Blood Match

It began so innocuously, quite innocently. A question is answered, two lives transformed. We met on-line but definitely not for dating purposes. She inquired about my ancestors who also happened to be hers. The venue was a genealogical message board. From those first tentative e-mail exchanges, both of us sensed something. Perhaps it was a calling, a connection, intertwined psyches previously unknown to each other.

Meeting Dottie was almost like meeting me. We're very alike and yet distinctly different. She's been married 40+ years to one wonderful man. I'm 35 years into my second union. Dottie's progeny are four boys while I have one biological daughter and a son acquired by marriage. I'm encouraged to 'share' her nine grandchildren.



Dottie's personality is infectious. Her sense of humor, generosity of spirit, and ability to listen cogently draws people to her sphere. She's Southern to her very sinew and regularly uses phrases from that region that I've long forgotten or never remembered that I ever knew. We have many common childhood experiences though our years were spent totally apart, not knowing the other person existed.

News reports recently described two late twenties' Swedish twins who had been reunited. These girls, Indonesian by birth, had been separated during the adoption process and went to live with different families located rather a great distance apart. Though non-identical, they share perfect DNA matches. Records are wrong, genetics are right. While I realize that Dottie and I weren't separated at birth, if for no other reason than she is nearly 11 months my younger, there are moments when the concept of being twins doesn't seem implausible.

Dottie is my more relaxed self. She is effervescent, truly Erma Bombeckian as a natural humorist. Maybe she's a female Mark Twain with deeper roots and probably a larger heart. She has a whimsical side which can make anything fun, even the most boring chore. With an incredible zest for life and an attitude of nearly consummate positiveness, she is indefatigable in caring for her family and friends.

Though we had no contact for a few years, during which Dottie suffered the devastation of losing her house during Hurricane Katrina, we're welded together again. Visits to our respective homes in Mississippi and California are occasions of pure delight. Our somewhat bemused husbands provide constant encouragement. Others are simply puzzled. When either of us attempts to explain the origin of our relationship, faces often frown and quizzical glances abound. Lately we've decided that explanations are useless. As Dottie says so cogently, "It is what it is."

Earlier this month, Dottie honored me with a birthday visit. In five short days, we managed to dine at several restaurants she enjoyed on a previous trip. Tiki Tenders and Shrimp Tacos satisfied our palates. (Should I mention that we order exactly the same thing every time?) Lunches at our house included favorite fare from local grocery delis. A belated birthday cake for our special guest, made by the talented folks at the Ralphs bakery, featured delicious daisy frosting.



With my mania for shopping and utilizing coupons, we wandered through multiple stores on my birthday. Locating the perfect decorative pillows to adorn our new living room couches encompassed several hours. We laughed much of the time to the amusement (befuddlement?) of the various salespeople. While selecting a new frame and mats for a stunning photo of Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia, taken by Henry in 1987, we marveled at the patience and expertise of several young men who attempted to gently guide us to final decisions. One of those fellows said to us, "When I came out to help you, I knew you were sisters." Well, almost right. We are actually fifth cousins, once removed.

Dottie has the ability to share herself magnanimously and to exhibit enthusiasm for topics of interest to others. She spent considerable time attempting to drive Henry's race car (a very spiffy Corvette) as part of his Play Station game. The results were totally hilarious as the car careened from track to grassy area, got turned around the wrong way, incurred numerous damage to its body, and finally finished the race long after the other cars had departed. Dottie's pluckiness never abandoned her and she obligingly sat through a tutorial to improve her skills. What a lady!!!



Nearly a whole day was consumed fluffing down pillows and moving them from couch to couch to ensure just the perfect effect. Though I am amply appreciative of the beauty that has been created, I do not possess the artistic acumen necessary to design such a palette. Dottie is able to 'see' what I cannot. I am the grateful girl. She's the one who is gifted. Once the living room met her design standards, she moved on to shelves in the family room, the kitchen garden window, and the bookcase in my office. Each space has been totally transformed. Anyone who visits the house will know instantly that I'm not the one responsible for the beautifully refreshed rooms.





We're easy with each other, respecting space, knowing that our closeness is inviolate. We talk about our families. A lot. We share sorrows, fears, triumphs, more photos than anyone else would want to view. We never tire of stories about our children, her grandchildren, something we've read or thought or seen. When we're together, we often utter the same words spontaneously. And then we giggle.



Very long ago, Thomas and James were brothers. Their descendants, Dottie and I, are cousins/friends/sistergirls. Our blood matches perfectly.