BY JOELLEN COLLINS
As a child, I was often amazed by what we called “co-inky-dinks.” Recently, I experienced some of these surprises in Oklahoma City, where my birth mother’s family resides. Most of my friends and readers know about my “new” families, a source of my gratitude. I first spent two days with my now familiar and loving family, especially with my half-brother from that family—the one I found originally through genealogical sites. Thus, I have been able to know some other wonderful people from the prairielands I would have inhabited barring adoption.
Last year I was invited to a reunion of my birth father’s family, the Fraziers, and enjoyed time with the other half of my birth history. My biological father was one of 12 children on a farm in Follett, a little Texas town, during the Depression and the disastrous Dust Bowl, which made farming even more risky. Follett is not far from the Oklahoma Panhandle, and the offspring of my father’s family have mostly settled in surrounding prairie states. Now I could meet once again with both biological families, something I did not experience before the past couple of years. I’ve always considered myself “JoEllen Gifford,” who was born of the Giffords (my mother was Helena Valborg Johanson from a Swedish family). I have spoken before of my luck in having a wonderful family raise me. I couldn’t picture myself with anybody else. Now I have found a family of “half-blood” members and can experience relationships with them as well as with my adoptive kin. I am very lucky to be part these three families.
Even as elderly, I have continued to learn that we mustn’t dwell in negative expectations. For example, the first day I joined the Frazier reunion, I met Mark, who lives in Modesto, California, not too far from my current city, Walnut Creek. He attended school in nearby Ceres, where my Johanson cousin Lynn was a music teacher. Turns out she taught him how to play the guitar. They talked on the phone after I met him. Later, I learned that Mark and his lovely wife are going to be able to visit me. What a welcome connection!
Then, while relaxing with my biological mother’s family, I read a four-page, legal-sized, handwritten document that my birth mother wrote about her childhood in Texas, a vivid description of a prairie child during the Depression. I could see she was a decent writer from her delicious details. It was fabulous; I understand a little bit more about this woman I never met. I have a better sense of her and a hint about why I am so drawn to writing stories.
I now live in a place that is very nourishing, as was the Idaho I treasured. I’m with wonderful ’new” friends, and there have been some surprising coincidences that support my Pollyanna nickname. This and other recent surprises nourish my belief that a positive outlook bolsters a healthier reaction to future happenstances, even, perhaps, sad ones. More next column!
