Shortly after his thirty-ninth birthday, Bay, our adopted son, called me the day after Thanksgiving. ‘Mom, I gotta talk to you.’
“Sure, son, what is it?” In stunned disbelief, I listened as he told me his birth mother had telephoned him the day before Thanksgiving. He waited to tell me so he wouldn’t spoil my holiday. This woman had paid someone fifty dollars to search the internet for him. They took a number off the original birth certificate and traced my son’s birth record to us. The courts had told me it could never happen, but it did.
Trying to say all the right things, I told him I didn’t mind that he meet with her.
This was the only time I ever lied to one of my children.
I did mind. I didn’t blame him, but I did mind.
He was my son. I sat up with him when he was sick; I sewed the rips and tears on his jeans. Why should I share him now? He has two children. My grandchildren – not hers.
As Billy was growing up, we had talked openly about his birth mother. He was only ten when he first came into our lives, yet he held a faint memory of her. Although I knew he loved me, I was aware of the remembrance of her lingering in the background of his mind. Trying to encourage him not be angry, I told him she probably had a very good reason for not keeping him more than two years he lived with her. I promised, when he was older, if he wanted to find his birth mother, I would help him. And I would have, but he chose not to.
Not even in my dreams, I did expect she’d find him.
I tucked my skepticism away so as not to mar his excitement. I knew because the social workers had told me, that his mother had given him away when she was young and recently divorced. She had remarried and had other children. After thirty-seven year, I didn’t understand why she wanted him now.
Billy has now met his other mother and accepted the explanation she gave for not being able to keep him. I couldn’t be with them at their first meeting, the day before Christmas Eve. I wanted to give them space and was guile sure both she and I would have felt very awkward. Truthfully, there was another reason I didn’t go. I was guile intimidated and not at all sure where I would fit in this new picture.
But the next day, while I was preparing dinner for our family Christmas Eve. Billy arrived early. He stepped up behind me and kissed me on the Cheek. “I love you, Mom,” was all he said. But that was enough.
Billy wants his two families to meet. I’ve agreed. He believes I am gracious enough to share him, so I’ll try. He was without a mother for so many years. Surely, he deserves to have two now.
All I want is for my son to be happy and find peace within himself. His thirty-year enigma is solved. I’m here to share his joy, or I’m here just if he needs me.
I am his mom.
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