(a-mother=adopted mother; b-mother=biological mother; a-father=adopted father; b-father=biological father)
As I write this, I’m wondering how many other adoptees and non-adoptees never got the chance to meet their biological mother. It’s funny how often I tend to not think about her, but on Mother’s Day she is at front and center of my cerebral cortex. I ask the universe: is she still alive? What is she doing at this moment? What does she look like? How old is she? When is her birthday? Is she with my b-father? What is he doing? Is he caring for her?
A few years ago, in some sort of desperate measure of searching for answers about a woman whom I knew nothing about, I consulted a psychic. Since the psychic was in California and I in Maryland, and since someone whom I trusted referred her, I agreed to a telephone reading (and no, it wasn’t Miss Cleo). After a few initial questions from the psychic to gauge my “energy,” I asked my first hurried and eager question: “Is my mother still alive?” She paused a moment, and then said, “No. She has passed on into the next life.”
I paused at her words. My mind raced with wonderment at how she might have died. Was it during my birth? Was it during the Iran-Iraq War? Was it natural? HOW DID SHE DIE??!! But then, just as hurriedly as I asked the question, and as with any stage of grief, acceptance crept in in…and the more empty, sickening feeling surfaced. I realized I would never get a chance to even meet her. No matter how hard I might try to go to Iran to find her, it would never happen. I told myself that my journey was through, that I could stop searching.
The psychic did tell me that my b-father was alive and working with children, but that was of little comfort. And then it begged the greater question: why was I not concerned about my father as much as my mother? What was it about her that made me want her alive more than him?
I’m still searching for that answer. My primary thought, at least at this moment in my life, is that I imagined a stronger relationship with her than my a-mother. I’m not sure why, and my relationship with my a-mother is not lacking for a relationship, but there isn’t that “thing” that I imagine sons and mothers have, like fathers and daughters. Perhaps I am merely a product of this society and its “happily ever after” story board. Perhaps there is more. Maybe she is still alive. Psychics aren’t the end-all-be-all of authority. Such thoughts race through my head, and I rest at knowing that I need to move on and think of my b-mother as that enigmatic figure whom I will treasure once a year, if but for a brief moment.
I will call my a-mother, and I will wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. I do it to not hurt her. I do it out of obligation. I do it because I care about her. I do it because I love her. I do it for the reasons mentioned, in that order. And I do so knowing it will not be with the same love I would have with my b-mother. It just won’t be the same – Farnad Darnell