Help Dwayne Wolfe Honor His Sister's Memory

Dear friends,

As I write this message, it's hard for me to imagine that I would ever be placed in a situation where I would have to ask for help from the masses. I had always strived to be self-sufficient in regards to getting something for myself that I felt I either needed or wanted. If I didn't have it at the time I simply went without until I figured out a way to earn it myself. So at 56, you can imagine how I'm struggling with this message to ask for help.

I have always heard it said that "Pride goeth before the fall"- and well, now, I guess I know what it means..

You see, my mother passed away in March of this year. She had been ill for a long time and she was only 76 years old. But what I haven't mentioned yet is that she was actually my adopted mother. I never knew my real parents. I still don't. Maybe in some folks Minds that should matter, but for me it doesn't. After all this is the only mother I ever really knew- or of whom I could point a finger.

Let me explain.

When I was born in June of 1968, I was let go by my national mother. I don't know why she didn't want me and it doesn't really matter. I was left in Naples Florida Community Hospital at the time where I became a ward of the state- up for adoption.

I had been in the hospital's care about a month when another young woman came into the hospital for a delivery. She was delivering her baby a bit premature; but at the time, the 20 year old mother to be had no reason to believe that she would be walking out of there in a week or so with her baby.

Except she didn't..

Instead, her baby- a little girl, was pronounced deceased upon arrival. Obviously the young mother was distraught- to say the least. The crib was all set up at home, the small little room was finished, all the things that most any parent would think about doing in preparation to bring home their newborn child. But unfortunately this child was never going to be laid to rest there. Instead, she would be laid to rest in a cemetery outside of Naples - something no parent should have to face.

She was born on July 29th 1968.

And she died as quickly as she was born. But what I didn't know at the time, was it in a few days I would be going home to sleep in her crib- in her room.

As luck would have it, this woman and her husband would be my adopted parents. And I grew up knowing that. It was never a secret.

As the years rolled by, My adoptive parents divorced. My adopting father was an abusive alcoholic- and at a time when women get much help regarding domestic violence. My adopted father never beat me or my other sisters that followed later on. He reserved all that for my mother. And she felt his abusive hands many times to spare us children.

Through all of that though mom always had a way of making me feel special. Sometimes it was something as simple as a new bedspread that she would surprise me with at bedtime we're playing music on the console stereo in the living room trying to teach me how to dance. I guess it was her way of trying to establish some sense of normalcy for me as a child in a turbulent situation.

It's not that she didn't also do things to make my sisters feel special as well but somehow with me I always felt like it was different. There was always that little extra push to make me feel secure.

As I Grew Older my mom remarried we all had a stepfather. And then my graduating year of 1986, I had read in the paper where my adopted father had hung himself in the Attic of a house in town where we were living in Pennsylvania. I didn't know how to feel about that. I hadn't seen him in such a long time that I really didn't know him anymore. What I did know was that I was growing up- and I had to figure out how to live my own life.

So that's what I did. I had a lot of ups and downs but overall I felt like did pretty well. I managed not to do drugs, not to become an alcoholic, and not to end up in jail. And I never did! I only wish I could have said the same about My adoptive father. I guess we learn from other people's mistakes sometimes..

My life up to that point hadn't been a complete bed of roses- but it was my life- and at that time, I had never gone hungry or been without a roof over my head or a meal of my stomach. So looking back at it I was much luckier than I could have been.

I loved my adopted mother very much. And I know she loved me. Sure we didn't always see eye to eye on choices that I made in my life and we sometimes argued with each other, didn't talk to each other, and screamed each other. But - she was the only mother I ever had, and even as an adopted child, I didn't feel the need to look any further then her define the definition of "natural mother"- so I never put much effort into locating my natural family.

11 years ago I moved to Tallahassee Florida with a former partner and his three adopted autistic sons. That's right- three more adoptees entered my life- and now I know what it was my mother felt towards me all those years ago, when I was taken in by her. My partner's big dream was to own and operate a mobile home park where we could work together and fix up mobile homes for people who are struggling in the affordable housing market here in florida. And well 11 years later, we are still here, and we stood by the goal that he originally set. Folks are living in affordable housing now just like he wanted. And now those young boys are 22, 27, and 30. We're no longer partners but as it would turn out, the friendship that evolved out of it afterwards was one of the greatest rewards I could have asked for. Somehow through it all we managed to have a family- although unconventional. We all see each other each and every day, and we celebrate birthdays, holidays, sorrows and triumph. We are a family..

After my stepfather died in 2016, my adopted Mother's health took a downward spiral in the Years After. And over the last couple of years, many conversations that my mom and I had involved her yearning to once again find her baby's grave and get a tombstone. You see my sister never had one. So many years had gone by and the only marker that was there at the time of her burial was a small little paper sign that simply said "baby girl wolfe". In fact, so many years had gone by at this point she couldn't even quite remember what the name of the cemetery was. She just remembers being heavily sedated at the time of the burial and couldn't recall a whole lot. And she further said that my father did not want to talk about it and told her never to mention it again. Odd..

I knew it was only a matter of time before my mom passed on, and I decided that I was going to do everything I could to see that there was a tombstone put on her grave site if I could ever find it. So just before she died, I contacted Christie Haarman- the lady who was kind enough to help start this GoFundMe account.

You see a couple of years ago I remember reading a newspaper article on the internet about how she was fighting to get tombstones for unmarked the baby's graves in her Cemetery in Milton Florida. I figured if I couldn't find my sister by my mother's foggy memory maybe she could and I contacted her. She said she was all too eager to help and we've been in communication since.

At the same time I sent to the Department of Health I request to get my sister's death certificate. I figured if nothing else it was a piece of paper that would help me unlock some doors.

And it did.

Unfortunately, my adopted mother died only a few days before I got my sisters death certificate. It was a better Sweet Victory. Not only did it reveal the cemetery where she was buried but it also revealed the cause of death.. and that I was not prepared for. The certificate said she was buried at Naples Memorial Gardens. Her cause of death was placental deficiency.

Placental deficiency? Curious I ended up looking up what that was and what could have caused it. I mean my mother was only 20 years old at the time and and otherwise healthy young lady...

When I read that one of the main causes was blunt force trauma my mind went to racing and then the tears fell down my face... remembering all the years of abuse my mother had endured at the hands of my adopted father when he was drunk.

After 56 years it started to make sense to me. My mother always spoke of losing that child with such longing and such sorrow.. and as a little boy I always felt so guilty for not being able to stand up and protect her from the abuse. He was always violent when he drank.. even in the early days- before me. So in my head, and in my heart, I firmly we came to believe in that moment as I held that paper that my sister's cause of death was because she had been injured during a domestic violence outbreak. And to me it makes sense because I remember having to pick the kitchen table up off of her when she was 8 months pregnant with my sister who was lucky enough to live and who now lives in Alaska.

My mother was always ashamed of being a victim of domestic violence. But it wasn't her fault. In those days women didn't have all the rights that they do today. And I wonder if she actually knew this is what happened and if she somehow carried it with her feeling remorse all of her life. And if perhaps my adoption was a way of her redeeming herself for that loss. I don't know. All I know is that I made a promise to my mother that I would do everything I could to find out where she was and to make sure that she had a proper headstone. And I intend on keeping that promise. This is why I'm here asking you folks today for help so I can make sure this happens.

Normally I wouldn't be here asking. But unfortunately I've had my troubles as well. You see on top of battling emphysema, I was diagnosed with bladder cancer over a year ago, and the cost that I incurred for removing the tumors and undergoing BCG treatment- so I could be around for my family a little longer- depleted me a little bit more financially then I had hoped it would and I find myself struggling to manage all those costs and everyday living.

I remember the hurt and longing in my mother's eyes, and the sound of her voice when she hope she could accomplish this herself and never did. But you know something, if anyone should bear the responsibility of being able to see that done it should be me. I owe so much to both her memory and that of my unborn sister. You see the way I look at it, my sister isn't here so I could be. In my heart, she stepped aside so I could have a chance at a life that I might not have had a chance at- one full of joy, promise, and love. And one of appreciation and remembrance.

Has she lived, my mother wanted to name her Angel. And she deserves a headstone and she deserves to be remembered. All children deserve to be remembered. All children deserve to be appreciated.

One of the things I discussed with Christie was the cost of everything and what to set as a goal. But I also want to be able to do is if by some great stroke of generosity or luck on all of your Parts is if I go over the amount necessary- I would like to pledge the remaining amount to some other family or families who may have lost children who also desire to have a headstone and have their children remembered. 56 years is a long time coming to say thank you to a sister that made the ultimate sacrifice for me. I don't want to see anyone else have to go that long wanting to have a child remembered.. thank you for hearing me.

Dwayne Wolfe

Tallahassee Florida