Have you ever had a time in your life where something happened, or someone showed up at just the right time? Most people, including myself, have been known to define these occurrences as being coincidental.
The older I grew, the more I started to pay attention to how many times I would find myself feeling skeptical that someone or something had crossed my path at just the right time. As the years advanced, even more, I began to link together time frames that were years apart that led to other unique circumstances.
Here is a story that has literally spanned a lifetime.
Because of how my mother’s life ended, her parents and siblings were estranged from our father. When we, her offspring, were too young to travel ourselves, it was difficult visiting that side of the family. This led to not really knowing them or living with years of memories.
When I was 16 years old, I applied for and got a part-time cashier job at a grocery store a few blocks from my home. I found that I liked the position and the paycheck at the end of the week. I finally could buy my own clothes and other essentials a teenage girl does not want to ask her dad for.
I believe I was there about six months when the branch I was working at closed its doors for business. The company began placing the employees at other stores in the area. The town I was transferred to happened to be the same town my mother had grown up in. Being only one town away, equaling about seven miles, my dad or older siblings with driver’s licenses would give me rides to and from there.
On a particular Friday evening, I had been at this branch for about three months when a couple I was cashing out asked me what my last name was. Their friendly smiles turned into huge “I just knew it” grins when I told them. The woman could barely contain her happiness when she said, “I am your aunt! Your mother was my older sister! And this is your uncle, my husband.”
The store was absolutely slammed with customers. It made it so unfair that I had no time to talk with her. She recognized how busy it was and said we would get in touch later. I remember being so happy and blown away that I had an opportunity to see them, if only for a few minutes.
The night remained very busy. I think it was about an hour later that someone approached quietly on my right. They leaned in and down towards the drawer directly below the register I was ringing on. When I was 16 years old, the time frame went far enough back to when the machines used to ring out people’s groceries had buttons where the cashier would actually tap the amount of each product into the register by hand.
The action of whoever was opening my drawer startled me until I realized it was my aunt. She quietly put an envelope into the drawer and said: “You are busy; I brought these for you to keep. You can look at them later.”
Was this chance meeting a coincidence? At the time, I thought it was.
What my aunt had brought me were two pictures. Both of them were of my mother sitting in a chair. One was her holding an infant, the next was her cradling an infant in each arm. You could tell the pictures were taken at the same time, as there was also a calendar in the background with the month and year clearly displayed.
By the year on the calendar, I determined that I was one of those babies. I had no idea who the other baby in the picture was. After showing some of my siblings, they figured out that the second baby was my cousin. She was the daughter of the aunt who had given these to me.
The year I turned 40 there also was a family reunion of sorts happening back home. I remember about a month before traveling back north for that reunion, I was getting ready for work one morning when the following thought struck me: “Am I anything like my mother? I know I don’t look like her, but are any of my characteristics or habits anything like her?”
I thought about looking up my mother’s youngest sister while up north. The rest of my mother’s family was either passed away or had moved to different places. I had no idea where they were.
A month later, I arrived at my brother’s house, where the reunion was held. It wasn’t five minutes later; the same aunt I had thought to look up while visiting up north drove into my brother’s driveway! Once again, was this a coincidence? My mother’s family had never come to these events. Now I was beginning to wonder.
I set up an appointment to visit her the next day. Upon arriving at her house, I explained why I wanted to meet. All of my life, anytime I asked what my mother was like, the only answers I was given were: “Your mother was a good person.” Or, “your mother was a saint.”
My aunt listened with compassion while I explained that I had no memories of her, and I just wanted to know if I was anything like her. She said she wished to help me, but she was barely 16 years old when my mother took her life. She explained that there were 14 years between the two of them. They did not grow up together. She was far too young to remember what my mom was like when she still lived with her.
I was starting to feel hopeless about ever learning anything about my mother. My aunt added that the person I wanted to ask was the very aunt I had seen in the grocery store all those years ago. She went on to say that this aunt was only about 2 years younger than my mom and the two of them went everywhere together.
I asked her for my other aunt’s address. When she brought it to me, I found myself totally shocked. Here I thought that she was giving me an address somewhere in the state. No, my aunt had moved out of state years ago. The state she moved to was the very state I lived in! Was this a coincidence as well? Too many of them were now stacking up. This could only be God answering my life-long prayer of knowing my mom!
When I arrived home from my week vacation up north, I looked up the address and found that my aunt lived about three hours away! I called her, and we had a wonderful time talking on the phone. A few months later, I was able to take a weekend off from work. I was elated! My aunt and uncle and I were going to meet again after all these years. The plan was to come up to their home and spend the night.
When I arrived, there was hugging and kissing and tears of happiness. Then we settled down in their living room, and I explained to both of them how I had been extremely angry and hurt over my mother’s actions. I finally, with the help of counseling and, of course, getting closer to God, knew that my mother was human like everyone else. She and my father had made some serious mistakes in their lives, just like we all do. My mother’s last mistake was, of course, a final one. A mistake that affected everyone around her and was life-changing for all. This was a mistake that could not be reversed. I wanted my aunt and uncle to know that I understood and forgave both of my parents.
I then proceeded to try to explain to them that I was here to find out who exactly was my mother? What likes did she have, what dislikes? I didn’t have to know about skeletons-in-the-closet; I just wanted to know the woman. My aunt smiled at me, then excused herself while she got a few things that might help me figure that out.
While waiting, my uncle told me how he and my aunt used to double date with my father and mother before any of them were married. I thought that was kind of cool and really was glad I had come to visit. Then my uncle started to talk to me about my father’s many faults. My uncle started out slowly, telling me about them. That is to say, that he would refer to a memory where my dad had messed up somehow. It sounded like my uncle did not care for my dad. I had no issues with that. Unless my dad was selling whatever product he was dealing with at any particular time, there wasn’t that much to like about him. If the subject wasn’t about my dad, well, my dad just was not interested.
I tried to explain to my uncle that he wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. As my aunt returned with an armful of photo albums, she was beaming with excitement that I was so happy to see. I just knew I was about to meet my mother for the very first time in my life!
My aunt sat down next to me on the couch and would explain specific pictures. Or talk about memories of the things she and my mom did as kids. Then she moved on to the teenage years. Wow! What a wonderful experience I was feeling. Even though this conversation could have been about anyone who was a friendly and thoughtful woman, I listened with total concentration to every word. I know that I will probably never feel like my mom was real, as in a physical experience. Still, she was now becoming someone who had a personality, someone who cared for people, someone who had a consciousness about her.
The stories came one after another. Occasionally my uncle would pipe in every now and then with a memory to share. He would start talking about a particular time with my mom and dad. No matter how much it started out to be about my mom, he would bring it around to something my dad did that was mean or disgraceful. I tried very hard to ignore the words and just nod my head.
When looking at the pictures, I was scanning a page. I saw a picture of my mom that was not posed; it looked like the camera caught her in the middle of turning towards the camera. It was a profile of her right side turning; her right arm was crooked at the elbow with the lower half of her arm in front of her, and her hand kind of like flung open. It was almost like she was explaining something to someone. All I saw was the hand. I gasped and said, “That’s my hand!” To show what I meant, I flipped my right forearm to face up my palm. My fingers were in a natural position. It looked just like the hand in the picture. My aunt chuckled, she knew that I knew what I said sounded utterly ridiculous, but I was excited! I found something in my mother that I had in me. The chuckle told me that my aunt was happy and didn’t care how I connected with my mom. She already knew I was like her by the way I was reacting so very politely to my uncle.
At one point, my aunt wanted to make us a little dessert. She went to the kitchen, and I followed her to the doorway. My uncle also got up and came into the dining room. I knew my uncle truly meant no harm with his memories. I kept trying to tell him that I totally agreed about my dad. He, my dad, was not the nicest person. I just did not want my father involved with this evening at all. This was about my mother. This was about learning about the real woman she was. My father had no business being part of this evening. Whenever I would get more in-depth with my explanation of why I didn’t want to talk about my dad, my uncle would smile and say something in agreement. It would take him all of two or three minutes, and there he was talking about my dad again.
So here we are, my aunt is in the kitchen, I am in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, my uncle is in the dining room. My aunt can’t see my uncle, and he can’t see her. I know that I am about to lose my temper, and I just don’t want the evening to go in that direction. I don’t understand my uncle; I mean, I keep telling him that basically, I am on his side. Why won’t he stop? And that’s when the feeling that what I am going through is all too familiar. Whoa! And before I can stop myself, I hear my words coming out of my mouth in an amiable attitude. Here is what I said, “All night, uncle, it has been niggling in the back of my mind that you remind me of someone. All night I have been trying to figure out who that person is, and now I know.”
I can see I have my uncle’s undivided attention. He is standing there grinning at me. Having been in sales the majority of my life, I know what that grin is. It is the person feeling that they are finally the center of attention. Once again, before I can stop myself, I continue on, “It’s my father! You remind me of my father. You are just like him. Once he gets on a subject, no matter how many times you ask, he won’t drop the subject. Could we please stop talking about him?” The smile never left my uncle’s face. I am wondering if he even heard me. Then I see the smile is still there because my uncle’s face appears to be frozen. I think that I totally shocked him. I look into the kitchen to see if my aunt is upset, and I find her bent over the desserts with her hand clapped over her mouth, and she is laughing! I mean, really laughing hard! She looks up at me and silently mouths the words: “That’s Dolly!” while pointing her finger at me. I knew that Dolly was a nickname for my mother.
My uncle recovered from his shock and finally stopped talking about my father. The rest of the evening went fabulously well.
After breakfast the following day, a neighbor asked my uncle for some help, and he went outside. Because of the long drive and having to work the next day, I knew I had to leave soon.
I looked at my aunt and said to her, “I can’t thank you enough for what you have done for me. My life seemed like a giant jigsaw puzzle, and I had everything put together except for this last piece. I now feel like a whole person. What she said in response blew me away.
“It is I who want to thank you, Annmarie. My sister’s life ended when she was 30 years old. By coming here and spending time getting to know us, you have given me my sister at 40! You are just like her, and don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.”
We both cried a few tears of joy, and shortly after my uncle came back in, I left for home.
Jumping once again in time, it is now present day. One of my brothers and I are friends on Facebook. One day he tells me that one of our cousins from our mother’s side has found him, or he found her…I can’t quite remember. She is the daughter of the aunt I spent the evening and following morning with. She was also the cousin in the picture with my mother and me when the cousin and I were infants.
When she realizes who I am, she requests that we be friends on Facebook, and of course, I accept. When we start texting back and forth, I realize that her parents have passed away. We have talked about many things and found that we have similar interests. We are both Saved Christians, and she constantly shares things about our grandparents. That would be my mother’s parents. Two more people I never got to know. I have discovered how talented my mother was at some crafts through my cousin. I found out that my grandmother crocheted. I am finding out more and more that the creative gifts I have found in myself are from my mom!
So, do I say that every little parcel of information I have received throughout my life is a coincidence? I think not. I believe this has been a journey led by God, prayed for by a little girl whom I was told on the day after her mother was found, went around the neighborhood at two years old, asking the people living there if they had seen her mother. That little girl asked if anyone had seen her mother every time she wondered what her mother was like. God is answering that a part of my mother is inside me and has been there all my life.