Caro's Story
Begun on Feb. 8, 1998
- Part 1 -


"As the Twig is Bent"

I have a bit of a story to tell, and this looks to be the right place. You see, I was adopted as an infant and I had all the emotions that went with it. All the uncertainty, all the feelings of rejection and unworthiness, and all the feelings of being a child without a REAL family. All the feelings of being loved by my adoptive parents, the sureness that they would always be there for me, the knowledge that they thought I was the perfect child. Growing up, with these wonderful people who loved me so much, was happy, but tormented by the loss of my original family.

The wondering where my REAL family was and the need to make contact became a lifelong obsession. Perhaps lifelong isn't the right word.....I made contact with them in 1969. More about that later. I'm still alive and minus the obsession. This will be my story. I have already created a link to this page, so that I may be brave enough (I haven't been published on a wide scale) to write this so very personal story.

My hope is that it will help others that are, or were, in similar situations, to cope with this reality. If it helps just ONE person and/or family, it will make it worthwhile. If it helps my family, it will be worthwhile. If it helps ME, it will be worthwhile. Perhaps some healing may take place.....not just for me, but for those who read my story. This is going to take some time and soul-searching. Please be patient with me.

It was on February 26, 1944 that I was born, at the Swedish Hospital in Seattle, WA. But, that's not really the beginning of my story. It REALLY starts with a young woman and a young man. This young couple would become my parents, but that's a ways off, yet.

By the time I was born, my sister and brother were already here. My sister, Susan Helene, was born in 1940 and my brother, William Darrell (Billy), was born in 1941. Their lives were harsh and unstable, because our parents were very young and not really prepared for the huge responsibility of being the sole caregivers and providers of their children.

Life wasn't easy back then. There was a war going on and life was tough for most Americans. My parents were no exception. Money was scarce and so was peace of mind. Jobs were hard to come by and there were bread lines that stretched out for blocks. Many people buckled under the pressure of the times.

The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and the U.S. retaliated by bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Everyone who was of oriental heritage, whether it be Japanese or Chinese, were treated awfully. We actually took away their rights, as American citizens, and put them in concentration camps. All or their property and belongings were confiscated. Being born in America gave them no protection. If they looked Asian, they were stripped of self-respect and treated very poorly. It was a horrible time for humanity.

I was born near the end of the war, but America had hard times ahead. All the armed forces mustered out their personnel. Well, all these folks needed jobs to come back to and there were precious few available. Life was hard and uncompromising. The post-war jubilance turned into a hand-to-mouth existence for a big part of the population.

Also, though many will not admit it, America lost grace when we bombed Japan so horribly. We had the Atom Bomb and our gov't. just couldn't wait to try it out. They had a perfect excuse, in their minds. Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. Retribution was swift. Tens of thousands of Japanese people died or were maimed for life. It was really the first weapon of mass destruction and we used it without conscience.

Many of our veterans had Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, although this disorder wasn't known of yet. Many ended up in Sanitariums or out on the street, with no one to care FOR or ABOUT them. Sound familiar? No, the Vietnam War wasn't the first war to produce these results. It was just the most noted one.

My birth must have caused an unbearable hardship on my parents. They were already overwhelmed with the harshness of life and the responsibility of two children. Now, they had three. Our lives, as a family, fell apart. Mother was ill and emotionally distraught. My father was a merchant seaman and was at sea a lot. Their marriage was in jeopardy. The pressure was more than they could handle. They had to do something or explode. My father left for sea and our mother exploded.

She became more and more depressed until there was nothing but darkness, fear, and the desire to escape. She attempted suicide by turning off the pilot light in her gas oven and leaving the stove on. The fumes completely saturated our home. Our aunt, who lived in the same building, smelled the gas fumes and rescued us. We could have so easily died. Mother had to be hospitalized and our Father had to deal with the situation.

He had to work and could not cope with what was happening. Susan, who was then four, and Billy, who was three, went to live with relatives in California. But before they went, they had to watch our Father carry me, at four months old, out the door. He took me to his sister's until he could figure out what to do with me. They just KNEW they would never see me again. Mother was ill, and would be for some time. Adoption would be the solution to the problem of dealing with a tiny baby.

And so it was that, through synchronicity, that my adoptive parents.....Phil and Mickey Mettler.....found me. I was blessed, though traumatized. For awhile, my folks wondered if they would be able to adopt me. There were two major reasons for their concern.

Firstly, they were considered to be too old to adopt an infant. Poppy was 42 and Mama was 41. In those days they only wanted young people to adopt. They went through the fires of hell getting the justice system to make an exception in their case. Thankfully, they had an excellent attorney who went to bat for them. It took about 10 months and several court appearances, but in April, 1945 they were successful and I became their daughter.

The second reason for their concern was that I was afraid of women. I would scream in terror whenever Mama would try to do anything with me.....like change my diaper or try to feed me. They had a son, Stan, who was about 17 at the time and going to high school. He could do anything with me and so was able to help Mama out. I was comfortable with Poppy, too. As long as one of them was handling me, everything was fine. But all Mama had to do was come into the room and I would go into hysterics. Terrible nightmares plagued me whenever I was put in my crib to go to sleep. I'd wake up screaming and only Poppy could soothe me back to sleep. I knew I had taken a terribly wrong turn.....that I shouldn't be here. It was some sort of mistake. The Earth experience was not what I expected.

But Mama was patient and constantly loving, so eventually I warmed up to her and began to trust her. It took nearly eight months for that to occur. She became my life raft and salvation. I could count on her to be there for me, to protect and shield me, and to love me. After many months, the nightmares began to lessen.

It was a long time before I would speak or smile. I never talked "baby talk." When I finally DID speak, it was in full sentences. I was nearly four. It was around the same time that I smiled for the first time. Music is what made me smile.

We lived on a houseboat in Seattle, WA on Lake Union, which is right in downtown Seattle. The gentle rocking of the house would soothe me and make it easier to sleep. I loved the water and could spend hours on the deck just watching its many moods. So often it seemed that my moods were similar.....deep, dark, and hidden. A strange, solemn child, I felt misplaced. Otherworldly. Not from here.....Earth.

One night I was awakened by orange lights flickering on the wall by my crib. St. Vincent de Paul's had a huge area there on the waterfront and it was on fire! I could see it burning, from the window by my bed, and just KNEW it was going to come across the water and burn our houseboat.....and us with it. The flames shot hundreds of feet into the air. There were sirens blaring from both land and water. Fire engines and fire boats were all converging on the area. I was petrified! Of course, the fire was put out and we were all right. The next trauma was the huge earthquake of 1949. I was five years old when the quake hit. It was a 9.2 and Lake Union boiled.

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