, Henry and Marie, were much more tolerant of Scott because he was a surprise later in life and possibly because Scott had more health related issues than his other siblings.

On my mom’s side, she had two older brothers: Gerald, or Gerry, and Robert, never to be called Bob. They were 10 years older than her. Mom’s dad and Gerry died in a car accident when she was young. She figured dad and Gerry, were arguing in the car before the crash. Both never wore seatbelts.

I tossed and turned all night.  It was early morning when I finally gained some measure of sleep but the sun angled in between the blinds and I threw the blanket over my head shutting out its bright beams. Shortly thereafter I heard Mom get up and the water running in the shower. She went back to her room, dressed and again I heard the squeaks as she descended the stairs. I easily envisioned her morning kitchen routine: turning on the radio station playing soft rock, brewing coffee, retrieving the newspaper outside the front door, getting cups, plates and silverware out from the cabinet and drawers, finally deciding what to have for breakfast. That I’d find out when I got downstairs myself.

As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted up to my room, I got out of bed to shower and dress. The creaky stairs announced my entrance to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she chimed giving me her motherly smile.

“Good morning, mom,” I mumbled.

“How’d ya sleep?”

“OK,” I lied. Then I paused and added, “I tossed and turned most of the night.”

“Yeah, me too. It must’ve been the wine.  Coffee?” she asked and I nodded.

Setting my coffee down on the table, I put sugar from the bowl and cream from the decades old ceramic cow container to lighten the strong brew. I blew into the mug to cool the hot Java before taking a sip.

“Would you like a couple of waffles? I can put them in the toaster now and they’ll be done in a couple of minutes.” Again in a fog trying to wake up, I agreed.

           When the toaster popped up, mom put the two waffles on a plate and pushed it over to me. I slathered them with butter and added the pseudo maple syrup over them before cutting them into bite-size pieces.       

“Mom you had a lot of wine at dinner last night,” I remarked as I chewed the first morsels, “more than you usually have to drink.”

           “Yeah. Maybe. Probably,” she paused after each comment. “I’ve had a lot on my mind these past few days. Thought the wine would help me sleep better.”

           “Did it?” as I washed the waffles down with coffee. 

           “A little. Maybe.”

           I stirred my coffee again and put the spoon aside and looked Mom straight in the eyes. “Do you remember what you said last night, before you went to bed?”

           But mom stalled, not wanting to talk about what she revealed at supper. Instead she asked how my city job was going, was I still dating the same woman, how I was doing…then I interrupted her. “Mom, we’ve got to talk about the elephant in the room.”

           She looked up from her second cup of steaming coffee and smiled. “Oh, you mean the pink elephants? God only knows I saw a lot of them last night,” she laughed.

Again she avoided a direct answer, exasperating me. “Mom, I’m serious. I don’t think you were hallucinating. Do you remember what you said at supper last night just before you went to bed? Let me enlighten you, mom, about a family secret.”

           Mom pursed her lips, looking directly at me. “Don’t be sarcastic. Yes, I know what I said. I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to discuss it anymore. But I guess the wine freed my mind more than it should have.”

           “Sorry mom.” I cleaned my plate and turned down her offer of more waffles, but I got up to refresh my coffee. “Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what the family secret is?” Clearly it was serious. Mom’s pangs of guilt were evident and she didn’t want to acknowledge it further. She wanted the thoughts to return to the far reaches of her mind once again.

Taking a deep breath she got up and poured herself a third cup of coffee. “I’ve been harboring this secret for decades and at this time of the year it comes roaring back taking control over me. All this started long ago. Way before your dad and I were married. I was a young girl when it happened. A child was born out of wedlock.”  

           I was going to say, who and what the big deal was, but I didn’t want to interrupt her, now that she had begun. But mom added one more sentence. “It was a baby girl and she’s your cousin.”

           My eyes widened but I had a sense of relief that it wasn’t her child. Mom continued in her own way.

           “In the late 1950’s my brother, your Uncle Gerry, got a girl pregnant. They went to the junior prom and one thing led to another and well…,” as her voice trailed off for a moment as she regathered her thoughts. “I learned about the pregnancy when the girl’s parents came in late summer to see mom and dad who were devastated by the news. Neither the girl nor Gerry were there during the discussion. I was in the next room and didn’t say a word and quietly went upstairs.  

“Mom and dad promised to help with expenses but the girl’s parents lived comfortably and they made plans to send their daughter away. She would live with a distant relative and give birth there. It was an embarrassing situation and the girl’s reputation and that of her family were at stake. This didn’t happen to regular good church-going people. The story, hinted at the time, was that the girl may have contracted some rare disease, such as polio, and had to be isolated and went to a special doctor some distance away. Polio was a very dreaded disease at the time. Everyone agreed that it was best to put the baby up for adoption.  

 “Mom and dad made Gerry get a job and pay for some of her expenses. The girl never came back and had the baby there.  She received a high school diploma, allowing her to attend college.”

“Why didn’t the girl go to a clinic and have the pregnancy terminated?” I asked.  

“Back in the 50’s there were no clinics where a girl could go to have that procedure that there are today. One of the few options was a ‘back alley doctor’ who might use a coat hanger to perform the procedure. The risk of infection or even death was great and there were no guarantees that it would work. And it might have made it impossible to have children later on.”  

Mom took a deep breath and sipped her now lukewarm coffee while I processed what she said. “Does dad know about this?” 

“No, I‘ve kept it a secret from him all my life. Doesn’t affect him and there was no need to say anything to him. And as far as I know, no one in my family wants to discuss it either.”  

“But mom, why talk about it now? Why are you telling me?”

“I think about my dad and brother a lot at this time of the year, especially on the anniversary of their deaths and the circumstances surrounding the accident I guess and the affair comes roaring to the forefront of my mind.  

“As far as I know my dad and Jerry got into another huge argument about five years later when Gerry got a second girl pregnant and dad gave him an ultimatum that he either marry the girl or pay child support. Dad told him he wasn’t getting off easily this time. Gerry refused both options and dad said something about keeping it in his pants several times causing a major league row. One night Gerry’s car wouldn’t start and he asked dad for a ride to work. We think they fought in the car just before my dad lost control and hit a tree killing them both. That’s one of the reasons nobody talks about it. And we never learned anything more about the young woman whom Gerry impregnated. We don’t know if she had a baby or not.” 

I sat back sipping my now cold coffee, fathoming the story she related. Mom again redirected her misty eyes to me.  

“But nonetheless you have a cousin out there.  Somewhere. I don’t know where she lives or what kind of life she’s had all this time. I pray for her silently that she was brought up in a good loving family and that she is now married with a family of her own.” 

“What about my cousins? Are you going to tell them this story?”  

Mom stared at me. “What am I going to say? ‘Oh by the way, you have another cousin out there somewhere.’ What am I going to say to my brother Robert or to your Uncle Scott, Aunt Miki and Uncle TJ? That they have another niece? This is real tricky after all these years.”  

I hadn’t considered mom’s feelings or decision in this discussion.  

“I’m not sure if it’s my place to tell other family members.” Mom paused as she touched my hand. “But I’ve told you.  

“All those ads on TV about having your DNA tested is another reason that it may come to light if that woman wants her kids to know where she came from or that her adoptive parents told her or didn’t tell her. It may become common knowledge or it may remain private. It’s only a matter of time. I suspect that many people spend time looking for their roots and ancestors on the internet. Who knows, one day we, or someone in our own family, could get a call and say something like ‘we are related’ or ‘I’m your niece or cousin.’ It’s very possible.”  

I nodded at mom as she added, “How about you? Are YOU going to say anything to your cousins now that you know the family secret? Should that information come from you? You better think hard on it.”  

My mind was in overload dealing with this information. “This isn’t my responsibility and I don’t have any firsthand knowledge.”

“They may hear about it soon enough, yet I’m not sure that she’s still alive.”  

I hesitated but put my hand over hers and looked into her eyes. “Mom, to let you know what I’ve done. I saw those ads and I had my DNA tested and I am awaiting results. Who knows I may get a call sooner or later from a woman who says she may be my cousin.”  

I thought how easily the words poured out of her last night because of a bottle and it was going to be difficult getting them back inside. She gazed at me and said, “Maybe it’s best that I talk with Scott, Miki and Robert and tell them what I know before they get a call out of the blue.”