TMI

Is there a point where information becomes Too Much Information?

I continue searching for facts about my birthmother. This morning I discovered the record of her marriage to Gerrit Verburg. I knew she had married him sometime after my birth, and that she had never told him of her pregnancy or my existence. I knew they had lived in Orlando, and believed them to have moved there in 1972. (I don't remember what piece of data which I read in past research led me to that belief.)

They were married in Orlando in 1956.

I was living in Orlando in 1956. She was living in Orlando as I was growing up. We might have passed on the street. We might have shopped in Gibbs-Louis or Ivey's at the same time. She might have attended some function at which I was playing the piano. Or, per her statement that "I blocked you and [your father] from my mind," I might never have even crossed her mind the entire time.

Still …

You know the phrase "too close for comfort." Well, this was very close but no comfort.

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Further to yesterday's post re learning that she lost her father when she was 16, I learned late last night that her mother died when she was only 22! What must that have been like for her? To lose the father whom she adored while still only a teenager, then to lose her mother six years later. And fifteen years later to become pregnant out of wedlock (in a time when that was not accepted as it is today), with only an older brother to turn to.

I project that she was somewhat relieved when her mother died. She and her brother, 11 years her senior, continued to live in the family home for about four years after her mother's death. At some point he moved to Orlando. At some point he had heart problems and went to a local doctor, Dr. Crews, for treatment. While he was ill, she visited his home in Orlando and took him to his doctor's appointment. Long before my conception, she met the man who would ultimately become my daddy.

What a bizarre, small world!

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Longtime readers will recognize today's post photo as Edward Hopper's "Hodgkins House," from the work Hopper completed while living in Gloucester, MA.