Mom, Irene
Yesterday I saw a video of two donkey mothers whose babies were born at exactly the same time. One baby was still born. The miracle in this story is that both mothers have happily claimed the one baby and the baby has claimed both mothers. This little family of three trots around the barnyard together, living in harmony.
In my life time, I have been blessed with two mothers. Although they were part of my life at two different times, the miracle is that I have lived my life bathed in love by both of them. After my adopted mother and father died, I searched out and was blessed to find my birth mother.
Although these kinds of stories can be extremely sad, mine has been a beautiful fairy tale. I was in my fifties when I used my birthname and the internet to send out a letter to all the people of the same last name listed in the phone book with addresses covering a very wide area from Kingston west to Sarnia/Windsor and north to North Bay. It took a few weeks before I received an email from Sam, who proved to be my stepfather. Both of us were being careful. Neither of us wanted to hurt anyone. My letter had followed a circuitous route before it finally had ended in Tucson, Arizona thanks to a woman who was my Aunt Sarah.
My birth mom, Irene, was a wonderful and beautiful woman. We had twelve years to get to know one another before she died of cancer. For me the miracle was that we loved each other right from the start. After all those years and all that hurt, mom Irene loved me. And I was totally surprised and amazed at my depth of love for her.
A mother at just sixteen, she brought me home to her dysfunctional family in a time when society openly condemned teenage unmarried mothers. These young women were encouraged and some even forced to give up their babies. Mom Irene loved me and so did her siblings for fifteen months before she gave me up for adoption, in her words, “for my own protection.” The twelve years I had to love her after I found her again, were way too short. I didn’t ask near enough questions. Instead, I soaked in her love.
My adoptive family were good parents, and I was loved. Still, mom Irene is so precious. The night before I met her for the first time, my daughter and I arrived at our hotel, the room mom had rented for us. Among a pile of gifts she had left for us was a tiny stuffed lamb. I’ll never understand why, but the sight of that lamb, it’s softness in my hands, brought tears, oceans of tears, all the tears I must have cried at our separation so many years before.
Finding your birth parents is a traumatic experience for sure. For me it was wonderful. Mom loved me. She didn’t forget me. She still loved me. And so did her sisters as they gathered round me. Like the two mother donkeys and the one baby, I was and am loved, loved beyond words.
And there is a second, equally wonderful and miraculous chapter in this story. With finding mom Irene, I received the gift of three wonderful younger sisters. Like mom, they have accepted me as part of the family. And the amazing thing is that they love me, too. This means I have four sisters, my adopted older sister, Anne, and three younger “half” sisters. When I add my life-long friend Nancy who is like a sister to me, we’re a crowd of women, Gayle, Sharon and Dina. What could be better?
The baby donkey in the video has two moms to love, care and feed him. What a blessing. I, too, am truly blessed. I have had the joy of being loved by and loving two wonderful women, each strong in their own way, two moms. I am truly grateful.
This month on the anniversary of Mom Irene’s death, my sister, Sharon, sent a picture of mom along with this poster that she found on Facebook years ago. It has reminded me that mom and I were together in some unknown way all the years we were separated. We are still together today. Love you all.
This poster was posted on Facebook many years ago. I do not have the origin but I am grateful that it was posted. It speaks to me and I hope it speaks to you.