I was sitting at home when the call came;
I had the afternoon off and the house to myself.
I anticipated telling a telemarketer to get lost.
Instead I heard a shaky voice on the other end,
barely more than a whisper; after a few odd questions, she said:
“I think…I think you’re my mother…”
Thirty-four years later, and now I was back in that hospital room:
eyes bleary with tears so I couldn’t even read the papers I signed;
my shaky hand scribbling a signature that only resembled my own.
Thirty-four years later, and I still hadn’t figured out what I was going to say.
“Um…I hoped you might find me someday,”
My voice was barely more than a whisper, like hers,
but inside my heart screamed:
I just wanted you to be okay!! I just wanted you to be okay!!
“I hoped I would, too,” she whispered.
“Would you…would you like to meet?”
My body trembled the way it did
that day, as I went home without my child.
“I would love to,” she answered.