The Picture
The lady’s wallet fell from her bag and hurtled to the ground at the bus stop. Standing next to the elderly lady, I decided to do a good deed and pick it up for her. She was stooped and arthritic, and things had spilled from the wallet.
I bent down and started to assemble the parts of her life.
“Thank you, dear. I’m so clumsy anymore.”
“I’m happy to help. I — “ I stopped.
Frozen in time by the picture I held in my hand, I asked, “Where did you get this picture?”
“That’s a picture of my daughter. I had to give her up for adoption. It was so sad. I loved her dearly.”
I wondered how you could give up a child that you loved dearly. The noise of my bus drew nearer as I handed the wallet back to the lady. She thanked me and wrote down her number so she could treat me to a coffee to thank me for my help.
I boarded the bus and found a seat alone. I looked at the number in my hand and wondered who this sweet lady was. I hoped she was as sweet as she seemed. I thought back over the short time in which I met her, and wondered at the chance meeting.
The lady seemed to have all her faculties, and I thought about how it would be easier if she had not.
Why had I looked at that one picture? Was it because I had seen something familiar? The lady said it was a picture of her daughter, but I knew it couldn’t be because I had seen that picture for all my 53 years.
It was my baby picture.
I agonized over what to do all day at work, and finally, decided to call the lady and found her name was Agnes. Agnes and I decided to meet at a local coffee shop near the bus stop. I set about wondering what to say to her.
At the coffee shop, I broached the subject of her daughter. She began with her eyes swimming,
“I had to give her to another family because my husband had died, and I had no way to raise her alone. I had difficulty making enough money to live let alone raise a precious baby. It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to make. I loved that little girl and named her Christine after my mother.”
“How old was she when you had to put her up for adoption?”
“It was shortly after that picture was taken. I wanted something to remember that sweet face. I miss her every day, but I have no doubt that I did the right thing for her. I just wish I could meet her one time and see how life has treated her.”
“Perhaps one day you will get that opportunity.”
As I left, I thought of how to talk to my aunt, the last of my parents’ siblings to survive. I needed to find out if Agnes could be my birth mother. I had never even had an inkling that I might be adopted.
My aunt confirmed it. She cried. Mom never wanted me to know. I have a new mother to get to know.
It’s a bit of a double-edged sword, you know. Now I have a mother again. We get to know each other and try to make up for all those lost years. I can tell her my story, the ups and downs, and I get to learn her story. I also get to lose another mother. The heartbreak was phenomenal the first time, but I am willing to endure it again in order to get to know the woman that carried my picture for more than 50 years.
I called Agnes and set up another coffee date.