My Son's Mother

Just a year ago, when Bruce and I were on a European cruise, I had a call from my older son. "Mom," he said, "I've found my birth mother." Wow, that hit home. I knew, of course, that she existed, or at least that she had existed long enough to give birth to my son. But now she was real. She has a name. She lives outside of Toronto. She never had more children. I tried to absorb all this information as the ship was bobbing about in the Atlantic, but all I wanted to do was to hug my son and be hugged by him. My first reaction was to go into total defense: he's MY child! The second was to move into mother bear mode: we really don't know this person and I don't want you to be hurt! When we returned from the cruise I learned more about her. That summer my son met her. Since then they have been emailing back and forth. For his birthday in December she sent him a package of small gifts. After all, it was the first time she had been able to celebrate that day knowing where he was and that he is OK. A panoply of emotions surround this event, more than I can write today, but I'll continue. Stay tuned!