Our visit with bio grandpa went well. M loved her present and really warmed up to him. They have a grandson who lives there and M loved playing with him, too. I tried to get a few more stories about her birth mom. Randomly, her step-grandma’s daughter’s boyfriend, who lives upstairs, knew where M’s dad’s family is from in Mexico. He couldn’t spell it but I’m going to scour the map for it as soon as I can. It’s strange to still not know his real name but I’ll take any info I can get.
Sadly, a lot of what I learn about bio mom, especially during her pregnancy and five weeks before M came to me, is hard to hear. M’s relatives live in the same county, and yet we are world’s apart, culturally. The houses, ramshackle and grimy on the inside, the lifestyles riddled with drug use and prison, the children, born to so many different combinations of people, yelled at and swatted constantly. It’s hard to imagine my daughter growing up in it, and it’s easier and easier to understand how much her life has already diverged from its original path.
I don’t mean to say that these aren’t nice people, they are. They are well intentioned, friendly, generous, and love M as one of their own, which she is. I remain grateful that we are bridging the gaps between us for the sake of the little girl we all love.
We were planning to stop by her aunt’s house (who is in a lot of trouble these days) but I got a call that my grandma wants to go to the ER. If she wants to go on Christmas eve, she must really need to go, because she’s never allowed us to take her near a holiday. It’s literally the worst timing ever, being the first Christmas that M is really excited about, but here we are at the hospital.
At least we made Christmas cookies this morning, I got her desk finished, her castle is all in one piece, and the presents are wrapped. We’re going to do Christmas morning one way or another.