Finding Family
During our initial contact, I learned many little things about my birth mother and her family, even though I don't think she was even aware that she was divulging much information at all. My curiousity was so great that I seized on each new fact with the wonder and joy of a child who has just learned the magic of the printed word. Every new fact lead me to a greater understanding of her life before, during and since my birth.
Very early in our first conversation, I learned the name of my birth father. I believe that for some reason, it was imperative to her that I know about him and their relationship. It was as if she finally had a chance to unburden herself of the secret that she had kept from her other children and the rest of her family for so long.
During our telephone conversations, I learned about her husband and my siblings. I had known that she had married in 1954, almost exactly a year after my birth. What I didn't know was that he knew about me and had tried to reunite me with my birthmother. Neither of them had told their children that there was another sibling.
Of my siblings, I initially learned very little. However, as my relationship with my birth mother developed, she told me their names, how many children they had and what they did for a living. It was apparent that this was a close family, as all of my siblings lived less than 10 minutes from home. I began to have hope that they would be open to learning about me in the near future.
That future came more quickly than I had expected.
The Call
My heart was beating rapidly as I dialed the long distance number written on the piece of paper my husband handed me. My birth mother's husband had telephoned and wanted to speak with me. In the brief pause, while I waited for a connection and that first ring, my heart almost stopped. A terrible unease crept into my consciousness.
I had never spoken with him before. I knew only a little about him and was uncertain about his attitude towards me.
"Hello." The voice on the other end of the line was a bit gruff, but not unfriendly. The familiar, faintly nasal, twang of the Northeastern region of the United States came through in that one word, immediately putting me at ease. But I still did not know the reason for the call.
It did not take long for my worst fear to be confirmed. My birth mother was very sick. She was dying. It was a terrible reality, but I was determined that we should meet at least once before she passed away.
Hanging up the receiver, I turned to my husband and relayed the awful news. Without hesitation, he asked, "When do you want to leave?"
I had driven the New York Thruway many times, but this trip would not take me to my usual destination. As my hastily packed, little VW Fox sped down the highway, my husband and I speculated about what we would find.
After settling in at our hotel, I called my birth mother's husband to make arrangements to meet the next day.
We met in the lobby of the hotel. Even though I had never even seen a photograph of him, I knew him at once. One look at me and a smile broke out on that weathered face as he exclaimed, "You have to be Cathy!"
After a short introductory chat, we headed for his car and the hospital to see my birth mother.
The Reunion
Hospitals are not places where I am very comfortable. Since childhood, I have visited relatives in hospital - usually for the last time. It was with those memories that I followed him into the elevator and through a maze of corridors to the hospice ward where my birth mother had been for several weeks.
We were about half way down the final hall when he paused to peer into one of the rooms on the right. Turning to us, he beckoned with a tilt of his head and ushered us into the room.
As I hesitantly approached the bed and saw her for the first time, I was drawn by a powerful and indescribable force to her side. I was aware of nothing other than her presence and the rapid beating of my heart. Because she was heavily sedated, it took awhile to awaken her and focus her attention on us. I feared that, despite our best efforts and the frantic trip, we were too late.
My fear, however was short lived. As the fog cleared a bit and she realized who was standing beside her bed, she opened her eyes wide and, with a grip that I can still feel, she clutched my hand. With that one action - the touching of our hands - we were finally and truly reunited after more than four decades of separation.
We spoke very little, but our connected hands spoke volumes. After awhile, she relaxed and fell back into a semi-conscious sleep, but she did not relinquish the grip on my hand! It was only when the nurse returned to tend to her that the physical connection was reluctantly broken.
Sadly, we had to leave. But, with a promise to return the next day.
As we wound our way back through the halls, my birth mother's husband asked if we would return with him to his home. He said there were "some people" who he would like us to meet. At the time, I did not realize the extent to which agreeing to this request would affect my life!
The Meeting
Who were these people he wanted us to meet? Both my husband and I were preplexed, but very curious. As far as I knew, my existence, let alone my presence, was unknown to anyone. Who were these "people?" It was not until we arrived at the comfortable ranch house and had been given a tour that the question was answered. I was to meet my siblings!
The sound of my heart began to thump loudly in my ears and my mind to race. What were they like? How do they feel about meeting me? Did we have anything in common other than a blood tie with the remarkable woman lying a hospital bed only a few miles away? What would be their reaction? I was very nervous, yet I was feeling a thrill of anticipation as I paced the living room awaiting the first arrival.
Finally, after an almost unbearable wait, there was the sound of a car coming up the long driveway and the closing of its doors. The tops of several heads passed by the dining room window as they made their way to the door towards the back of the house. I stood in the living room, frozen in place like a bird ready to take flight at the first sign of danger.
One glance was all that it took. Everything around me melted into nothingness as I gazed at the face of the woman across the room from me, so like my own. Tears welled up in my eyes and hers as we rushed across the space towards one another and into each other's arms. All my fears dissolved away in that embrace and my heart was filled with an unbelievable joy.
I had very little time to get a grasp on my emotions, however, because within minutes, the same door opened again and, once more, I found myself being hugged and kissed by a sibling. Huge grins and hugs greeted me and even a few more tears. I soon found myself relaxing, although still overwhelmed with emotion.
Twice more the door would open and admit another sibling. Twice more I would be caught up in the excitement of meeting people with whom I share blood. Twice more I would exprience with amazement complete acceptance by this family.
I could not help thinking about my birth mother and what she would have thought to see all of her children together at last.
