Turtle Rock

In April, 2009, LT married Diana, a girl he knew from school and the younger sister of one of his baseball teammates. Pam and I had encouraged him to take her out when they were teenagers, to no avail. We were pleased that years later, they finally got together and married.

While that was going on in California, Jeanette, Haywood, and Darlene had taken Sugarloaf out to lunch to break the news to her in Virginia. Sugarloaf’s health had been failing and her doctor advised Jeanette not to break such news on her without first giving her warning. Therefore, instead of just letting me walk into the room, she first told her about me. At the end of their meal, Jeanette said, “Momma, there’s a man coming from California who wants to meet you.”

When Sugarloaf asked why someone in California would want to meet her, Jeanette replied, “he’s your son.” Sugarloaf seemed to withdraw if only for the moment while Jeanette continued. “Now don’t you deny giving your son away when he was two weeks old,” adding that I had a good life, a good job, was married with two sons, held no grudges and wanted to meet her.

Defiantly , she looked Jeanette in the eye and said, “We’ll then, bring him on!”

One week after the wedding, Pam and I were on our way to Virginia to meet my biological family. Flying out of Sacramento in the morning, we arrived in Richmond five hours later. After exiting the plane, Pam and I weaved through the crowd to the receiving area of the terminal. Searching the busy lobby of scurrying bodies, I looked between and around all of them as they too were doing the same. Suddenly, through the crowd, flashed Jeanette’s welcoming smile. Stepping out from behind someone else, our eyes connected. Her face lit up with a warm glow of an angel. Her eyes began to tear up as we moved towards each other. Reaching out with extended arms, we embraced one another with a hug – a long hug that seemed to be trying to make up for lost years. The rest of the world vanished if only for the moment. It was just Jeanette and me, long lost siblings reuniting after many years of separation. It’s possible, I suppose, that we had seen each other sometime during my first two weeks, but that one fact still eludes me.

Pulling apart from each other, we said our hellos as she wiped the tears from hereyes. Turning to Pam, I introduced my wife to my older sister before we proceeded to claim our luggage and on to the car where Jeanette’s husband, Mike, had been waiting at her insistence. He drove us home where the rest of Jeanette’s family was anxiously waiting. Ninety minutes later, we were pulling into the driveway where everyone gathered around the Escalade. An energized little girl, Whitney, Pamela Denese’s daughter, emerged from the crowd, a deliberate and determined, quite young ambassador prepared to give us a tour of the entire house. First, however, we met Jeanette’s children, my nieces and nephew, Pamela Denese, Chastity, and David. My Pamela Denise met Jeanette’s Pamela Denese. Eventually, my younger sisters, Dinah, Darlene, Cheryl, and Susan arrived with their families.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, little Whitney gave us a thorough, personal tour of Jeanette’s entire house. She didn’t miss a detail as she told us about each room throughout. We would be staying In the basement, an ample sized area that included a living room, a bedroom, bathroom, and a freestanding wood burning stove. Quickly pointing out the string dangling from the ceiling light in the middle of the living room, she said, “This is the string that cuts on the light. Just pull it, but be careful and don’t bump your head on it.”

A buzz filled the house as I wondered what my sisters were feeling as we exchanged glances that turned into longer gazes while we looked each other over. Cheryl seemed to be the most elusive. As we all gathered in the kitchen, she spent much of the time in the adjacent garage, away from the rest of us. I could see her at one point through the kitchen door window as she gazed out the opposite door, into the yard. Wanting to reach out to her and invite her to join us, I instead, decided to give her her time. At the end of the day, I felt a sincere connection with all my sisters. All except Cheryl. She remained distant and that bothered me. We would, however, eventually bond but on that day, the dreams of two people were once and for all realized and were being celebrated.

The following morning, Jeanette drove us to the convalescent home to meet Sugarloaf, the woman who had twice given me life. I couldn’t help but wonder how she was going to react. Having been told that she had what seemed to be an impenetrable shell, I wondered how this seemingly hard woman would feel about me, her deposed son coming back into her life after 55 years.

Entering the room first, Jeanette told Sugarloaf that she had brought someone from California to meet her. “This is your son, Ted and his wife, Pam.” she said as we entered the room. Sugarloaf strained her eyes before they focused as well as they could. I wondered if she saw something she recognized. From her bed, she smiled and reached out for me. Squeezing my hand, she pulled me closer. Her face lit up with a broad smile just before she pulled me in for a big hug.

I wondered what was going through her mind at that moment. How was it different this time from the last? What was different from that day she held me and walked down the mountain with Virgie, her dear friend, to deliver me, her infant son wrapped in a blue blanket and blue cap, through the window of the waiting car, into the welcoming arms of a couple she had never met. Would she once again turn away and coldly reject the man the same way she did the infant?

As she held my hand ever so tightly, she told me that she loved me and was proud of me. We talked and took pictures to mark the momentous occasion until Jeanette returned. It was time to leave. Parting this time was quite different, I’m sure, from the first, back in 1953.

Jeanette had already told me that Sugarloaf had never been one to show her affectionate side to anyone but a man. Had that all been an act to cover up and protect the insecure person within or was it truly the heartless and thin-skinned woman she had always led everyone to believe she was? Would this turn of events soften her or change her at all?

The next morning started early as Susan, Darlene, and her son, Bino, journeyed with Jeanette, Pam and me to the cabin on Berry Mountain, where life began for me and then to the white house in the holler where they were raised by Granny and Ohmer.

It was a beautiful spring day, cool and partly cloudy with a threat of rain looming as we drove two separate 4-wheel drive trucks as far as the unpaved road would allow. Parking them on the side of the road, we got out and walked back into the wilderness at least a mile to the primitive cabin which had recently been restored and bore little resemblance the way it looked back when. Still without running water and electricity, the heavy timbers, floor, fireplace, and chimney, however, were still original. A kitchen had been added on the back and a new roof had been installed.

The encompassing area was now neatly cultivated with trees and vegetation now surrounding the cabin making for a breathtaking view from the front porch. Carefully placed stones created steps against a beautiful stone retaining wall with a built-in open grill that held back the landscaped hill. Above was a quaint storage unit, below, the rustic cabin. I couldn’t help but feel as though God had blessed this beautiful wilderness home and prepared it especially for this homecoming. We spent an hour or so looking around and taking pictures while Jeanette described what it was like years ago when Ohmer and Granny lived there.

Moving on, we proceeded to the house in the holler, the one they always refer to as the “white house,” where granny and Ohmer raised their few remaining children as well as Jeanette, Dinah, and Darlene. That house was owned by Thornton Berry back then and is still in his family today, however, now abandoned, it is now home to the cows that freely roam the property. Jeanette cautiously opened the door of the run down house, badly in need of a lot of TLC. A bird quickly flew out and away. The floors were muddied throughout and rotted in places. The stairs leading to the second floor were not safe to climb. There was a nest near the ceiling in a corner of the kitchen where baby birds chirped for their mother. I wondered what Jeanette and Darlene must have thought as they saw the deteriorating condition of the home where they spent their childhood years. I never asked, preferring to use this time to celebrate and bond. Cherishing every moment, I was satisfied learning of my origins and discovering that I once had a life as brief as it was, much like I had always dreamed of having as a child.

The day before returning to California, Jeanette took us to visit Sugarloaf one last time, showing us in but not staying, to give us some time alone. The plan was to ask her about my biological father, but something inside told me that this was not the time. I suppose it wasn’t as important to me as it was to Jeanette. When it became obvious that I wasn’t going to ask, Pam broke the silence and asked her.

Peering at the floor for a few moments, Sugarloaf then looked up at Pam and said, “I really don’t remember.” Then slowly turning away, she paused to ponder a moment longer before saying, “I think his name was Dan and he was in the military.” The military aspect was a new revelation, something neither of us expected to hear. The room once again became uncomfortably quiet shortly before Jeanette returned. We all talked for a while longer then the time had come to leave.

As we said our goodbyes, Sugarloaf gave my hand a firm and loving squeeze accompanied by a loving smile as we exchanged a kiss and hug. We then exchanged “I love yous” before we left. It was undoubtedly a very different vibe this time, unlike the parting fifty-five years before. Wondering if I’d ever see her again, I hoped that if she ever regretted giving me up, that she now was satisfied with the man her son had become. There were several more visits over the next couple of years and while they were always pleasant, not once did she ever refer to me as anything other than “the boy.” However, there was always a sense of pride in the way she said it whenever she told everyone who I was while pushing her around the grounds in her wheelchair.

Six months later, I returned to Virginia. It was Christmas and one year after that fateful phone call. The entire family gathered at Jeanette’s house for a festive holiday gathering. A dream come true for us both. This very special homecoming even made the news in the Charlottesville area. NBC29 was there to cover our story, a Hallmark moment if ever there was one. It even aired on KCRA-TV in Northern California, where I once interned before becoming employed as a commercial photographer.

Nearing the end of the day, the children were running around the house while we adults were gathered in the kitchen and adjacent dining area enjoying one another’s company. A couple of the grandkids darted through the kitchen right by Sugarloaf, seated at the end of the table. Chastity asked what she thought of all these kids. With a sigh of relief and a smirk on her face, she said, “I’m glad mine are all grown and gone.”

From across the room, I couldn’t resist chiming in with a smile, “Yeah, but we’re starting to come back.” Chastity seemed to hang on to that remark as the room filled with laughter. All eyes turned to Sugarloaf, everyone naturally expecting a comeback from her, as she was rarely a woman of few words. This time, however, she simply sat there at the table, smiling warmly, gazing at me.

More to come