Just a happy reunion story to give all of those adoptees and their first mothers hope by way of LINK> The Guardian – A new start after 60: I became a mother at 62. I am only going to share some highlights. The full story is at the link.
It sort of reminded me of how I connected with my nephew – a surprise email sent to our business account, that my husband forwarded to me. After Martha retired, a former colleague forwarded an email to her saying, “This seems kind of important,” adding a smiley face. I am a “sign” kind of person and so I really liked reading this part – she looked out of the window, “and there was this amazing double rainbow in the east. I thought: that’s a sign. I wrote a short note: ‘Hello, oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you since you were teeny tiny.’” At 62, Einerson had “become a mother”.
It was 1977 and in her first year at the University of Dallas. Yet by the time she knew she was pregnant, her relationship with Tallert’s birth father was ending. So, with her family’s support, she decided to give her child up for adoption. Later, as a professor of communication studies, who specialized in interpersonal communication and personal relationships, she often shared the story of her pregnancy. When she did the question was Don’t you want to find him ? And she would say: “You know, I don’t.” She goes on to elaborate that “My mother always told me: ‘You were his mother for nine months …’ but when you make a big decision, affirm it and reaffirm it as often as you need. And I did. It worked.”
She goes on to admit that every few years, she would wonder if her son was OK and if he was still alive. Even though she would tell people she wasn’t looking for him, she did register with adoption agencies, so he could track her down. Yet, she felt she had made a commitment to give him to another family. My adoptee dad was kind of like that too. He believed once you were adopted that adoptive family was your ONLY family. He never expressed to me any desire to find out anything about his adoption. Sadly, his half-sister was living only 90 miles away from him when he died and could have told him so much about his original mother.
Like many mothers who surrender their first born (my original maternal grandmother was one of those), she had no more children; though she and her husband have “a fantastic relationship … We were unable to have children of our own so we both dove into our careers.”
Happily, like many adoptees who achieve a reunion with their original mother, they quickly clicked with one another and discovered they naturally had behaviors in common (that is the genetic nature part of any human being’s personality). Sort of like how my grown daughter has called me by my first name since she was a toddler (though also “mom”), Tallert calls her Martha. “But once in a while, in a close moment, he’ll call me Mom,” she says. “And it still feels as good as it did the first time.” I too feel good when one of my children calls me “mom” or when one of my grandchildren calls me “grandma.” I guess it’s natural.