I moved to Florida about twenty years ago.
I came because I wanted to be with family that I had never known before. I met my Natural Mother in early December, while I lived in a commune in Tennessee. I think I knew who she was from the first time we made eye contact.
When I worked on The Farm construction crew, Guys talked about telepathy. They meant nothing Mystical by that. If the guy you were working with finished nailing off a fascia board, and you had the next one in your hand and a pocket full of nails,.. that was telepathy. Of course when every body finished their job at the end of the day. that was telepathy too. Synchronicity would be another word, or Co-Ordination.
The morning of the day that my son was born, I asked my wife if she wanted me to stay. It was late November, she had a cold, and every one on the crew knew what my real job was; becoming a father.
D. said "no," she was fine.
We had guessed that she conceived in early February, so she was really due. That baby was so ready, we had been talking to him since the fourth of July, when he acknowledged the fireworks with some serious kicking.
Maybe he was "Just Dancing in the Dark." That was a popular song that summer. Springsteen.
Any way, Our "Telepathy," was way off that day. From what I understand, She went into labor about 12:30. A Fellow was dispatched, in our car, to find the construction site we were working on and pick me up. I don't remember the guy's name, I had never met him before and never saw him again, but I recognize in him, in some echo of people that i knew before and have known since. He looked shocked when I told him I couldn't drive a car.
I did have a license. But I earned that permit on a D.M.V. lot in Tennessee. The lady who tested me said that I should practice a lot before i got my real license. I asked him to drive.

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We buried the child the next day.
It rained like hell.
Someone else dug the grave.
but I filled it in.

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We grieved. F--K the whole community grieved! But then they had their own losses too.
My wife said she hated me. I stopped arguing.
Children on The Farm taunted me.
I did my Best. D. said the child was an accident.
I remember my roommate's hair was red.
Red Like Owen's Hair.
I never asked the Question.
Nor did I ask how she expected the infant to breath with his face squashed into her tit like it was before Deborah realized that BLUE was not the proper color for a nursing child.
When they asked for a name To put on the Death Certificate, knowing that D. wished to name him Orrin, after her Grandfather who died the week she conceived, I said Owen. That was the name we chose. D. Looked at me as if to say what. I repeated Owen Wheeler.
She now has a son named 'Orrin' after her grandfather.

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The Week After owens death, we were visited by D.'s mother who stayed a week and by My own adoptive mother and sister, Very different people.
When they all had left, Pamela, the nurse we were staying with, told us of a strange message. someone wanted to meet us, preferably in neutral territory and they would not Identify themselves. The message was delivered over the phone by a man, Whom I later learned to be Peter.
I returned their call, made arrangements to meet, and learned nothing from him. Pamela asked at dinner if there was anyone that might be looking for me. I said right away, "Well, I' adopted, maybe my long lost parents are trying to contact me." Everyone laughed, and Pamela said she worried about De-programmers comin to save me from the cult of the farm. I laughed.

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Two people waited on the porch of the dusty old gate house. I might as well have been a frontier hostel in the wild west. The woman was colorfully dressed in a type of Poncho worn by Guatemalan women. Both of them were smiling. They asked me into the back room, for privacy, and asked if i had any Idea why they had contacted me. I muttered something about adoption and Masha Blurted out " I'm your Mother"
I came to visit them in Florida and met my grand father who was delighted to see me for the first time. I after I returned to the farm, I conveyed their invitation to D. suggesting that work prospects were better in a state that had a housing industry and tourist trade. She still hated me and loved me and did everything she could to get pregnant again. I left the state. She wanted to live on the Farm. A month later she lived with my adopted parents and refused to anull the marriage. (they owned a three story marble mansion with an in ground swimming pool.)
My Dad Said I was no longer welcome in their home. He died March 9, 2002. No one told me. I found an obituary on the internet.
I wish this story had a punch line.
Any suggestions?