Kate Simonson wasn't so fond of Mike Fieseler when he was dating her mother
After her mom died, Mike came for the funeral and helped Kate and her brother
He eventually adopted the kids, helped Kate get through college
Kate considers Mike her father and he walked her down the aisle at her wedding
-- The summers of my youth were filled with the kinds of activities that were common to every kid in the 80s but are considered almost death-defying these days: tree climbing, bike riding without a helmet, and daylong road trips spent in the backseat of the family car, where we bounced around like Super Balls, nary a seat belt in sight.
Still, my mother was safety-obsessed about some things, like swimming lessons. Year after year, she forced me to take them at our local pool in Iowa City. Having to go against my will seemed all the more unfair to me, since my mother could not swim and was actually afraid of the water.
But my mother reasoned that if water came between her children and their safety, she would be helpless.
"I can't save you," she would calmly state in answer to my pleas to bow out of the lessons. "So I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you can save yourself." It's no wonder she embraced this philosophy of self-reliance. She knew how unexpectedly life can rob you of someone you care about. My parents adopted me as an infant and went on to have a biological child -- my brother, Jason -- a couple of years later.
My dad was an electrician, and he died in an accident on the job when I was three. After his death, my mother had to raise us alone, and she was acutely aware that she was truly on her own, with no backup plan. She was fiercely strong and yet constantly fearful.
I have almost no memories of my father. Instead I remember Mike Fieseler. He was a former industrial-arts teacher whom my mother dated off and on for much of my childhood. Jason and I weren't his biggest fans. He was a man of strict rules, while my mom's approach could be more properly deemed overindulgent leniency.
We resented having to share the spotlight with him -- a sentiment that was particularly strong every Christmas morning, when we had to wait for him to arrive before we could open gifts. (There is little a man can do to endear himself to children less than delaying Christmas-morning gratification.) And when they stopped dating, when I was 15, I wasn't unhappy to see him go. Then, on February 18, 1991, when I was 17, my mother suddenly died of a brain aneurysm. One minute she was laughing with friends, enjoying an evening out; the next, she was unconscious on the floor. She never woke up. Just 19 hours later, she was dead, leaving my 15-year-old brother and me orphans.
In the moments of shock and horror that followed, my relatives all gathered in the hospital, and I went home with only a close friend for company (Jason followed a while later). We spent that night on our own. I was numb; it had all happened so fast. I could barely think beyond the immediate moment.
The next morning, my grandfather, aunts, and uncles were still immersed in their own mourning. Shell-shocked as I was, I knew I had to let people know what had happened. I saw my mother's address book lying where she had set it only days before and started dialing. One of the phone numbers I found was Mike's.
Even though he lived about an hour away, it felt like he was there in an instant. As soon as he walked in, he took charge -- and took care of Jason and me. Among other small kindnesses, he gave me a credit card and said, "Why don't you buy something to wear to the funeral?" He gave me permission to be a 17-year-old -- to focus on the more mundane issue of what I was going to wear instead of weighty adult concerns.
Generally, when children are orphaned, a family member comes forward to take them in. This didn't happen in our case. Everyone had a good reason, I suppose. My mom's father was too old to assume responsibility for us; my mother's sister and her husband had three kids of their own and weren't able to take in any others; her other two siblings were both single and worked long hours. The guardian named in my mother's will was a babysitter that none of us had seen in 15 years.
But I can tell you this: Abandonment, even for very good reasons, feels awful. It was heartbreaking and terrifying to have lost the person we loved most and then to be set adrift.
Months passed and it felt like our relatives could offer no reassurances. The only news we got was that if Jason and I remained without a guardian, we would have to enter foster care. Our mother was gone, and there was nothing we could do to save ourselves.
And, once again, there was Mike. After the funeral, he was a constant presence. He made sure that food filled the cupboards, the bills were paid, and the lawn was mowed. (Mike's adult daughter, Linda, pitched in and took care of his house.) He made sure I went back to school even when it was the last thing I wanted to do. His overbearing personality -- the trait I had hated the most -- is what comforted me the most and got me through those difficult days.
Mike says that Linda came up with the idea to make his role with Jason and me official -- he could become our guardian. He was on board right away. Mike still says he never considered not doing it; caring for us was simply the right thing to do. One day he made us his offer. In a moment where the grief of loss and the pain of being unwanted threatened to capture my very breath, this man, whose only tie to us was having dated my mother, said he would be honored to take us in.
From that moment on, everything was different. His girlfriend, Patty, threw us a "guardian party" when the paperwork became official. It was just a small gathering, but it made us feel special. I received a key chain with my initials, and I remember thinking that the idea behind it was so lovely.
Over the years, Mike has become not merely a legal guardian but a real father to me. When I fell into depression in college, unable to get past thoughts of my mother and all I had lost, he was there to listen.
When my husband, Eric, and I bought our first house, Mike spent weekends installing insulation and repairing our gutters. He never wrote me off as a good, mature kid who could handle everything herself. He walked the line between trusting me and recognizing when I might need help. And what more could you want from a father than that?
His was an unconventional path to parenthood, to say the least. It is not by birth or adoption that I consider this man to be my father; it isn't even through his presence in my childhood. It is rather by sheer good luck on my part.
Before he made that generous offer, I felt as though I had lost my mooring and the waters were flooding in; afterward, I simply felt rescued. If my mother had taught me to be strong and depend on myself, Mike imparted his own lesson -- that the world will provide for you, even when you least expect it.
Eight years after Mike stepped forward, he walked me down the aisle. Four years after that, I gave birth to his first granddaughter, Emily Michl Simonson. (Mike's legal name is Michl.) The name is a reminder of my saved past and a promise for the future, and I hope one day Emily will see that as well. Because as much as I plan to teach her to swim (indeed, she's now six and enrolled in lessons), I also want her to know this: No matter how fast the waters rise, no matter how hard it may be to keep her head above the waves, someone will throw her a line.
當邁克·菲瑟勒與媽媽約會時，凱特·西蒙斯并不是那么喜歡他
凱特的媽媽去世之后，邁克來參加葬禮并照顧凱特和弟弟
后來，邁克收養了他們，幫助凱特完成了大學學業
凱特把邁克看做是她的父親，在婚禮上，他牽著凱特的手交給新郎
我少年時代的夏天充滿了各種各樣的活動，這些對80年代的小孩來說都很常見，但現在都被看作是危險活動：爬樹、不帶頭盔騎單車，在汽車后座上度過一天的旅行，因為不系安全帶，我們像彈球一樣被彈起來。
然而，我媽媽對某些事情的安全很在意，比如游泳課。年復一年，她總會要求我在衣阿華城當地的公共游泳池上課。因為我媽媽不會游泳而且實際上很怕水，所以對不愿意上游泳課的我來說，更加的不公平。
媽媽認為如果萬一河水威脅到孩子們的安全，她束手無策。
“我救不了你，”她總會用平靜的語調加以說明，以此來應對我退出游泳課的懇求。“所以我要盡我的能力來保證你可以救得了自己。”毫無疑問，她接受這套自力更生的哲學。她知道生活會如何毫無征兆地奪走你在乎的親人。在我很小的時候，我父母收養了我，幾年以后，他們有了自己的孩子—我的弟弟杰森。
我父親是一名電工，我三歲的時候，他在一次事故中殉職。父親去世以后，媽媽不得不獨自撫養我們。她深切地意識到她得真正地靠自己，沒有別的辦法。雖然她極度堅強卻時常感到不安。
我對父親沒有什么印象，但是我記得邁克·菲瑟勒。他以前是教工業藝術的老師，在我童年的記憶中，他和我媽媽總是分分和和。我和杰森都不是很喜歡他，他是一個很有原則的人，而嚴格地說，我媽媽對人對事則太過寬容。
我們很不喜歡和邁克一起分享媽媽的關注—在圣誕節早上我們不得不等他一起拆禮物的時候，這種感覺變得很強。（沒有什么比圣誕節早晨不遲到更能讓孩子喜歡的了）我15歲的時候，他們停止交往，看見他離開我并沒有不開心。1991年2月18日，我十七歲，媽媽患腦動脈瘤突然去世。前一分鐘，她還高興地在聚會上和朋友說笑，下一分鐘，她已經躺在地板上，失去知覺，再也沒有醒過來。十九個小時以后，她離開了我們。我和十五歲的弟弟成了孤兒。
在那一刻，震驚和恐懼接踵而來。親戚們都在醫院，一個好朋友陪我回了家，（杰森隨后也回來了）。我們自己度過了一晚上。當時我很遲鈍，因為一切發生得太快了。我幾乎不能思考當時以外的事情。
第二天早上，祖父和舅舅、阿姨們還沉浸在各自的悲痛之中。感覺到悲痛的我認為必須讓大家知道發生了什么事情。我看到媽媽前兩天才用的通訊錄還在那，其中就有邁克的名字。
雖然邁克離這有一小時的路程，但給我感覺他馬上就趕到了。一走進來，他就開始照料一切，包括我和杰森。他給我一張信用卡，說：“你為什么不去買件葬禮上穿的衣服呢”，他讓我關注17歲孩子該關心的我應該穿什么的實際問題，而不是那些大人們考慮的事情。
一般情況下，孩子們成為孤兒后，家里的某個親戚會承擔起撫養責任。但是我的親戚們沒有，我猜想每個人都有充分的理由。我媽媽的父親年紀太大，不能擔負照顧我們的責任；媽媽的姐姐和她的丈夫有三個孩子，不能再照顧其他的孩子了；另外兩個兄弟，都是單身而且工作很繁忙。媽媽的遺囑里指定的監護人是個已經有15年沒聯系的保姆。
但是，我可以說，遺棄，即便是有充分的理由，也會讓人感覺不舒服。失去你最愛的人后漂泊無依讓人覺得難受和可怕。
幾個月過去了，親戚們也沒什么安慰的話了。我得到的唯一的消息就是如果我和杰森還沒有監護人的話，我們就不得不到孤兒院去了。我們的媽媽不在了，我們也救不了自己。
邁克又一次地來到了我們身邊。葬禮后，他就經常出現：確保廚子里有食物、賬單付清、草坪清理好。（邁克的大女兒琳達來幫忙照管他家）邁克讓我回到學校，雖然這是我最不愿意做的事情。我以前很討厭他那專橫的性格，但現在卻給與我最多安慰，幫助我度過了那段艱難的日子。
麥克說琳達建議讓他正式收養我們—成為我們的監護人。他馬上就要離開了，他還說他從來沒有考慮不這樣做；照顧我們是應該的。一天，他正式向我們提出了建議。在失落的悲傷和被遺棄的痛苦幾乎扼住我呼吸的時刻，這個男人說他很榮幸能夠和我們成為一家人，而他和我們的唯一的聯系就是他曾經和我的媽媽交往過。
從那一刻起，所有的一切都發生了變化。當文件簽署后，她的女朋友帕蒂為我們舉辦了一個“監護人”聚會。雖然只是小型的聚會，但是對我們來說意義很特殊。我得到了一個寫有我名字縮寫的鑰匙鏈，我記得當時覺得這背后的想法是多么地感人。
這么多年過去了，對我來說邁克已經不僅僅是法定的監護人，而是一個真正的父親。當我在學校里情緒低落，不能擺脫對媽媽的思念，對逝去的緬懷時，他總是會在那聆聽。
當我和丈夫埃里克買下第一座房子后，邁克花費好幾個周末幫我們安裝絕緣、修理水槽。他從沒把我當成一個可以應付所有事情的成熟的小孩。他總是在信任我的同時意識到我可能會需要幫助。那些做父親的不也是這樣想的嗎?
至少可以這樣說，他不是傳統意義上的父親。并不是因為血緣或者收養，我才把他看作父親，甚至不是因為他在我童年出現過。在我看來，純粹是因為好的運氣。
在他慷慨的舉動之前，我感覺自己像無處停泊的小船，差點被海水淹沒，后來，我感覺被救了。如果說媽媽是要我依靠自己變得強壯，邁克則是用自己的行動告訴我—世界總還會眷顧你，哪怕你期望值很低。
在他收養我們八年后，他陪伴我走進了教堂。又過了四年，我生下了他的第一個孫女，艾米麗·米歇爾·西蒙斯（邁克的本名叫米歇爾）。這個名字能夠讓我回想起過去，讓我對未來充滿希望，我希望有一天艾米麗也會感受到。就像我要讓她學習游泳一樣（事實上，她6歲了，已經開始上游泳課了），我想讓她明白：不管浪多高，水多急，不管把頭伸出水面有多么困難，總會有人拋給你救生圈。
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