forgive me

I've been paralyzed since July 12, not really sure what to write,what to say, what to feel. I've felt every emotion. I think I'll do facts for the moment, in case anyone reading would like an update. (Not that I expect anyone to want an update, necessarily,but just in case.)

That Monday, the Monday that changed my life, my journey, my thinking, my future. What can I even say about it. It was one of the most monumental days of my life. I think everyone affected by adoption loss can agree, no matter what spot you reside in the triad (although, I'm focusing primarily on mothers and lost children), that you have 2 monumental days. Before, after. The before: the day you were separated. The after: the day you find out what happened to the spaces in between. Or the day your questions are answered. Or the day you find out your questions never will be answered. or..or..or.

I woke up like every other morning-I just knew. I knew it was coming. The fact that I had finally finished the letter it had taken me years to build the courage to write (see below) doesn't seem to be a coincidence to me.
I got an email from the social worker. She told me I had missed my mother by 2 years and 2 months. Her name was Betsy.. Betsy. I tried it out loud, to see how it felt. It made me cry. The information (email? really? an email? she redeemed herself later, though, and for that, I am thankful) said that she had died from diabetes complications and kidney failure in Galveston in April of 2008. the very same day I quit my job to stay home with my babies again, to rest, to recover from the brain cancer ordeal-to heal, believe it or not. I wasn't given very much more information. It said that everyone who would have known who my father was had already passed. Her husband had passed before her, there was no one left. Laws prohibited her from even telling me what city I had been born in, I was hopeless, I was lost.

I sat there, feeling my heart beating like it wanted to come out of my chest. Everyone was asleep in my house.. I didn't know what to do. I didn't expect my reaction. I managed to get myself inside the safety of my home as I had been outside drinking coffee and playing around on the laptop, as I'm doing now..
The sound that came out of me haunts me. Primal (fitting..), hopeless, lost, devastation in its purest form. My 17 year old daughter heard it first, and the next thing I knew, it was my children who were all gathered around me. I felt horrible for scaring them. I was kneeling on the cold Mexican Tile, laptop askew on the couch, I couldn't talk, I couldn't breathe. My daughter picked up the laptop, read the email. Rubbed my back, cried. My little one was off spending the night so she didn't get to witness this, thank God. I tried, god how I tried to compose myself. I couldn't scare my kids, no matter what. I got myself to the bathroom, made it to the toilet where I vomited, I was so sick.


That entire day, I scoured every obituary in Galveston .. crossed referenced them to NC, as we didn't get a set date on exactly when it was, we went through YEARS of obits, finding nothing.

I prayed, I cried, I was numb, then I wasn't. I thought I had prepared myself. I thought I was ready for anything. I guess you never really can be. I thought that at least after I found out about her, I'd have some peace. It was the longest 8 hours of my life.

I emailed the social worker back later in the day. I thanked her for her time. And her kindness. I pushed the envelope, as it were, and asked.. "If her name was Katherine, can you please, even though I know it is against the rules, just write back, say hot or cold or whatever you can.. just please help."

2 minutes later, a reply came through. "Her name was Betsy, and she named you Ashley."
I sat there for a few minutes.. no tears came at that moment. It gave me the fire to keep scouring those obits. I thanked her. I thought it was just over, no hope. No hope of ever seeing my mothers face. No hope of reuniting. No hope. Lost. Gone forever, just like.. that.

She emailed me again, a few minutes later.
"Don't give up just yet, I'm working another angle. I'll let you know."

Little did I know.

She called a little while later.. "Don't ask me how, I can't tell you how. I don't want thanks. I just want an update one day."

"I just got off the phone with your sister. She lives in Hawaii. Her name is Carla, and she's been waiting for you. They all have. Your other sister, Carrie, and your brother, Kevin. Here is her number, she's so excited to finally talk to you. You weren't a secret. "

The angels sang that moment, I swear to God, they did. I was in such shock, I still don't know how I didn't have a heart attack that day. I called my parents, and my sister. I felt they needed to know the new development. They were so excited. After they had heard the story and  found out she was gone, they were all just shell shocked. This new development just blew my mind. It still does.

I called my sister, Carla. She's 17 months younger than me. We had hours of conversation, it was so beautiful. On each of the girl's 8th birthdays (a rite of passage, perhaps?), she sat them on the bed, with the door closed, and told them about their big sister.
She did hold me that day. She did miss me. She died a sad and broken woman because of this choice. My heart bleeds for my lost Betsy.
I got to talk to my other sister, Carrie, the next day. I was so worried for them. I wanted to protect them, I knew it had to be hard.

I had known I was coming .. and didn't know they were there. They knew I was there, but didn't know I was coming.

Carrie cried as soon as she got out the "hello." Sobbed heart wrenching, gut tearing crying. She had been the one who had taken care of our mother as she was dying. She had the conversations about me. She told Betsy she had to get some peace about this all before she died.

They scattered her ashes in the Gulf of Mexico. 4 Plumeria flowers out to sea with her. Plumerias, like in my letter to her below, are my passion. The first picture I got of Carrie, a Plumeria was in her hair. I was on a boat that summer, in the gulf. The closest I have been to my mother since the day I had to leave her.

Fitting.