Journal of a Living Lady #229
White Kelly
I often wondered
what it would be like. It took nearly twenty years to find out.
My phone rang late
in the afternoon. It was our adopted son, Bobby. He will be 24 in a few days,
but we first met him when he was not yet five. He came through our front door,
wide-eyed, carrying a small sack of clothes, and clutching a worn teddy bear.
We were foster parents then.
Charlie, our miracle
son, also five, frequently asked for a brother. We had been married 15 years
when Charlie was born. Wanting to give Charlie our full attention, we stopped
fostering when the last two children, a brother and a sister, returned to their
family.
A phone call from the Department of Family Services
changed our decision. They had a boy, who couldn’t talk plainly, that desperately
needed a stable home. He had such puppy-like charm and innocence that any
mother would have scooped him up.
In the beginning,
Bobby had a few contacts with his birth dad. Eventually the dad dropped out of
sight.
After another five
years, when Bobby was ten, we agreed to adopt him. He had no remembrance whatsoever of his birth
mother.
When puberty set in,
Bobby’s continually exhibited behavior that conflicted with traditional values.
This period of adolescence was difficult for us all. There were a few times, if
we could have located the birth parents, we would have gladly delivered him in
chains. But, as most kids do, he matured and looks back on those wild days with
genuine regret. He is now married and has two adorable children.
When Bobby called home
a few days ago, his opening words were, “Mom, guess who I just talked to.” I mentioned a few old friends, but he never
let me finish my list of guessees.
“I just hung up from
talking to my birth mom,” he said. There
was exuberant excitement in his voice that I had never heard before.
For almost an hour
he talked about his birth mother and what she told him. Including, Charlie,
Bobby has an interesting menagerie of brothers. He has a slightly younger
brother, plus two half brothers.
I was happy that
Bobby had finally found the missing person in his original family circle. Just
last year, Bobby was reunited with his birth father.
Both parents have a
story of how Bobby came to be one of thousands of foster children in our
system. Their stories don’t exactly match, but have commonalities: young,
immature and unable to properly care for him.
A boy’s childhood
passed them by. Except for those difficult teen years, we enjoyed Bobby. While
he never cared much for book learning, he could take anything apart and put it
back together. He climbed trees to the very top, made pulleys, and fearlessly
swung on hand-tied ropes. A broken leg and a dislocated arm were his badges of
honor. He smiled bravely and I cried as the doctor snapped his arm back in
place.
Bobby is a loving
young man. He never hangs up or leaves the house without telling Buddy and me
that he loves us.
Two days after
Bobby’s unexpected call, the phone rang again. This time it was from his birth
mom.
I brought her
up-to-date on the last twenty years, leaving many of the details for later. It
was a pleasant conversation. Afterwards I emailed the mom a recent picture of
Bobby, his wife, and two children. She vowed that she would never lose contact
with her oldest son again.
Today Bobby and his
wife headed out of our driveway to a state nearly a thousand miles away. We
gave him his birthday clothes and some cash a little early. He was
understandably nervous, but anxious to finally meet the mother he never knew.
Here I sit contemplating
my mixed feelings. Bobby assured me this doesn’t change anything between us. I
assured him it didn’t either. It was a good opportunity to remind him of some
of life’s lessons.
Love and forgiveness
trump old hurts. Love wins, not by shoving one out to make room for another,
but by expanding to include everybody.
I got that wisdom from
a good source. An open, aging Bible sits nearby on my desk.
The thirteenth
chapter of First Corinthians whispers its eternal truth: Love is
patient. Love is kind. Love envied not. Love rejoices in the truth.
Who is Bobby’s
mother? She birthed him. I raised him. We both love him. That has to be a
win-win combination.
