May Memories

I'll continue with the story of breakthrough next month.  For now, I want to talk about the month of May.  It is an eventful month and one full of memories for me.  Dad's birthday and Mother's Day are both in May and for many years it fell on the same day.  As kids, we always teased Dad about this. 

May is also a time that I reflect on a Memorial weekend loss in 1998 that forever changed my life.  I had plenty of life events before this one, but this was especially difficult.  It was Tuesday morning following a holiday weekend, and I knew the night before she had less than 24 hours left.  Tumors filled her lungs and one tumor in particular, was affecting her kidneys and they she would die of kidney failure.  She would go to sleep and they would make her comfortable.  Funny, but she always said that the people who died in their sleep quickly were to be envied.   It was a fitting end for a woman who had battled to a point of exhaustion for over six months.  While it was a relief to have the decision made for me, I didn't know how I could make it without her.  And, I would be an orphan at 34, as dad had died 8 years before.  My prayers were either heal her or take her as it pained me to see her struggle.

To those that knew my mom, she was strong, a rock of sorts.  She never showed illness or weakness to her children.  She was stubborn, hiding her illness and not seeking treatment until it was too late.  She was just like her father--waiting too late to get treatment.  My grandfather had done the same thing, even going to the extreme of having a local for abdominal cancer surgery in 1979. 

She would have a fever and you'd never know it.  The only time I saw her physically ill was following radiation treatment.  As an adult, it still shocked me, as nothing ever affected her.  Now I knew the real reason why I moved back home six months earlier, renting out my home, and uprooting my daughter.  I thought it was to follow a good job opportunity, which it was, but God had a better reason for me to be home.  Had I not been there when she was diagnosed, I would have had additional stress.  See, I was a full-time college student, single parent and working full-time.  God orchestrated the events to have me in a stable job, right next door to Mom so I could devote my time and effort to her during the last six months of her life.  I wouldn't change a thing about that time.  What I wished I would have done was document her life, instead of relying on my memories. 

She was typically of her generation, "the silent ones." She followed the social norms her parents gave her, but silently rebelled, leading the way for my generation to break out of traditional roles.  I remember the glow on her face when I'd step off a private plane, coming home after business travel, the excitement that she expressed when I bought my first home.  In her day, a woman could not get a mortgage without a husband.  The thrill she had with my success in college, as I was the first woman in her maternal line to have a college education.  She always wanted it, but didn't ask, as it was reserved for her brother, not for her.  She was expected to get married and while she could work, it was to be secondary to her home and her family.   Words like sacrificial, supportive, and unconditional were very descriptive of my mother.  I always admired her patience, as I have my father's temperament and learned patience the hard way, it was never a gift.  The mother and grandmother I am is a tribute to those that came before me. . . . Charlotte, Anna, Charlotte, Anna and Marilyn.  Even the name patterns are broken as we move forward with Marilyn leading the way for Linda, Jacqueline and Savannah. 

Thanks, Mom.  I love you and miss you.  Your great granchildren are beautiful.  Colt even has your fingers.  While they will never know you, they will hear of you often.  We will pass on the legacy of your love, sacrifice and caring to the generations to come. 

Breakthrough - Part I

It was surreal, and amazingly simple at the same time.  A family secret kept hidden for a generation, and revealed that Saturday morning, April 16, 2011.  My surname is Clayborn.  Although I was almost certain of this a year ago, it has been a journey of piecing together clues left behind by my paternal grandmother, Pansy Nadine Hubbell King.  This discovery would never have been possible without the prodding of my Aunt Patty King Rendon and the encouragement of one of my closest friends and fellow genealogists. 

James Thurston Hubbell

It seems that Mae had been searching for my dad and my Uncle Billy for over 40 years, when her mother told her she had two brothers from an earlier relationship her father had.  She had tried searching for King's and Hubbell's, with no success.  My call was an answer to her prayers, as well as mine.

My grandmother, Pansy King, left clues behind, school pictures with the name Clayborn.  My Aunt said she knew the name, but did not know any tie.  The thought being that my grandmother wouldn't have left behind the clues unless she wanted us to solve the mystery.  After this came Ancestry, and searching for Clayborn in the Kansas City area about the time of my dad's birth.  The shock of finding similar names (a son named Thurston and a brother named Earl and a father named William) seemed too unusual to be coincidence.  My father's middle name is Thurston, a name not known on his maternal side, and his brother was named William Earl.  Now, to find a current Clayborn to find out.  This answer came when a friend found a site named "Find a Grave" and I searched for Thurston Clayborn.  To my shock, I found Mae Damron, and a memorial that stated, "Miss you Dad".   A Google search found a posting on Yahoo that she was a genealogist, and was tracing her family history for her grandchildren.  I found an address in Kansas City, Kansas and then Patty verified the phone listing was still in the current phone book. 

It has been a journey that started for me as a curious young teenager.  My mom mentioned that she had ordered my dad's birth certificate for his employment with the Pinellas County Sheriff in 1982/83. When it came in, the birth father was listed as Burham Martin King, and it was registered by the clerk in 1958, following his adoption. So, Kansas changes the original birth certificate, no help to our curiosity.

One other clue was when Pansy was visiting us in California in 1973/74, when she told my mom one afternoon that, "Jimmy's daddy had just died."  When I asked Mom why she didn't ask more, Mom stated she didn't remember, and that it felt awkward, as Grandma never talked much about the past. 

Hubbell, Billy & Jimmy abt 1945

Being born born out-of-wedlock, was a social stigma in 1940.  The stories my mother shared with me were of pain, the pain my father experienced of not knowing about his father and seeing his mother only periodically, a boy scarred by a painful childhood. She mentioned that he used to cry when they were first married as he still carried the stigma.   

Hubbell, Vesta & James 1962

Dad and Billy were raised by their grandparents,  Vesta Diltz Hubbell and James J. Hubbell, farmers in Olathe, Kansas.  I don't remember ever meeting them as they died in the early 1960s.  I never remember my father talking about his childhood--ever.  Like most men in our society, a name is so critical to identity and a sense of belonging. Dad grew up with his mother's maiden name, Hubbell, as did his younger brother, Billy.

King Billy & Pansy 1953

My earliest memory of the story of the name King, were of a Burnham Martin King, a friend of my grandmothers that she married in her 30's and my Aunt's father.    "Billy" King died in 1968, so I never remember meeting him.  From what I'm told, he was a good man, a man that cared about my dad and Billy.  Aunt Patty told me that he adopted both my dad and my uncle in 1958, just before my dad was 18.  Billy King worked to impress a feeling of pride and responsibility to dad and Billy during the short time before they were out on their own.  What a gift -- to be given a name.  My dad barely knew his mother, as he only saw her on weekends as she worked at Montgomery Ward in Kansas City, during the week.   

My father was a wonderful protector, but never expressive about his affection, and never emotional. I always felt loved and protected, but never received a hug or "I love you" from Dad, which I now attribute to the way he was raised.   Holidays and gift-giving were foreign to Dad, he never knew how to receive a gift, with Mom usually opening them. I sensed many times he was uncomfortable and felt awkward. Never the less, I always felt loved, wanted and appreciated.  Actually, Dad couldn't wait to have children and when it took time for my Mom to get pregnant, he asked what was wrong with her. 

As what would have been my dad's 71st birthday, is May 11th., I'll be sharing more about my memories of him.  I am extremely proud of the man he became, overcoming a harsh childhood and making a life for himself and a family, passing on the strong, midwestern values and work ethic that  have made me the person I am.  Happy Birthday, Dad.  I love you and miss you very much. 

Wedding Day, 1962