Saturday, August 06, 2005

One fine day...

I’ve written several stories about my experiences growing up, by far the part of my childhood that had the biggest impact on who I am today was the day I met my Mother.
For back story on how this came to be, you can read this.
Once, things like this were not discussed, feelings were never analyzed,
but now this is the stuff daytime TV is made of...
I always hold out much hope for such reunions, but in fact, few are able to get past the feelings of abandonment and anger, few are able to develop a good relationship.
We were lucky.
I had spent about 5 years in a series of foster homes, and while I was a “good kid” I was beginning to show signs that the next years may get rough. My self esteem was very poor, I had few friends, I had trust issues and was just squeaking by in school, I was beginning to test those around me. I was at a behavioral crossroads, until the fateful day the phone rang in 1976, I was 15.

“I just got the weirdest call... it was your case worker, sit down, something has come up”. I sat and immediately my mind began to race. Something must have happened to Dad, he’s been arrested, in an accident, he’s been harassing the caseworkers again, oh God what could it be this time. “Your caseworker just finished talking to your Mother on the phone, she wants to meet you!”
I’d often lay awake at night in bed and wonder what she must look like, would I know her if I passed her on the street? Would she know me? I would look in the mirror and wonder who I looked like. Was she rich, was she famous? As a younger child I often told peers that I'd lost her in an accident, I was not equipped to answer the questions children had and really couldn’t think of anything else to say as a child. My cover story had a date, details, everything. Best of all, it kept other kids from asking questions.
I often fantasized that she was a famous movie star.
Remember this was before the day of computers and I knew that through our many moves that there was no way she could ever find me. I had let go of the possibility of ever finding her.
My mind raced with questions, but I could only manage to say one word. “When?”
I had learned early in life that things are to be believed only when seen, if then. While I was excited, I was also guarded. A meeting was set, and she would come to the foster home.
The day finally arrived.
I woke early, dressed and redressed as I wanted to look good. I wanted her to like me. I worried. I paced. My mind worked question after question. Why? How should I feel, should I be happy, angry? What will I say? What is the right thing to say, I could not think of a thing. My stomach lurched when I heard a car door close in the driveway. It seemed to take hours for the door bell to ring, I waited in the living room and strained to hear the distant voices in the entry hall. At last my foster parents walked into the living room, my Mother trailed them.
She was beautiful, younger looking than I expected, thin, dark hair and eyes. She held a single red rose in her hand. I still didn’t know what to say, but there was no anger, no fear. Tears started to fall as she walked towards me, my mind was blank, my arms opened and we embraced for a very long time. She pulled back and put the single red rose into my hand and even though a word had yet to be spoken, every silent question I ever had was answered.

Mom, I love you more than I can possibly express, and I am grateful that you had the courage to face many scarey issues to save me.
Some things are harder for a Mother than giving birth...
Letting go is one.
Re-claiming is another.

posted by addict @ 4:42 PM |

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