Star Wars has become a major topic of conversation in our house. It isn't because I love the movies, although I have fond childhood memories of dressing up like Leia for Halloween and marrying off barbies to Han Solo action figures. Star Wars is my son's passion. And through it, I have found a way to bring my emotions, and my reality, down to a level where he can embrace what's happening. I find myself grateful for the first three episodes, which I didn't really connect to ten years ago when they were released.
I tell him that I'm like Princess Leia, and that I want to find my Padme and Anakin (and that no, I don't think my first father is anything like Lord Vadar - neither a Jedi nor evil). I have also had to try to explain about Luke, because there is a Luke in this story. He is the reason that I haven't yet contacted my birthmother.
My brother - and let's just go with this theme and call him Luke, shall we? - is not my twin, but close to it. He's a little less than two years my junior. I don't know yet if we have the same father; I would guess no, but I have no way of knowing one way or the other. Luke posted a few years ago on a website saying that he was looking for his first family. He gave a hyphenated last name for his first mother. The first part was my own birth name. We were born in the same hospital. I emailed him. At the time, it never occurred to me that we were related. I think I wanted to make sure that we connected in case either of us stumbled upon the wrong Skywalker in our search. All of the names involved - first mother's maiden name, her married name when she gave birth to Luke, her current married name, my adoptive name, and Luke's adoptive name - are terribly common. It's a miracle any of us ever managed to connect at all. Luke emailed me back, only to say that his first mother had given up a daughter a couple of years before him. The doctor and the attorney - both of whom handled no more than two adoptive families at any given time (no more than six or so adoptions per year) - were the same. Her last name wasn't that common.
Of course, I panicked. I think that's the moment when the fantasy died, and she became a real person. 'Homecoming Queen' didn't have another child two years later. She had given me up so as not to impede her medical school plans. But Real First Mother - this was the kind of girl who probably hung out on the corner with the smokers, drank Wild Turkey out of collectible bottles on the sly, and liked boys with fast cars, fast hands, and big mouths. In short - she was me. With less access to birth control.
About the time I was panicking, Luke was having his own life crisis, which had everything to do with his adoptive family and nothing to do with me. Our correspondence, however, trailed off. My guess is that both of us were scared to try to reopen the door. I didn't make the attempt until I stumbled upon her contact information, and it became real to me that she was our mother, and that he was my brother.
Tonight, I am worried about Luke. I spoke to his a-Mom last week. I've sent him emails. I've tried to connect on Facebook. He hasn't logged in to any of the sites in more than a month, and he hasn't talked to his a-Mom since the beginning of September. Maybe that's not unusual for a 29 year old single man. Maybe he's off on a hero's journey, fighting the Empire. It's strange to be so concerned about someone I've never met - but he's my brother. And as much as I know it isn't rational, I worry.
My son really wants to meet his uncle - especially one that's been described as Luke Skywalker. I will eventually have to tell him that my brother isn't a Jedi and doesn't have a lightsaber - but not yet. Not yet.
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