Signora Sheila

Growing up I thought I was an orphan—unwanted and abandoned by my “real family.” I imagine many kids have such thoughts, possibly influenced by books or movies. But I had them because of my own family and friends.

Family friends would ask. “Is Sheila adopted? She doesn’t look like anyone in the family.” I don’t remember how my parents responded. But a seed of doubt and fear took root in my heart.

Then, when I was 8 and in the third grade, a classmate came to me saying that my grandmother lived in his house. “She does not,” I scoffed. “I know where my grandmas live.”

The Hidden Grandmother

“She does,” Scott retorted. “My mother told me so, and I’ve seen her!” His mother ran a nursing home inside their house.

For some reason, I knew he was telling the truth. Maybe because he sounded so sure or perhaps because of that dormant seed of doubt, but I knew it was true.

So, during recess, I snuck away with Scott to get a look at this grandmother. We crept to the window and peeked in. There she was: an elderly woman having her long white hair brushed. Somehow I knew that she really was my grandma.

That’s when the fear and questions began in earnest. Was I unwanted and put up for adoption? Who was this unwanted grandmother? Why had she been secretly put away?

Did my adoptive family really love and want me? Or would I one day be discarded like that poor grandmother?

I had an overactive imagination as a child. But my fears were not entirely unfounded. For you see, I was neither liked nor wanted by my dad’s parents.

Birthdays made this obvious, since my brothers and I had our birthdays close together. Our paternal grandparents always came for cake and ice cream, bearing “gifts.” I’m not sure when I first noticed how different those gifts were.

The boys would get nice new shirts and jeans. I got trashy shorts made from old clothes or dish towels. I never wore tham because no teenage girl would have been caught dead in them.

I never complained in front of my grandparents because Grandpa, who was mean, strict, and grumpy, would never have allowed it. But my conviction of being an unwanted orphan grew.

As an adult, I told my mom about seeing that grandmother, about my thoughts of being adopted, and that the two were somehow tied together. “Why didn’t you say something?” she asked, surprised that I had been too afraid to mention it.

Mom was incredulous until I reminded her of the comments people had made and how my grandparents treated me.

“She was your grandfather’s mother,” Mom explained. “He didn’t want her around and wouldn’t let anyone talk about her. Given what I knew about him, it didn’t surprise me that he put her in a nursing home. I never saw or heard of her again.

“They were always like that,” she said. “Even when you were little they didn’t want you around. They would take the boys out to their farm, but they’d leave you crying at the gate.”

They only started taking me when I was big enough to help Grandma clean. Thankfully, I didn’t fully realize why they decided to take me along. I was just happy to go. Had I understood their motive, I would have felt even more like an unwanted Cinderella and her rags-aka the horrible shorts.

I started wondering, ‘What if?’ What if one day they decided to get rid of me-the adopted kid-just as they had the grandmother in the nursing home?

I knew my parents loved me, but my grandfather was a tyrant. My daughter says my parents should have made them take all the kids or none. And that they should have refused all gifts until they learned to treat us equally. However, I don’t blame them. I might have been afraid to defy him, too.

They carried their improper behavior into my adulthood, as well. They disregarded my husband, deliberately avoiding him and referring to him as “What’s-His-Name.” Even my children, their beautiful great-grandchildren, were dismissed as “those kids.”

I’ve often wondered why my dad’s parents disliked me, and only me. All I know is that they belonged to the Masonic temple and hated Jesus. Grandpa wouldn’t even allow that most beautiful name to be spoken in his presence.

One friend suggested that God had a special plan for my life, and that my grandparents rejected me because they sensed this.

Ultimately, I’m grateful for those experiences. I believe they are what really fueled my quest for assurance, permanence, and security.

As I said, I knew my parents loved me. But I also knew what bullies and tyrants are capable of. This increased my yearning for permanent love. For a family where where I would always be secure.

My childish fears of being an orphan were unfounded. In fact, people have often commented over the years on how much I look like Mom. I take that as a true compliment. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. Yet, I was adopted.

My adoption

“God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure.”

Ephesians 1:5 New Living Translation

In John chapter 14, Jesus announces that He is leaving to prepare a place for us. He promises that He will never abandon us as orphans, but will return to take us to our eternal home with Him.

So I was right after all. I am adopted. But I was also wrong because I was not an orphan, I never have been, and never will be.

“I will not abandon you as orphans—I will come to you.”

John 14:18 NLT