It’s easy to take family for granted.
I do it all the time.
I read the story of Minka and Betty Jane this week, a mother-daughter pair separated by adoption for nearly
80 years before reuniting, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if I’d never reunited with my own kids.
An excerpt from the memoir The Waiting: The True Story of a Lost Child, a Lifetime of Longing and a Miracle for a Mother Who Never Gave Up touched me this weekend as I read about this miracle reunion on MSN.
“Betty Jane. Her Betty Jane, returned to her at last. The infant, the little girl, the teenager, the young mother, the grandmother…Here was everything at once, a lifetime in a moment.”
Minka was just a kid when she placed her baby girl for adoption after being sexually assaulted. She stood by her decision, but never forgot her daughter. In 2006, Minka prayed that her daughter’s safety would be confirmed to her somehow, and a few weeks later, she received a call from her missing daughter’s son.
Their story, written by a relative, is available on Amazon.
After I read this remarkable story, my own daughters and I ventured 120 miles from home by car and rented a thimble-sized cabin in Seward, Alaska and griped our way through Mother’s Day.
There was no fancy brunch. No Hallmark cards or warm, salted tears of gratitude for years of being the struggling, single mom. But there was time together to enjoy the campfire, share old memories, and make a few new ones. And after all that we have been through together, we are privileged to take one another for granted.
It is more than enough.