I’ve never heard of someone having an exciting February. Aside from the obvious of anything to do with Valentine’s day, that is. However, my February was insane. In fact, my February was forty - seven years in the making. On February 24, 2016, my family grew. No one was born that day, but we grew nonetheless.

As a child, I remember spending hours with my grandmother and in between learning to sew and binge-watching bad sci-fi movies, she told me about Aunt Tina. I didn’t think much of her, as she wasn’t around, and figured she was another weird relative that might pinch my cheeks at reunions. Flash forward about seven years, and I find a small, grainy baby picture of someone that must be me… or my mom...or aunt… or anyone of us really, as we all look alike. Nana sits down and asks if I remember her telling me about Tina Ann. Apparently, at 19, she had given a daughter up for adoption, and that was the only picture she had. She laughs, then says, “You’re Auntie Kae always tries to steal this from me.”

I think of her sometimes over the next few years, when I notice the picture again, or when I see our family portraits, but I never think to look for her.

I check Facebook the morning of the Feb 25, just a few short weeks ago, and I see my grandmother has posted twice already:

I don’t even know what to think. I instantly began stalking her Facebook page, in the hopes of finding anything out. I wondered if she might be like me, as I’m definitely the odd one in the family. I wondered what her name was, her zodiac sign, her favorite color, anything that might prove somehow that we were related. In fact, it was extremely unsettling how weirdly alike we were. We shared a birthday, which has come to feel a little bittersweet. After asking for the whole story from them both, my grandmother admits to needing to spend the day “drinking to numb the mistake of giving her up.” Her adoptive parents renamed her, although she’s “Cat” to my “Kat.” She has faced depression and won. I definitely see the strength and stubbornness and sass that we all share, and she has Nana’s smile.

At eighteen, my grandmother left the family farm to move to the city. There, she lived with her mother, stepfather, and two brothers. It was there she also met the charming boy next door with his motorcycles. This charming boy soon introduced her to a world of alcohol and pot, “Needless to say I ended up pregnant, alone and scared to death.”

She was terrified to tell anyone the truth for many reasons. She feared someone would suggest an abortion, which she was against. She wanted her baby, and had “this dream that everything would work out and we would make it.” Around 4 months into her pregnancy, she realized she simply couldn’t do it. My grandmother wanted her “baby girl to have a mom and dad who would love her as much as I did, but could give her more than I could on my own.”

Nana describes the feeling she had the day she gave Cat to the adoption agency as a part of her dying. She spent her adult life staring at every dark haired little girl, wondering where her own had wound up. Cat had been born the day after Nana turned 19, so for many years, the day was spent attempting to forget.

One birthday, something in her changed, and she began devoting the day to finding her not-so-little girl. She eventually had three more daughters, and as soon as they were old enough, she began telling them all about Cat, in case something were to happen to Nana and Cat found them…

Cat describes her adoptive family as “nice people.” She mentions how she has never wanted for material goods, but that she was estranged from extended family after the passing of her adoptive parents, and craving love and acceptance they couldn’t give her.

By 11, she knew of her adoption, and that her birth mother was unable to take care of her, and wanted her to have a good home with two parents. Cat received some paperwork, including her birth mother’s birthday, which wound up playing a crucial role in finding the family. After using the DNA test through Ancestry.com, she found an old family name, Jenke, and “the rest is history!”

She describes her childhood as very difficult, and her adult life as the worst, due to a life - long anxiety problem. "Being a child of adoption is not an easy thing." She finds that she struggles in relationships and in giving affection, but describes herself as a very strong and independent woman now, noting that it took a long time.

Our old pictures all seem empty now. I asked my grandmother how she felt about the situation, and as she closed out our conversation, she pauses before saying, “I think if I could have the chance to redo the past, I would tell some people to ‘F’ themselves and keep my daughter and we would have figured it out.”

As of this writing, the two have yet to meet. My grandmother lives in Texas, and Aunt Cat is in California, so their relationship is being forged through every means of communication possible. However, Cat has been lucky enough to begin meeting our family, and I hope to visit her soon.