On the Eve of a Birth

It’s a dangerous thing to allow my mind to wander.
I never know exactly where I will end up.
Friday morning, on the eve of my birthday,
my mind found its way through the fog and the brush to a memory.
For those of you who know me, you know that I was put up for adoption way back when.
At 6 months I landed in a loving home with proud Mom and Dad doting on me.
To their credit they never withheld the fact that I had been adopted.
And, I didn’t think twice about it. They were my parents. The only parents that I knew.
That all changed in the 1980s when I found that I had a sister from my birth Mother.
Now, I had a name and a face for that woman who had birthed me into this world.
Over the years we drifted apart. She was never “mom” to me. I already had one of those.
But, from time to time I wonder.
This is a result of that ‘wondering.’

63 years ago…

I wonder what She was thinking and feeling.

Her belly, full o’baby boy!

Had Her parents driven into Her mind that there was no way that I could exist in their world?

Was I already a non-person to them?

Had it been legal, would I have simply been washed away like so much detritus?

Yeah, I think so.

But, Her?

I think that Her anger and grief became the wind beneath the wings that delivered Her

To another world.

A world where She could have Her heart’s desire.

But not here.

Not where She had been coerced into agonizing loss.

How could She give Her son away?

In Her world Reality was a small bubble.

Within its protective shield She could be safe…secure.

I was ripped out of that bubble.

Torn away; kidnapped; sent to Mars.

She could not protect me.

It’s really no wonder that we both wage war against alcohol.

Now, 63 years later,

On the eve of my birth,

I don’t even know if She has died.

Or, perhaps, She never will.

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