Marilyn

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Grandma Crane
Helen (birth mother) and her parents
I lived with my birth mother, Helen, from age 3 -5 at which time she died of TB complications
Brother Kenneth
My brother Kenneth. This was while I was in a foster home from birth to 3. Ages 3 to 5 I was back with my birth parents who both died of TB. Then thank the Lord, I was adopted by my foster parents who had raised me from birth till I was 3 years old.
Taken about 2 years before we separated.
Back with my ‘parents’ and my brother. Love love my daddy.
My brother and I at my Grandparents (Crane) ranch. Fantastic fun memories there. Except for the time I went into a barn that I was told to stay out of. There was a huge black bull waiting for his time with a fair lady…and was very mad and disappointed when it was me that walked into his space. And yep, my grandpa lectured me but he might as well of saved the words because NO WAY was I ever going into that barn again.
8th grade: He who gave me my first kiss. Bells chimed and the world spun. Love his argyle socks, penny loafers and levi’s. I had my socks properly rolled down and a favorite scarf around my neck. Two room school in the Monterey Bay.
(I just happened to scroll by this picture while in my photo files so thought it would be fun to remember that I was ever that young and definitely innocent !)

Marilyn’s Family History

My birth father’s parents and grandparents left Ireland and came to America by the way of Ellis Island. My birth mother’s parents came from Ireland/Scotland entering America by way of Canada.

My adopted parents were quite proud of me, their Irish lassie. My grandfather on my mother’s side were ranchers, specializing in cattle. My grandma was the home maker, which included making their butter, sauerkraut, cottage cheese, bread … you name it.

I attended 2 room schools from first grade up to 8th grade. We pledged allegiance to the flag, sang with gusto God Bless America. Right after recess was our favorite time. The teacher had us put our head on our desks while she or he read us stories. Stories of pioneers, Indians and of course Little House on the Prairie. We also learned about respect and honesty as well as reading, writing and arithmetic.

Through the years I would hear my parents talking about different wars and presidents. When I grew-up I was so busy cooking, cleaning, canning, sewing, gardening and parenting that I had no time to concern myself with who was president. I heard that Eisenhower was good, a few in-between were so so. I got interested in world events when Regan became President, and the German wall came down. Everyone liked Jack Kennedy, but definitely Johnson was a no. The Bushes had fun family outings and then came Obama. Our first black president. We were excited that he would bring together the different ethnic groups. That didn’t exactly work out too well … and so here we are. Biding President Trump good-bye and God bless. Four exciting years, if one can ignore the negative happenings during that time. A president that genuinely loves America and we the people.

And today? It is a solemn day for many. Bewildering. Shocked. Unsure of the future. Many are hopeful for the future. Prayerful.

But in spite of the chaos of this week, one thing I know and treasure. I am an American. I love this land of ours. I love what the statue of Liberty stands for. All my life I have enjoyed its freedoms, feeling blessed that my ancestors came to America. This is where my focus will be; God bless America. I have deep respect for those who have gone to war so that others could enjoy all that America has offered. My prayer; God cover this beautiful land with your mercy.

MM January 20, 2021

Helen, who gave birth to me while in a tuberculosis hospital

Early this morning I was humming a song from childhood: Jesus Loves Me. Suddenly I remembered why I have always loved that song. When born I was put into foster care (Ed and Alma), years later they became my parents. I was with them until I was 3 years old, then back to my birth mothers home. There I met my sister Beverly who was 8 years old. During the 2 years I lived there, I was a stranger in a strange land. I went from being hugged and cuddled to not touched. I was just there….until Helen died when I was 5. Long story short, I was then back with Ed and Alma, my mom and dad via adoption. First month there I went to Vacation Bible School and heard the song, Jesus Loves Me.

My adorable grandtwins, Owen and Olivia. Three and a half now. Loved, cuddled, secure, laughter. Suddenly I could see very clearly what it must have been for the little girl I once was. The emotional damage, fears, insecure, rejection.

My sister…whom most of you know our story…retreated into herself all those years and also didn’t know the true meaning of love or security.

Today we both are blessed with our families and the knowledge that Jesus does really love us….forever. And my children grown? I daily thank the Lord for the love and security they add to my life.

Do the scars remain? Yes, they are there. They show up once in awhile before they are put away again. We never know what others have endured, their emotional scars (or physical) that have contributed to who they are today. Shows me once again, do not judge….leave that up to God who yes, loves us and understands the things we carry deep inside.

The picture was taken by my adopted mother when she brought me up there to leave…to say good bye…she thought, forever. She left me with curls, got me back with them cut off. That’s ok…it grew and she was back to curling my hair. 

The Story of Rick

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