Hello, fellow internet wanderers, family detectives, and kind-hearted strangers alike! My name is Tina, and today, I feel compelled to share a story that has been lodged in my heart for what seems like an eternity. If you’ve stumbled upon this post hoping for a laugh, fear not—I’ll do my best to weave some humor into my tale. After all, if we can’t find a little light amid the chaos of life, what’s the point? But primarily, I’m here to share a heartfelt plea and a glimmer of hope that perhaps someone, somewhere can help fill in the missing pieces of my life’s intricate puzzle.

Let’s rewind the clock and travel back to the very beginning of my story. My mom passed away when I was just two weeks old. Yes, you read that correctly—two weeks! That’s just enough time for a newborn to take their first tentative breaths and realize, “Hey, this world is bright and loud!” It’s also just enough time for a mother to whisper her hopes, dreams, and love into her baby’s ear, a fleeting moment that I’ve tragically missed. For me, this time was far too short to form memories of her face, her voice, or even the comforting embrace that only a mother can provide. And that profound ache, that longing, has been my constant companion ever since.

Now, here’s where the plot thickens even further. My mother had two brothers, each of whom represents a different chapter in this ongoing search for connection. One of them, whom I’ve dubbed “The Elusive Uncle,” has been adept at dodging my attempts to reach out for years now. I’ve tried everything short of sending a singing telegram (and trust me, if I thought it would work, I’d be all in). Unfortunately, he seems uninterested in rekindling any familial bonds. Perhaps he has his reasons, or maybe he’s simply terrible at returning calls. Either way, that door remains firmly shut, leaving me feeling even more adrift in this vast sea of uncertainty.

Now, let’s talk about the other brother. He was the one my mom was close to—the one she laughed with, confided in, and perhaps even shared late-night snacks with while plotting their next sibling prank, which I can only imagine was a riot! The troubling part is that I know absolutely nothing about him. I don’t know his name, where he lives, or what he’s doing these days. I can’t even say for certain if he knows I exist. He’s like a ghost haunting the family tree—ever present in discussions, yet completely absent in my reality. It’s as if he’s been erased from the pages of my life, leaving just a blank space where love and connection should be.

Here’s the kicker: this whole “close to one sibling, distant from the other” dynamic seems to be a family tradition. My own siblings—my brother and sister—are thick as thieves, bonded in a way that I can only admire from a distance. They’re the dynamic duo, the peanut butter and jelly, the Batman and Robin of our family saga. Meanwhile, there’s me: the outcast, the lone wolf, the odd puzzle piece that simply doesn’t fit. If you’ve ever felt like the third wheel in your own family, trust me, I see you. We should start a club! I can picture it now: our mascot would be a lonely sock that’s lost its pair in the dryer, a perfect symbol of our plight.

As for my social life? Well, let’s just say if you looked up “hermit” in the dictionary, you might find a picture of me, probably in my pajamas, surrounded by my beloved animals and a half-eaten bag of chips. My husband is my best friend and my unwavering support (bless his heart for putting up with my endless questions and existential crises), and my pets are my loyal companions who stick by my side. Other than that? It’s just me, myself, and I—oh, and of course, the internet, which serves as my window to the outside world.

But here’s the real reason I’m pouring my heart out in this post: I want to know my mom. Not just the bare facts that she existed, but who she truly was. What made her laugh? What dreams did she hold dear? Was she the life of the party, or the quiet observer sitting in the corner? Did she have a sweet tooth, loving chocolate as much as I do, or was she more of a salty snack enthusiast? I crave to see pictures, hear anecdotes, and maybe even discover whether I inherited her quirky sense of humor or her unique talent for burning toast!

So, this is my open letter to the universe—and to any Vinke family members out there who might stumble across this blog. I’m searching for anyone who knew my mom, anyone who can share a piece of her story, anyone who can help me close this aching gap in my heart that has persisted for as long as I can remember. I’m not after money, drama, or anything complicated—just a connection. A chance to know her.

If you happen to know a John or Shirley Vinke, or if you are part of the Vinke family and this story resonates with you, please, please reach out. Even if you only possess a photograph, a cherished memory, or a silly story about my mom, it would mean the world to me. I promise I’m not crazy (well, no crazier than anyone else who talks to their pets as if they’re human children). I simply seek a little closure, a bit of understanding, and maybe, just maybe, a sense of belonging that has eluded me for so long.

I’m not asking for much. I don’t crave money or inheritance or anything material. I just want to know her—to understand what kind of woman she was. Was she funny? Serious? Did she love to dance? Did she have dreams that sparkled in her eyes? I guess I’m just looking for some pictures—some tangible proof that she was real, that she existed beyond the few stories I’ve heard from my dad and relatives.

So, dear reader, if you can help, or if you know someone who might be able to assist, I implore you to share this. You never know whose heart you might touch or whose story you might help to complete. And for those of you who are simply here for the ride, thank you for lending an ear to my ramblings. Sometimes, just being heard is enough to make the world feel a little less lonely.

Thank you for listening, for reading, for understanding. This isn’t just a search for family—it’s a quest for closure, for peace, for the knowledge that I am part of something bigger than myself. I hope this reaches someone who can help, or even just someone who understands what it’s like to feel like a missing piece in your own puzzle.

Here’s to hope, to healing, and to finally finding the answers I’ve been longing for.

Much love,  

Tina

P.S. If you’re a fellow lone wolf out there, remember: even lone wolves can find their pack. Sometimes, you just have to howl a little louder. And if you know anything or have any ideas, please reach out. I’m eager to connect and grateful for any help along this journey.