Candy-Kat

I was born Frederica Kathleen Curtiss in a small town in Oregon and my parents were never there. My father had an addiction problem and had disappeared, leaving my mother with two little ones. When I was two my mother took me and my sister to live in her home town in Minnesota where she had found a job in a hotel.  One of the perks of the job was a small room at the hotel but children were not allowed and so, we were left in an orphanage.

  My memories of this period of my life are very limited.  I remember one Christmas and a small room with a tiny kitchen.  It must really have been small if I remember it that way.  There was a man there that was called Uncle Charles.  I remember that it was very hot in the room but not much else.  I remember watching the stairwell at the orphanage waiting for our mother to visit and celebrate our birthdays, then getting sick from eating the sugar flowers on the cake.  There are vague memories of sitting and listening to the radio with a group of kids, white metal framed beds and metal lockers for our belongings.

    My strongest memories at the orphanage are of the cook.  I guess I was one of her favorites and therefore allowed in her kitchen.  I remember sitting on her ample lap while she told me Bible stories and then scared me with tales of hell fire and damnation if I was a bad little girl. I remember the dirt under her nails.

  The only other thing I remember about the orphanage was the wire fence encircling the grounds and the creek that flowed through.  When I was informed that my sister and I were to be adopted I tried to escape, to run home to my mother.  I climbed the fence and caught my arm on the raw ends of the fencing at the top.  To this day I have a scar on my arm from my attempted escape.

  Again my memories are limited, a sort of defense mechanism surrounding the feeling of abandonment.  I know we lived in a big house in St. Paul with a really cool back yard and a sand box that my Dad had built for us kids.  My sister Deb had been adopted with me and we had a new, younger brother, grandparents who lived in the basement and two beautiful Irish Setters, Queen and Prince.

  I have a very clear memory of the day the adoption was final.  We were in a small courtroom with wooden floors.  I was wearing the new navy blue coat with a white collar and a white sailor hat with a navy ribbon that my Mom had made for me.  (Mom was a non-professional milliner and made all her own hats as well as hats for us girls.  She was also an excellent seamstress.  I especially remember the Little Bo Peep Halloween costumes she made for us.)  The room was hot and smelled old. The judge looked down from his lofty bench and asked me if I wanted these people to be my Mom and Dad.  I clearly remember saying “I do”. That was the day Kat disappeared, and Candy came to be.

  When I talk about my parents they are my adopted Mom and Dad.  I am very grateful to my birthmother for giving me life, a healthy body and for letting me go.  I have always had a difficult time understanding how a birthmother could possibly give up her children.  I myself was a single mother and did not, nor could I give up my child.  It took a long time for me to understand and to forgive my birthmother for letting me go.  I know now that she did what she thought best for us girls and for herself.  I can now understand that it was my birthfather who abandoned us and that my birthmother let me go for my highest good.  Big difference.

  Growing up, I always felt that something was missing.  My sister and I were not close and I wished that I had another sister,  one who was my best friend and co-conspirator. After meeting my sister Mary Ann (another story) and connecting with her, this feeling dissipated a bit, but was still there.  While doing some grief recovery work, a friend pointed out that the person I was grieving was none other than Frederica Kathleen, the rest of myself.  When I was adopted my name had been changed.  The message Kat received was that she was not good enough and in order to be loved and wanted she needed to become a different person. For her own survival, Kat faded into the dark recesses and let Candy come out.

  Abandonment, disconnection and self esteem have always been big issues in my life, obviously lessons I have chosen to learn.  It has taken more than half a century to finally figure out and to KNOW that I am never alone and never will be, to know that I am enough just the way I am. These feelings of aloneness and inadequacy are simply illusions.  The Truth is that I am the Beloved of the Beloved, just the way I am.

 Same Truth holds for all.