I've had a couple of weeks now to absorb the idea that she does exist, my birth mother. She's very much alive, has always thought of me, prayed for me, and hoped that I'd been given a good life since she gave me up for adoption. It's a nice feeling - seeing her face, her smile, her eyes.. all of which resemble the face I've seen in the mirror for 38 years. She's been able to see that in her other children but I've never known that feeling and I'm not sure I even have words yet to express that sense of satisfaction. I knew I'd look just like her. I just knew.
I drove down to my grandmother's house that week, near the end of March, and met both her and my mother there. It was all very every day, like they see me all the time even tho they don't. The only thing that was odd was when I mentioned needing to get some lunch since they'd already eaten, Mom handed me $20 without even thinking. She knows I'm unemployed but I sort of felt 17 again and she was just being a mom. It just made me wonder, in a matter of hours, how my birth mother would welcome me.. not that I expected her to give me money.. that would just be weird, but would I feel the connection of mother to child at all or would she just be a complete stranger I was meeting for the first time?
I headed to Mama C's house for dinner that afternoon. She lives in a quiet neighborhood in a pretty suburb of Portland and I stopped at the top of her street because I honestly couldn't breathe. My heart was beating outside my chest and I needed an extra boost to make it the rest of the way so I called my friend, Anthony, who reminded me this is what I've been dreaming about for the last 10 years and there was nothing to be scared of. I could totally do it. Right. Yes. Gasp.. gasp. Ooook.
I'm not sure what kind of casual you're supposed to be when meeting the woman who gave birth to you a lifetime of years ago whom you've never met.. but I was trying to embody that when I pulled up to her house. Heyyy.. yeah.. I'm totally cool. Not having ANY issues NOT breathing AT ALL! Nope! Not even! Whoooo..
I walked up to the house, a lovely colonial, and the door sort of just opened before I could knock and there she was. She'd just had hip surgery and was using a walker, but immediately I was looking into eyes that were exactly like mine. That's the first thing I noticed.. and that basically, I was looking into my own face about 30 years from now. I. Can't. Even. Begin.. explaining the feeling that gave me.. like I could almost feel the missing piece of me being filled. And then we both tried to have a normal chat between two women who've never met before that moment and catch up years of lost time. Mostly, we just sat there trying not to stare at the other in amazement even tho that's exactly what we were doing.
How does one take this all in? She asked so many questions and because I was simply overwhelmed and she seemed so much calmer in her own setting, I talked about myself because that's easy. 'No, not married, no children.. I had this awful year.. um..' and she handed me a tissue because suddenly I was crying out of no where relaying the Cliff's notes from then to now - loss of a lover, a stepfather, a broken mother, loss of stable employment - and I was realizing I came with nothing. I mean, you lose so much you just feel like a loser. And there I was with nothing to offer the woman who decided to carry me for nine months and unselfishly let me go to another family who could provide for me when she couldn't.
They had pictures of their family and friends all over the house. She showed me my four half-brothers and sisters and I could see the resemblances between us. I just nodded and kept thinking, finally, I see it. I saw pictures of their children and then my biological grandparents who are no longer living. My grandmother looks happy and spry in all her pictures including one for her graduation when she went back to school to finish her degree. Her dress was appropriate for her grandmotherly age, but hot pink and she wore matching heels. In that picture she looks like she'd be the last one to leave the dance floor. I can definitely see where I get my spirit from. It was unbelievably cool.
I also saw pictures of Mama C as a nun and then after beginning her life with her husband, Charlie. She was always smiley and bubbly and is wearing the cutest a-line dresses I was coveting. She told me about her sisters as well. Helen, the youngest, committed suicide some years ago and was bi-polar and the oldest, Josephine, is alive but suffering from a degenerative muscle disorder. Both situations made me sad for her. All their pictures as young women are so pretty, but Helen sort of reminded me of Raquel Welch when she was younger - that type of wow pretty with no effort. I loved seeing everyone - my mother, her sisters, my grandmother - living their lives.. even in just black and white or 1975 tinted color.. I just wanted to keep them all in my memory.
She told me none of her children were ever told about me til the day before I arrived and my sister and brother who live in Portland were still digesting the news. The other two live in Virginia and she's figuring out how to tell them since that might be better conveyed in person. I can understand how it would be quite a shock to be told you're not the oldest or first child anymore.. and she says now they're absorbing it well, but I haven't met them yet. Baby steps..
Mama C gave me the best piece of information when we talked on the phone the day before: my ethnicity. I've been asked a zillion times and could never answer the question. I romanticized it and thought Mexican and Irish, Portuguese or Spanish something or other and wholesome Cracker.. ? But I know now. My grandfather was Mexican and my grandmother was Mexican and French. My father, she remembered, was Jewish and tho I don't think it adds up to a whole, it equals something to the effect of slightly more than a third Mexican, possibly half Jewish, and an eighth French. That equals ALL kinds of awesome, doesn't it? I was never good at math, but just knowing the combination makes me feel like a pretty fantastic collection of people.
The story of my conceptioin is the tough part to explain because it wasn't a happy situation for her. She'd given up her vows as a nun about a year and a half prior, she'd previously been fairly sheltered, and she was a young Catholic woman in the world trying to make something of herself. At 30 she looked much younger and it's possible too she was just naive having come from her previous world. Either way, she went out with my father once, never saw him again, and realized she probably should've known him a bit better. She's embarrassed by the details I'm leaving out so that's the most I can really say, which is still probably too much.. but I was right when I guessed she didn't tell him so he never knew about me. She doesn't even remember his name and I think that's the best thing for her. She feels blessed that something good came out of it and I'm ok leaving it at that for both of us. With no information about him, my father would be impossible to find and besides that, I always felt she had all the answers I was seeking.
We went back and forth with stories and questions, sometimes interrupting to find out random bits - if I liked British mysteries - she does, I've no opinion really; if she sings - I do, she does, but I don't think as often or like I'd strived to do in theater and bands, but she's musical - likes jazz piano, which she's learning. I used to take piano when I was a kid. She reads, writes, likes the arts, history, has at least one or two more volumes of the complete works of Shakespeare than I do (I have three), and she became completely annoyed when the Gypsy Kings came on the cd player. I tried not to laugh but I thought the same thing - they have their place, but at that moment, it was just noise. She had me turn it off. Later, at dinner, her husband was just bringing the last item and she put her hand on mine and said, 'I think I'm a little OCD,' and I replied in shock, 'No.. I say that ALL the time! What makes you say that?' And she looked towards the cupboard where Charlie had left one open and she said, 'He'll do that, leave the cupboard door open and it drives me crazy,' and she firmly told him to make sure he shut it and he even more firmly told her to let it go in response. Ahem. 'Sometimes I risk it,' she whispered coyly after that and I giggled because I do the exact same thing. Press people. Since she was laid up and unable to move much, her daughter was coming over the next day to help her clean the house the way she likes it and again, I knew exactly what she meant. Clearly I'm not the only woman cut from that Cloth of Crazy.. and by crazy of course you know I mean we just require the people who love us to be very, very patient.. even tho we don't know the meaning of the word ourselves. What?
Charlie, besides being 10 years younger, did all the fussing about dinner and dessert. It was very sweet and he was just as welcoming with me. I could tell he was very protective of her especially in her condition of being unable to get around much. He left us alone the majority of the time to talk and joined us briefly when the subject of religion came up. It's something they're both deeply passionate about and it's elemental in their lives. It's one thing we don't have in common, but I've always felt on the fence about it and drawn to issues of God and the devil, heaven and hell, and I've decided for myself what exists for me and what doesn't. She was understanding where I was with my own spirituality even tho her faith is very cemented and the beliefs surrounding that as well. For example, they don't agree homosexuality is God's plan for people, but they know they're in the minority these days. I don't think she approves of people living together before marriage, but again, she realizes it's what people do. I don't think her own children grow up that way because they all mostly follow along the same religious path and she tells me they're all successful and happy. And then there's a moment when I think she thinks the most obvious loss to her, the lack of God in my life, has lead to my sense of feeling lost altogether. She never said that.. it was just a look.. and we both let it go.
When it was time to leave, I remembered I needed a picture. The woman, I kid you not, BOLTED, for her lipstick and said she had to get it. Her husband started to protest and I just shook my head and said, 'No, really, it's fine.. I completely understand,' having done that oh, a thousand times myself before a picture. We may look younger than our years, but we are a tad vain. It's so funny what turns out to be inherited behaviors..
I went back the next morning before I had lunch with my family just to chat a bit more and talk about the possibilities. We'd both really let it settle in, this idea of starting a slow relationship of getting to know one another. She said she was overwhelmed and emotional about it, but she seemed pretty calm and collected. I'm not often that way when I'm emotional so there are certainly bits I wonder about getting from my father or maybe more my grandmother.. but it was good to be back there again, even if only for a short visit.
We traded emails and numbers and I recommended a book she should read,
The History Of Love. I told her I'd send her the link. My other favorite, David Sedaris, is probably not her style.. in the slightest.. so I thought this was one she could share with me for it's endlessly gorgeous writing and she'd like the mystery that unravels til the twist is revealed at the end. It's seriously the most beautiful book I've ever read.
We hugged. She blessed me (not kidding). There was lots of looking into the big eyes we share and trying not to cry, but just feeling the happy of that moment. Knowing the search is over. It's huge. She's in my life.. where I always hoped she'd be. It's such an incredible gift.
So.. that's that. We're staying in touch and so far, so good. I'm looking forward to the possibilities.
I actually just sent her that book tonight. I really hope she likes it.
