Birthdays

We are now the proud parents/brother of two new delicious baby monster kittens. They are the sweetest kitties I've ever encountered, bar none. Both of them, and both in different ways, are loving and sweet, curious and playful. Last night Minerva spent many hours in my bed, curled up next to me, her head nuzzling my throat, her little paws kneading my side, purring up a storm. As I type this, little Luna is in my lap, drifting in and out of sleep (I can tell that she's asleep when she stops purring) making it slightly awkward to maintain the proper posture that I'm so anal about maintaining when I'm at my computer. So sweet. We still and always will miss Puff, just like we still reminisce about our our babies, Harriet and Ozzie. But these two monkeys are just what this house and our hearts needed.

This morning, as I was waking, I thought about the birthdays of our girls, and came to a realization.

Our 8-year-old Basset Hound, Angel, was born on June 10, the same day as my adoptive father. Minerva and Luna were born on June 1, the same day my biological father died in Vietnam 42 years ago. Odd.

Yesterday, I attended the surprise birthday party of my grandmother, my biological father's mother, Irene. She turns 88 today, two months after my adoptive mother turned 88. The party was really nice, and she was surprised and very pleased. Four of my six Simpson first cousins were there, one I'd not met, and that was nice but it's always so strange to be around other people who, had things been different, I might have grown up with. There is this automatic intimacy and a total lack of recognition at the same time.

At one point during lunch yesterday, my grandmother's hands were worn out. She has horrible arthritis and has a tough time holding a fork. I was sitting beside her, and she asked me to help her finish her cake. I fed her a few bites, which was a nice feeling, but still, strange. Because even though she is my biological grandmother, I don't know her at all. Buying her a birthday card was a challenge, since all of the grandmother birthday cards said things like, "I remember how you baked me treats when I was a child..." or "Here's to the memories we share."

Fact is, we don't share ANY memories.

I still feel that my head is going to explode at any minute. And things have gone so very well. I don't want to imagine how I'd be if they'd gone badly. My uncle Don's wife asked yesterday how I was coping with all of the discoveries and new relatives, and I said I'm just taking it as it comes, which is true. I am still realizing how very lucky I am, and acknowledging that the bubble that I've always felt surrounds me and keeps me from the worst of harm has done its job once again. Everyone I've met has been someone I would be proud to befriend. The integration of these new people into my heart is tougher than I thought it would be, especially since I believed that I would encounter at least some resistance. Oh, I was ready for that. But this?

Blessings are sometimes hard to accept. But I'm trying. Happy birthday, Grandma Simpson.