A Michigan native since 1968, I grew up in a small Thumb farming town after being adopted into a loving family. Today, my life is beautifully full as a daughter, wife, mother of six (blending his, mine, and ours), and a proud Grammy to nine. I spent my high school days on the basketball court, but these days I’m happiest making things with my hands.
Fresh out of high school, I was one class away from an advertising degree and newly married when everything changed. Within months of giving birth to my son, rheumatoid arthritis overnight confined me to bed. The ensuing years were a blur of profound loss: my marriage, my home, and my medical coverage. But through small wins and grace, I survived. Working my way up from waitressing to customer service, I forged a new dream. In 1996, I launched my own design business—a venture born of necessity, designed to outmaneuver my disease rather than succumb to it.
The next five years brought a whirlwind of transformation. I married the man of my dreams, we bought a beautiful home, and in 2000, we welcomed our youngest son. But while my business thrived and life felt full, a quiet crisis was simmering. Without health insurance, I managed my well-being on the margins, seeking treatment only when things felt desperate. By 2004, the dam broke. Fifteen years of untreated rheumatoid arthritis had inflicted permanent joint damage, forcing me into the painful realization that I needed to apply for disability.
That March, I began Humira. Within six months, the agonizing pain that had dictated my life for over a decade began to recede. Yet, like any autoimmune condition, rheumatoid arthritis is less a diagnosis and more a total upheaval—one that ruthlessly rewrites your physical, emotional, and social reality. Today, my world often shrinks to the confines of a recliner and a heating pad, measured by essential errands and quiet family dinners. My younger, athletic self could never have envisioned a future where thirty-two daily pills and supplements are simply the baseline price of a "normal" life.
As a product of the closed-adoption era, my origins were largely a mystery. My adoptive parents could only provide a basic file of non-identifying information. However, my mild curiosity turned into a vital necessity after I gave birth to my son and was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Seeing his platinum-blonde hair and managing a chronic illness made me realize that knowing my genetic history was essential for our future. I started searching in 1994, spending hours over a slow dial-up connection on early adoption forums. The breakthrough came in 2011 when a Confidential Intermediary identified my biological mother. Tragically, she had succumbed to leukemia just six months prior. While the search brought me her name, her photo, and the knowledge of three half-siblings, they unfortunately declined to connect. Undeterred, I spent the next two years immersed in DNA testing and genealogical research. I eventually discovered that both my biological mother and her brother were fellow adoptees; tracing their history unlocked a maternal line stretching back to the year 1380. To preserve this legacy, I have since documented these bloodlines in dedicated family tree books and a website honoring both my biological and adoptive families.
Finding my biological father required another two and a half years of saving to hire a confidential investigator, only to be met with his refusal to connect. Yet, eight years later, a single, low-percentage match on 23andMe indisputably confirmed his identity. I learned he had married four years after my birth and built another family. I have not reached out, nor will I. He made his choice, and I have made mine. The questions that haunted me for years are finally answered, and I have no desire to disrupt his life.
Undeterred, I spent the next two years immersed in DNA testing and genealogical research. I eventually discovered that both my biological mother and her brother were fellow adoptees; tracing their history unlocked a maternal line stretching back to the year 1380. To preserve this legacy, I have since documented these bloodlines in dedicated family tree books and a website honoring both my biological and adoptive families.
Finding my biological father required another two and a half years of saving to hire a confidential investigator, only to be met with his refusal to connect. Yet, eight years later, a single, low-percentage match on 23andMe indisputably confirmed his identity. I learned he had married four years after my birth and built another family. I have not reached out, nor will I. He made his choice, and I have made mine. The questions that haunted me for years are finally answered, and I have no desire to disrupt his life.
Tracing my paternal line back to the Viking age has been a profound revelation. Finding my ancestors and gaining vital health knowledge has changed my life. This website, built with the support of my sons, is a space to share the genealogy tools, forms, and designs I’ve developed. My journey didn't follow my own plans, but it followed God's. It made me who I am today, and I wouldn't change a single step.