By Ulla
I can't say when it became a conscious thought. But, one day I realised that if I wanted to find my real mother, and with a chance she'd still be alive, I'd better get on with it. Nothing emotional, but a practical thing that had to be done if I was to succeed. And that's the thing; I didn't even know whether I wanted to. Yes, I was curious, but that about summed it up.
By then I was in my mid forties, and I hadn't mentioned my thoughts to anybody except to my aunt Grethe, with whom I was very close. She was like a mother to me. I'd told her a few times about my curiosity, and that one day I ought to do something about it. She always encouraged me to do so, but it never got beyond that.
Besides, I lived in Scotland, and my aunt was in Denmark. But then, some years later in early 2003, when I visited yet again, she pulled me up on the subject. She'd arranged for us to go to the hospital of my birth, where all my mother's personal information was stored. That meant all data would be more than fifty years old.
I can still hear my aunt saying to me: 'You are fifty one, time is running, and today I won't take no for an answer!'
Thus, she sealed my fate. The quest to find my real mother had begun. A journey that would take me back to a time gone by.
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I'd always known about my adoption, being told from day one by my adoptive parents. It was no big deal. Also, I grew up knowing I spent the first two and half years of my life in an orphanage. It was a natural part of my upbringig.
What I also remember is that one day in my early teens, I became curious about my weight at the time of birth, how long I'd been and did I have any hair? Some intrinsic knowledge I assumed most children grew up knowing. But if my adoptive parents knew the answers then they never said. They never mentioned my real mother or father either, so I thought they had little or no knowledge of them.
However, having said that... On one occasion I overheard my adoptive father saying something about my real father being a foreigner. I think America was mentioned. But before he could say any more my adoptive mother stopped all further talk, and I forgot all about it until many years later.
The rest of my childhood I remember as a time filled with love and joy. My adoptive family was tiny, with only two other children, who became my cousins. They could hardly be termed children though, being fourteen and seventeen years older than me. But, that didn't deter me from a rich childhood filled with laughter and play. I compensated, making friends with children of neighbouring families, and later I had my school friends.
What also graced my years of upbringing was the extensive travel. My adoptive father was crazy about going places and to explore once he got there. Throughout my entire childhood I was dragged through Western Europe and sometimes into the former Eastern Europe. Unusual, this being the mid-fifties and onwards. When flying was added you've got the picture, and I simply adored it.
Hence, I caught the travel bug from a very early age, a bug from which I've never recovered. I've later realised that the bug must be able to run in the genes which is something I will come back to later.
So, the years of my childhood and early youth passed pleasantly enough. And then disaster struck.
My adoptive father fell seriously ill, and when I reached the tender year of seventeen he lost the battle, and I lost a beloved father.
After that, things became complicated. My adoptive mother changed into a person I didn't recognise. Suffice to say that a few years later we became estranged, never to see each other again.
Meanwhile, I carried on with my life. I almost finished my higher education when, by sheer chance, I was introduced to a line of work in which I continued for over twenty years.
I suppose I did all the usual things, met a man, fell in love, married and had a beautiful daughter. They were good years, and the travelling continued in my private life as in my professional life. We also befriended people from abroad, some of whom are still close friends until this day.
And during all those years it never occurred to me to think about where I really came from let alone starting a search
At this point, the necessity to talk about my aunt can't be avoided. She is essential to my story and, without her, I would never have discovered what I later found out.
My aunt Grethe was my adoptive mother's sister-in-law. While my adoptive mother continued making a nuisance of herself, falling out with all and sundry, Grethe and I became close. As I've already mentioned, we were more like mother and daughter, and she became like a grandmother to my daughter.
Meanwhile, my life moved on. I divorced, and as fate would have it, I ended up in the south of Britain. At first my daughter wanted to stay in Denmark, but came over to visit at least every weekend, and when she later decided to live with me, the reverse became true. It worked out extremely well, and one day she decided to leave the nest.
It was then that I moved to Scotland where I spent the first couple of years living alone up until the year 2003.
It was the year my life was to change forever more.
| Author Notes | When posting a 100 word contest about finding my real mother several readers encouraged me to tell the full story so here it is. |
By Ulla
I have always known that I was adopted. In early 2003, I travelled from Scotland to visit my aunt Grethe in Denmark yet again. She was like a mother to me. She insisted that I look up the data of my real mother. My aunt wanted me to find my roots.
We both looked up at the tall building, as we slowly made our way to the front entrance. The hospital where I had been born so many years ago, loomed high above us.
It was a blustery March day, so typical for this time of the year in Denmark. Spring hinted at its arrival, but wasn't quite ready to unfold, still knowing that a blast of cold air could spoil its efforts.
Earlier in the morning, after a late breakfast, Grethe and I set off towards our destination and, as we entered the hospital, I glanced at her and saw my own apprehension mirrored in her face.
An hour later, we emerged from the building yet again, and stopped for a moment, giving me time to study the piece of paper I held in my hand.
What I looked at was a copy of my birth certificate issued on the day I was born. The information was different from the birth certificate I knew so well, the one that had been issued at the time of my adoption. I recognised the two first names, but not the surname. The two first names had always been my middle names, and I suddenly understood that those two names were given to me by my real mother.
For some reason, my adoptive parents chose to hang on to them or, they had not been able to get rid of them. Something I will never know. What is more, I realised that it was my adoptive parents who gave me the name Ulla.
At the bottom of the certificate was an address which would be my mother's address at the time of my birth in 1952.
Hence, not only had I obtained my original data, but also that of my mother, like her full name, her date of birth and her address at the time. At least, it was some information about her, whatever it was worth. I realised that I would need much more if I was ever going to find her.
I don't know what I had expected. But the feeling of being completely deflated was not one of them.
Grethe looked at me, touching my arm.
"I suggest you and I go for a bite to eat and a glass of wine. You sure look as if you need it." She watched me, but didn't wait for an answer. "I so happen to know a little place around the corner that will suit our purpose just fine. What do you think?"
I looked at her lovingly, thinking that I wouldn't know what to do without her. Hard to believe she was eighty eight and so full of energy, and I readily agreed.
The restaurant was, as promised, small and quite busy, but we managed to get a corner table that was perfect for our purpose. We sat down, and after ordering, Grethe looked at me expectantly. "Well, Ulla, what we need to do next is to pay a visit to the town hall where your mother resided, and see whether they have any record of her. I know it's a long shot, but we have to start somewhere."
Again, I looked at her, marvelling at her vitality. Right now, I could have done with some of that. We clinked glasses, and I agreed that it was exactly what we would do. We carried on eating not saying much, each of us deep in our own thoughts. After we'd finished our meal, we set off towards our next destination.
At this point, I have to explain a few things. In 1968 Denmark introduced what is called a personal number. Everybody is issued with a four digit number after their date of birth, which is registered with the authorities, who then hold essential information about any given person. The data are protected and nobody, but certain official departments have access to them.
We arrived at the town hall and were soon directed to the clerk who could deal with our enquiry. The gentleman was very sympathetic, and told us to take a seat while he went to see what he could find.
After a long wait, he came back shaking his head. He regretted that he'd found nothing, and went on to explain that my mother had either died or emigrated. No person with her name and date of birth had ever been issued with a personal number and therefore never been registered. Even marriage, and a change of name, would still have enabled them to find her, if she had been issued with the number.
What he could do though, was to instigate a wider search trying to find out what had become of her. It would cost a small fee, but he warned me that it could take a very long time to find anything, if at all.
I paid the fee, as I couldn't see I'd anything to lose, and we left. On an impulse, I said to my aunt that I would like to go to the address where my mother had lived. It turned out to be a pleasant road lined with villas, but we couldn't find the one that corresponded with my information. I suddenly noticed a small car park further on, and right enough that was where the house should have been. All but gone!
Much later that evening, Grethe and I talked about my adoptive mother and the strange person she'd turned into after the death of my adoptive father. We had often spoken about her in the past, wondering why she became the person she did. What had possessed her we would never know.
As for me, I can't say I was overly concerned. Not any more. She'd tried to dominate and manipulate me and everybody else for that matter, but when I didn't cooperate, she decided to throw me out of her life, which, I must admit, was a great relief. In the end she even denied my very existence. She simply told people she didn't have a daughter.
I sat up in my chair looking at Grethe. " Grethe do you know what? I think we should put it all to rest. It is someting we'll never be able to change anyway."
My aunt nodded in agreement. It was a chapter closed, and we never spoke of my adoptive mother ever again.
The following day was the last of my visit, and I looked forward to seeing my daughter, Amelie. We had agreed to meet up in the afternoon together with her father and his wife, and I looked forward to the get together. Those meetings were always good fun as we all got on well.
I was in for a surprise.
By Ulla
I have always known that I was adopted. In early 2003, I travelled from Scotland to visit my aunt Grethe in Denmark yet again. She was like a mother to me and insisted that I look up the data of my real mother. My aunt wanted me to find my roots. We spent a day just doing that, but it didn't get me anywhere in my search.
I walked down the few steps entering one of the oldest wine bars in Copenhagen. Nothing had really changed during its 300 years of existence, not even the fact that it was still a popular place to meet up for an informal drink or two.
At first I didn't see anybody I knew, but turning a sharp corner into the next little room I saw them sitting around the old wood table tucked into an alcove. My daughter was all smiles, and I gave her an affectionate hug, and proceeded to greet her father and his wife.
Tommy, my ex husband, looked at me and smiled. "What are you having?"
"Oh, a dry white wine would be nice, thanks." And I sat down next to Amelie and Tommy's wife Bente. Tommy soon returned, placed the glass in front of me, and we all lifted our glasses, when Tommy said.
"So tell us, how did you get on with Grethe today?"
I looked at him in surprise and asked how he knew what we had been doing.
He grinned. "I also speak to Grethe, so I know what you two were planning to do. So please tell, do spill the beans!"
I couldn't help laughing, and before I knew it, I told them about the day that had led me absolutely nowhere. I looked at Amelie, not wanting her to feel I'd forgotten about her. But I needn't have worried; she stared back at me as if enraptured. I told them that, indeed, I did feel disappointed, but then again what could I expect? It wasn't as if I'd ever been looking for my mother. I had to admit, though, that by now I was a bit more than just curious.
We spent another hour just chatting about this and the other, when Bente looked at me. "Ulla, while we've been talking, I've been thinking... thinking of something that might be useful to you."
I looked at her in surprise, leaning towards her. "What do you mean, Bente? What would be useful to me?" She must have thought me a half-wit, but at the time I didn't catch on at all.
Bente smiled. "What I mean is in the search of your real mother."
All I managed was. "Oh, all right, what...?"
"Well, it so happens that my best friend works in the Foreign Ministry, and frankly, if anybody can find anything about your mother, it will be her."
"What do you mean Bente? I uttered."Please, go on!"
"Ulla, even the police turn to my friend when they can't locate someone. So you're in safe hands. All I want to know is, if it's OK with you that I leave her with your mobile number so she can contact you."
I looked at her, not believing my ears. Of course it was all right for her to pass on my mobile number!
From then on, the rest of the evening passed in a haze, and I was back with Grethe before I knew it. I briefly told her about the meeting, but she was tired, and admittedly, so was I. It would be better to leave it until the next morning to tell her about the new development, and we soon tucked in for the night.
I didn't know what to make of it all, but I really needed some sleep before my flight back to Scotland the next day.
The next morning, while enjoying our breakfast, I told Grethe about the evening in more detail, and she was just about to say something, when the phone rang. Grethe went to answer it, and turned to look at me. "It's for you, Ulla". How strange... nobody I knew apart from my daughter would phone me here. My aunt shook her head, indicating that she didn't have a clue who it might be, but whispered, "It's somebody called Marianne."
I took the phone. "Ulla speaking."
"Hi, my name is Marianne. Bente said that it would be OK to ring you, and yes, I do have your mobile number, but Bente also assured me it would be all right to phone you at your aunt's. It's somewhat cheaper than a call to a mobile from Scotland, taxpayers money and all that." I could hear the smile in her voice.
"Go on," was all I said.
"Well, what I'm about to suggest is that when you get back home, you send me an e-mail with all the information you have of your real mother. What I'll do then is to start a search and dig out as much as I can find."
I was silent for a moment until I was able to say: "Wow, do you really want to do that for me?"
"I'll be delighted," came back the answer. "Bente is my best friend, and I have met your daughter many times, and she is a wonderful young woman. I'll be so pleased if I can help you in your quest to find your mother. I may not be able to come up with all the answers, but I feel confident that something will turn up."
I thanked her profusely, and promised to send her all the info I had so far. I wrote down her e-mail address, and we hung up.
I sat down opposite my aunt, and explained what had just passed, and she looked at me with a big smile. "Oh Ulla, this can only be good news."
Later that afternoon, back home in Scotland, I sat at the bay window, booting up my PC. I looked out at the grey waters of the river Clyde flowing by. It was a murky afternoon, but beautiful all the same, Loch Long reaching in towards the distant hills.
Meanwhile, I was in deep thought, mulling over everything that had happened during the last forty eight hours.
The latest development was that a letter from the Danish Tax Man had awaited me, informing me that they owed me a handsome little sum from way back. It had already been sent off, and was now on its way to me.
At that very moment I think I believed in omens.
Finishing the e-mail to Marianne, which included everything I had learned about my mother, I was confident that I could do no more, at least not for now. I closed down the computer, and proceeded to the kitchen and prepared a light meal.
I went to bed early feeling very tired, and my last thoughts before I fell asleep were that tomorrow I would request a holiday from work, one that I was well overdue, and that I hoped there'd soon be news from Marianne.
To be continued.
By Ulla
I have always known that I was adopted. In early 2003, I travelled from Scotland to visit my aunt Grethe in Denmark yet again. She was like a mother to me, and insisted that I look up the data of my real mother. My aunt wanted me to find my roots. We spent a day just doing that, but it didn't get me anywhere in my search. That same evening I met up with my daughter, ex-husband and his wife Bente. And it was from Bente I got a helping hand. Her best friend, Marianne, working in the foreign Ministry might be able to help in my search. I was now back in Scotland.
The rumble in my stomach woke me early the next morning. I was ravenous. After a quick shower, I prepared a full breakfast, a fare I ate rarely, and it was soon time to leave for work.
I sighed, when I sat down at my desk, and eyed the overloaded in-box. Well, I had been away for a few days, I thought, when I considered the tempting coffee machine nearby. Oh, what the heck, another cup wouldn't do any harm, while I tackled some of the issues awaiting me.
I looked at my watch. My God, two hours gone, and only one centimetre into the pile! It was time to confront the topic of my holiday. Thirty minutes, and I was back at my desk, with the promise of a five week break, to start mid April and to end in the latter half of May. Great!
When I arrived back home in the early evening, I poured myself a glass of wine, and picked up the phone. I wanted to talk to Harold and Rhonda in Missouri, and I reckoned they would be up and about by now.
The ringing seemed to go on forever, and I was just about to hang up, when a voice said," Hello!"
"Hi Rhonda, it's Ulla speaking, how are you doing?"
"Just great, are we to see you soon?" No hesitating there!
"Yeah Rhonda, it so happens that I've arranged some holiday from work, and wondered if I could visit, say from about the twentieth of April?"
"Wow, that would be awesome," came the reply, so typical of Rhonda."But for how long can you stay this time? Will it be for a while?"
"As a matter of fact, I was thinking of four weeks. The Danish Tax man has graced me with a handsome pay out, so I have a little money to spend. Please do say if I'll be outstaying my welcome?"
"Oh Ulla, you should know better than that."
"OK, in that case I'll book my flights. But, I've also got some other news."
"Ulla, I can't wait to hear it, you always have something to tell."
"Well, this time it's a bit different. We'll talk about it at length in a month's time. But to cut it short, I'm in the process of finding my real mother, and getting nowhere so far. But more about that later."
"Arr, come on, you can't leave me in limbo like that!"
I could hear that I had said too much; She was right, of course, no way could I leave it like that. Rhonda would have none of it. So, I told her what had happened, and she almost cried from joy. Dear Rhonda, always the emotional one. I sent my love to Harold and everybody else, and we finished the call.
Great! I could book my flights. The remainder of the evening passed with buying tickets, and planning my itinerary. A most enjoyable task. Just before I closed down the computer, I checked for emails, but nothing from Denmark.
Over the next few weeks, it became a routine to check my email first thing in the morning, once at midday, and again every evening. A couple of weeks of that, and I started to feel a bit more relaxed. I had been warned that there was no saying, how long it would take if and when Marianne was to get a result.
Then one morning, when I checked my e-mail yet again, a message was waitng for me. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. I was surprised about my strong reaction.
I opened it, and I could breath again. Marianne was saying that progress had been made, but it was not conclusive, so I had to be patient just for a little while longer. OK, but this was starting to be agony. I looked at the time, and thought I had just time to make a quick call to my aunt. Denmark was one hour ahead, so it wouldn't be too early.
She picked up on the third ring. "Hi, Grethe, how are you?"
"Hey, that's my line." I could hear the laughter in Grethe's voice.
"Well, I just want you to know that Marianne sent me a message saying that they have some development, but that they are not quite finished with the search yet,"
"Oh Ulla, that's great news. You are getting anxious, aren't you? Some change from when we first started all this, eh?"
I laughed. "Grethe, you're a tease, so you are! But you're right enough; things have changed for me. Now, I really do want to know as much as I can, and as soon as possible."
We hung up, and the rest of the week passed very quickly as I prepared for my trip. I continued to check my emails three times a day, and I also found time to meet up with my closest friends. It turned out that they followed the events almost as eagerly as I did.
A week to go before leaving for The United States!
That morning I went to work and the day started as any other.
At midday I checked my private email again, and there it was. The long awaited message from Marianne.
I sat looking at it, and I hardly dared to open it. No way could I wait until I got home. I looked at the time, and realised that my lunch break was only ten minutes away, so I decided to wait until then. I forced myself to buy a sandwich and a cold drink, both of which I brought back to my desk.
Now!
I almost closed my eyes when I opened the message, but I managed to resist.
'Hi Ulla, We have managed to dig out some news, but I am afraid that the trail ends in 1954.
What we have found is that your mother resided in Heidelberg, Germany. In the spring of 1954 she travelled to Denmark, where she married a George, and I enclose her new surname. All we know is that, after the wedding they returned to Heidelberg, but from that moment we haven't been able to find anything at all.
I am sorry that I can't help you any further, but I wish you all the luck in your search.
Many kind regards. Mariannne'
I read it through a few times. What I now knew was that in 1954, when I was two years old, and still living in the orphanage, she had married a man who was definitely not Danish. The surname was either of Scottish or Irish origin, and George in Danish is Georg.
OK, so far so good. And Heidelberg in 1954? To me that meant British or American military bases. I was in a state of shock. Not knowing what to do next.
I can't remember how I got through the rest of the day, but finally, it was time to go home.
On the way home that afternoon, I kept playing all the information over and over again in my head. Something nagged me, but for my life I couldn't think of what it might be.
As luck would have it, a parking space was empty just outside my front door.
I got out, locked the car and, as I turned the key in the door, it struck me like a thunder ball:
A long forgotten conversation, I'd overheard so many years ago as a young teenager.
To be continued.
By Ulla
Pevious:
I have always known that I was adopted. In early 2003 I travelled from Scotland to visit my Aunt Grethe yet again. She was like a mother to me, and insisted that I look up the data of my real mother. My aunt wanted me to find my roots.
We spent a day just doing that, but it didn't get me anywhere in my search. That same evening I met up with my daughter, ex-husband and his wife Bente. And it was from Bente I got a helping hand. Her best friend, Marianne, working in the foreign Ministry might be able to help in my search.
I was now back in Scotland. Three weeks later, a week before I was due to leave for Missouri, visiting friends, I received an email from Marianne informing me that my Mother had married a George with a Scottish/Irish surname back in 1954, and then settled in Heidelberg, Germany.
That's where the trail ended. I deduced that this George could be British or American as they had Bases there after World War2. My mind was in a turmoil. And I remembered a long forgotten conversation.
New chapter:
As I entered the front door, I went straight to the kitchen, and poured myself a large glass of white wine. I brought it through to my computer, sat down at the desk while looking over the water. I raised the glass, and took a sip.
So many years ago, and now, like a broken record, that long forgotten remark was repeating itself over and over again in my mind. My adoptive father's words kept coming back to me that my real father was a foreigner, maybe an American. My adoptive mother had hushed him to silence, not wanting me to hear it.
Dear God, was this it? My real mother had married a George. Could he possibly be an American, and could this George she'd married be my father? If all or some of it was true, then the chances were that they'd moved to The United States.
Another sip of wine, and I felt, if not better, then slightly calmer. Moreover, I knew what I had to do next. I booted up the computer, and it soon came alive. I had come across the American search site a while ago, as I'd googled something entirely different. At the time I'd thought the site could come in handy, and made a note of it. Maybe it was fate or just luck, it didn't matter, I would never know, anyway.
Finally, the page came up asking me which search I would like to do. For ten dollars I could get an address and telephone number if that was all I needed; as long as I had the full name and date of birth of the person I was looking for. I contemplated the other options that cost more money, but didn't think I would need them.
I sat back gazing at the form I had to fill in. I lifted my glass, and yet again looked over the River Clyde, marvelling at the beauty of the mountains in the distance. The Highland was greeting me in all its glory, the setting sun throwing a golden sheen. This time I took a deep gulp from my glass as if to draw courage from it.
I proceeded to fill in my mother's full name and her date of birth... and clicked.
It seemed an eternity. I held my breath willing the page to open, and then I sighed.
There, it opened and I stared in disbelief!
My mother's name, her address and a telephone number!
I must have sat for the longest time without making a move. Tears welled up, and I knew that I couldn't have uttered a word if my life depended on it.
I looked at the data again. And I was enthralled. The address was in Santa Cruz, California.
I felt that I would never be able to express what went through my mind at that moment. But, what I can say is that I made up my mind there and then. I Looked at the time. Eight o'clock in the evening here, still midday in California and too early to risk phoning. She might not be in.
Another decision I had to make right then was, who to phone first. My aunt or my daughter? They both deserved to hear from me, but then again, the choice was taken out of my hands when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Ulla," the voice of aunt Grethe greeted me cheerfully. "Just wanted to know, if you'd heard from Marianne, or maybe had some other news?"
"Oh, Grethe, I do have news. You are not going to believe this. I've just found my mother a moment ago! I was going to phone you, but then it rang while I debated whether it would be you or Amelie to hear it first"
I could hear the intake of breath at the other end of the line.
I went on to explain about the email I had received from Marianne earlier in the day, and what I had finally deduced from that.
"Grethe, I know it is unbelievable. I can hardly believe it myself. And George, her husband, is registered at the same address as well, so there is no doubt that I have found her. Anyway, it can't be anybody else, not with those typical Danish first names, and the surname which is not so common either. Oh, I'm so excited!"
"Wow, that is really some news. What are you going to do now?"
"Well, I've decided that I'm going to phone my mother at six in the afternoon her time. But I'll put the phone down when and if she answers. Under no circumstances am I to talk. All I want to know is, if she's still alive, and if so, then I'll go on to California from Missouri."
"Yeah," my aunt urged.
"Say, she doesn't want to have anything to do with me, then I've at least seen her if nothing else."
Everything had gone quiet.
"Grethe, are you still there?"
"Oh, sorry Ulla, of course I am. I was just thinking about what you are saying. I can understand, if that's what you want to do. Are you up to it though? What if she rejects you point blank?"
"Oh, but Grethe, this is something I've been thinking about for a while, if I were ever to find her. I'm quite clear on what I want to do. I'll be in the States anyway, so that's decided."
"Ok Ulla, I agree with you. I only wanted to know that you're absolutely certain about it. I don't want you hurt. Good luck tonight, and phone me in the morning. I want to know the outcome of your call."
"I will, speak tomorrow."
The next call to my daughter, Amelie, went down much the same lines, and we also agreed to speak the next morning.
Afterwards, I prepared a light meal, but hardly ate anything, and I settled into a long evening, glancing at the time every so often willing it to reach two o'clock, when it would be six o'clock in the afternoon in California.
I set the alarm, snoozed for a while, and at last! Time to phone.
My hand was shaking as I dialled. And nothing... I waited... and then, it rang... and it rang.
"Hello?... Hello? Anybody there?" And the phone was slammed down.
I looked at nothing in particular, seeing nothing. All I knew was that my mother was alive. No doubt there. The voice I'd just heard was a replica of my own. Wow!
I had never been more determined in my life. Within the next few weeks I was going to see my mother. My real mother!
And then I cried. I cried for someone I'd never known, but who might now be within my reach. If somebody had asked me, I couldn't have explained why I felt that intense sense of grief. I experienced the deepest feeling of loss I'd ever known, yet at the same time, I was happier than I had been for a very long time.
I was ready to go.
To be continued.
By Ulla
Previous:
I'm adopted and have been brought up in Denmark. I've discovered, and with a lot of help that my real mother lives in Santa Cruz, California. I phone her from Scotland where I now live to ascertain whether she is still alive. She answers, and I put down the phone, recognising her voice which is almost identical to my own.
Prior to this I have arranged to visit friends in Missouri, and I have decided I will go on to California from there. If my mother doesn't want to have anything to do with me, I at least want to have seen her in person.
Part Six:
As we took off, I sat back in my seat and watched the landscape disappearing way below. The miniature houses looked like they were made of blocks of Lego.
I snuggled into my seat looking forward to the next few hours. It used to be me up there in the aisle serving the passengers. Now I was the passenger, and I loved the feeling of being pampered.
In seven hours or so, I would be in New York, changing to the flight for St. Louis, Missouri. Rhonda had promised to meet me and drive us the 70 miles to their home near the Mississippi River.
I looked down, and saw the contours of the countryside becoming even smaller; only to disappear all together when we headed west over the ocean.
While eating my meal, I reflected on the last few days. I had phoned Rhonda and Harold to tell them the news that I had located my real mother, and I could still hear Rhonda saying.
"Oh, but Ulla, this is such wonderful news. What are you to do next?"
"Well, Rhonda, I've decided that I will be leaving you guys a week or so earlier than we'd planned. I'm going to California to look up my mother."
"Wow," was all she'd said. "you have to tell us all about it on arrival."
"That I will. See you soon."
After the meal I reclined the seat and, before I knew it I was fast asleep. I was blessed that way. Something I'd learned to do during all my years of flying.
I woke up just before we landed in New York. The transfer went smoothly, and a few hours later I arrived in St. Louis.
And, there was Rhonda as promised.
"Ulla, it's so good to see you." Rhonda stepped back, appraising me.
"Sorry that Harold is not here, but he's held up at work. He'll be back home later tonight though. He can't wait to see you."
We didn't talk much during the drive, which I was grateful for. Rhonda understood how tired I was, and we could catch up as soon we were home.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, we met up on the porch looking over the rolling hills, a view I'd always loved.
"Rhonda, how warm it is compared to Scotland in late April. This is lovely."
"Now, Ulla, will you stop the small talk. Don't keep me in suspense any longer." Rhonda raised the glass of chilled wine she had served both of us. "Come on, start from the beginning; we do have a couple of hours before Harold is back home, but I can't wait that long. You'll just have to tell it all over again. Tired or not. So spill!"
"Oh, this is just so like you, isn't it?" I laughed. "OK, let me just have a sip of this wine, and I'll tell you all. You don't know how happy I am to be here again, Rhonda. We do go back so many years. It's almost like coming home."
Rhonda chuckled. "Yeah, thirty years at least, isn't it?"
I nodded, and I told her everything that had happened during the last month or so. Rhonda never said a word, and I could see she was enraptured. When I'd finished we sat in silence, until Rhonda turned towards me raising her glass, her eyes filled with tears.
The rest of the afternoon we sat in a companionable silence, until we heard Harold's car coming up the driveway. I looked at him as he strode towards us. He'd never changed much during all these years. He was so handsome, tall and erect, a man larger than life.
The evening soon passed, and so did the next few days turning into a week, and then into another week. I booked my flight to California, and I frequently reminded myself that I would soon see my real mother. Meanwhile, I was enjoying this quiet time with my friends getting mentally ready for what was to come.
And then all hell broke loose.
It had been an unusually hot day being the first week of May. We'd spent most of the day on the porch, Rhonda and I, not doing much. Inside, the TV was turned on, so we could follow what was going on. It was the tornado season, and there had been a few reported in the west of Missouri. Some of them rather severe. Reports were coming in all the time, but so far nothing really too bad. That was in the late morning.
As the day progressed, a serious alert was on in many places, but as yet not where we were. Late in the afternoon, we still had visitors wanting to say hello to me, which was so sweet, but they soon left to go home. Just in case. Harold had come back early that day as well, not wanting to be up in St. Louis when the alerts were on.
This is where I should mention, what a lot of you will know, but which some of you may not. Most homes in 'tornado areas' in the US have a cellar fully equipped with refrigerators filled with food and water, bunks and first aid kits. A generator for light and so on. The same was the case in Harold's and Rhonda's home.
We still sat on the porch, and dusk was approaching fast. And so was the weather. The sky was very black with a greenish hue, and the wind had kicked up quite badly. Harold carried a walkie- talkie, in direct contact with a close friend, who was on the tornado alert team in the village.
I was fascinated to say the least. I had often been here during the tornado season, but this was the first time we appeared to be in danger.
The walkie- talkie crackled and then: "GET IN THE BASEMENT, NOW!"
And somewhat calmer: "The sirens are going on in seconds!"
We scrambled to our feet and made our way to the kitchen. The noise was an inferno of sirens that reminded me of the bomb alerts I had heard in old news programs from The Second World War.
The howling wind shook the house to its core.
Down the steps we went, and sat down at whatever was available. The screaming wind was incredible, even down there. We just sat and looked at each other.
And then nothing. Not a sound. Everything had gone eerily quiet.
I must have looked confused.
Rhonda explained that it meant the tornado was just about to strike."In a few seconds you will feel as if an enormous hoover is close by".
And that's exactly what happened - and then nothing ... Absolutely nothing! Harold, Rhonda and I looked at each other, and I asked what must have sounded like a five year old: "What happens now?"
I almost laughed, because their looks were as bewildered as I felt. They were supposed to be the experts for Christ's sake!
And then, we laughed, and for real this time. The Sirens sounded that the danger was over.
Once upstairs, I again asked what had happened, and they both admitted that they didn't have a clue. The tornado had been right there, right next to us, that was all they could say.
We all slept on the ground floor that night, equipped with some very powerfull torches, and I don't think any of us slept much.
I had never experienced a thunderstorm that severe in my life. The booms made the house shudder, moving even. It was like an earthquake, something that I had experienced. But this was not one, and it was frightening.
Several times during that night, I wondered whether I would ever make it to California to see my mother.
At last, dawn broke, and it became so much calmer, and from the early news we learned that it had been a category three.
However, it was from the neighbour across the road that we learned the most amazing thing.
He'd gone up to the attic of his house when the tornado approached, which was against all common sense. He would have been killed instantly if it had struck.
"I know, very stupid, but I just couldn't resist the urge to watch." He smiled.
"It was amazing! This huge thing approached, and, Man, it just split in two right in front of our houses, passing the village, then become one again disappearing towards the river."
Our number had clearly not been up!
That day, we heard about the destruction the numerous tornadoes had caused all over the State, It was a very sad moment when we learned that more than fifty people had died, not to mention the damages and homes lost. Not a good day at all.
I was so relieved that both Harold and Rhonda, all their family and friends had escaped unscathed, and on a selfish note that, I was able to continue on my journey to see my real mother.
The time had arrived for my departure.
To be continued.
| Author Notes |
It was a bad time for Missouri that week in May 2003.
We are away to our yacht in Portugal for the next 18 days and I honestly dont know whether I will be able to review, let alone post anything. I will try. |
By Ulla
Previous:
I'm adopted, and have been brought up in Denmark. I've discovered with a lot of help that my real mother lives in Santa Cruz, California. I phone her from Scotland where I live then to ascertain whether she is still alive. She answers, and I put down the phone, recognising her voice which is almost identical to my own.
Prior to this, I had arranged to visit friends in Missouri, and I had decided to go on to California from there. If my mother didn't want to have anything to do with me, I at least wished to see her in person.
While in Missouri we are hit by severe weather, having to go into the basement when a huge tornado is approaching. Miraculously, it splits in two and we are all saved.
Part Seven:
We had survived. The house was intact, the village was fine, and I was ready. Ready to go and look up my mother. However, everything seemed surreal, and yet, two days later Rhonda and Harold drove me up to St. Louis to see me off. I hugged them both in an embrace that never seemed to end. We felt too emotional to say much, thinking about what we'd been through, and not knowing when we were to see each other again.
"Harold, Rhonda, I love you both."
I wiped my tears, and picked up my luggage.
They both looked at me.
"Ulla, you'll call us when you know something. Promise? Love you!"
"I do, promise." My tears were running freely now as I walked on.
I turned around once, we waved, and I was off.
The plane touched down in LA a few hours later, where I retrieved my luggage, and proceeded straight to the car rental counter. Not long after, all the paper work was done, and I was on my way. I cruised through Santa Monica and Malibu, and soon settled in to the drive up along the coast in the direction of San Francisco.
It was well into the afternoon already, so I decided to stop for the night, looking forward to the drive up Highway One the following day. Not only for its beauty, but to help me collect my thoughts, and to prepare for what was to come. I'd decided to arrive in Santa Cruz early in the afternoon the following day, find accommodation, and then go to look up my mother.
After a few miles I came across a small hotel on the water front of a lovely little town. It was an adorable setting, and I congratulated myself on my good fortune. A little later I sat down to a light meal, looking over the ocean, and watched the sun as it cast its last rays over the darkening water. It was such a peaceful evening, and I could easily have stayed up late into the night. However, it was time to go to bed. An important day was awaiting me.
After a good night's sleep, I set off in what could only be described as a glorious morning, with a bright blue sky, not a breath of wind, and the ocean crystal clear way below me.
An hour or so passed, and I decided to stop at a cafe for a mug of coffee. While I gazed over the ocean, I admired the beautiful view, and thought about what was to happen later in the day. As I drove on I thought how I'd always loved this drive, and why it had such a soothing effect on me at this particular time.
There was a sharp bend in the road, and then, just there were the condors. Wow, what magnificent birds! They circled around just a few meters from me, way above the ocean. It had to be an omen that I was to see my mother later on in the day.
Twenty miles to Santa Cruz. And approaching.
My heart was beating, thumping away in my chest. My God! I don't know what I had expected. My hands were wet, and I could feel the cold sweat on my face. I trembled, and realised I had to stop the car until I got my act together. This just wouldn't do. Deep breath and relax... and another deep breath.
For goodness sake, I was seeing my mother, not going to my death. OK?
I drove on slowly, and gradually I began to feel a little better. What surprised me was the overwhelming feeling of dread.
"All right, you can do this!" I almost shouted to myself.
Eventually, I entered Santa Cruz and headed towards the centre. I passed a Motel that looked OK, and decided to turn in, leaving most of my luggage in a very pleasant room.
A quick call to Rhonda and Harold confirmed that they had been waiting for news, and they wished me luck. Oh, I could have done with them being there with me.
Back in the car, I suddenly remembered seeing a gasoline station close by, and thought that it would be as good a place as any to get a local map to find the street where my mother lived. I needed fuel anyway, and after filling the tank, I strolled in and asked whether they had a local map. They sure did. I paid, went back in the car and looked up the address.
God! It was only two streets down, almost at the water front,
And then it hit me, and it hit hard. I sat rooted to my seat looking out of the window, yet saw nothing. Tears filled my eyes, and then I cried.
Oh, and I cried for real. I couldn't remember that I'd cried like that for a very long time. It was worse than the night when I discovered that my mother was still alive. To this day, I'm not quite sure why I cried that much at this point in time, but I knew that if I were to have a chance of ever seeing my mother, it had to stop. And to stop right now.
I drove past her house a couple of times, still crying, but little by little, and after some deep breaths I started to compose myself.
After passing her house yet again, I noticed that a car was parked in the driveway outside the garage, which either meant she had visitors or that she had parked her car outside. Well, there was only one way to find out.
A parking space had just become available a few houses away, so I quickly pulled in, stopped the engine, and looked in the mirror to assess the repair needed to erase any trace of my crying. Another few deep breaths, a good drink from the water bottle, and I felt ready. Well, as ready as I would ever be.
I locked the car, and at a brisk walk, I reached her house, and went up to the front door with a determined look on my face.
To be continued.
By Ulla
Previous:
I'm adopted and was born and brought up in Denmark. After an intensive search I've discovered, at the age of fifty one, that my real mother lives in Santa Cruz, California.
I phone her from Scotland, where I lived at the time, to ascertain whether she is still alive. She answers and I hang up without a word.
Prior to this I had already arranged to visit my good friends in Missouri, and I decided that I would carry on to California from there to look up my mother.
After a lovely visit with my friends, albeit somewhat dramatic, as we nearly got hit by a Cat.3 tornado, I am now in Santa Cruz having located my mothers' address, and standing on her doorstep.
Part Eight:
For a moment I just stood there looking at the door knocker thinking it was one of the most beautiful ones I'd ever seen. With an effort I brought myself out of my reverie, and it flashed through my mind that I had never really thought about what to say if my mother was to open the door. Well, I had to improvise I supposed, something I'd always been good at if cornered.
I took a deep breath, lifted my hand and knocked twice. I could hear the deep echo, and waited. Silence. Absolutely nothing. I felt suspended in time, and I think I had stopped breathing. And then I heard it, the unmistakable noise that somebody was opening the door. I exhaled, and there she was looking at me.
I swallowed, and took another deep breath. Somehow I managed to smile while I introduced myself. I explained that I lived in Scotland, and that I was looking into descendants who had emigrated to the United States. As her surname could indicate that her family might have originated from Scotland, I would, with permission, like to talk with her.
God, what a load of rubbish. But that was exactly what I said!
I admit that at this stage I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd slammed the door in my face. I would have, had I been in her position. To her credit though, she just stood there looking at me, not giving an inkling, as to what went through her mind. It was unnerving.
"I didn't quite catch that, sorry, would you mind repeating that, please?" She actually looked genuinely puzzled.
I swallowed hard, and thought about what to do next. This was my only and last chance, before I had to say straight out that I was her daughter, something I wanted to avoid at all cost. I felt I couldn't possibly ambush her like that. Another very deep intake of breath, and I blurted:
"My name is Ulla, but I was once born Anna Marie," and I added my surname at the time of my birth.
I thought I was going to faint when she looked at me intensely, kind of tilted her head, and a shadow of a smile appeared when, to my astonishment she said, "Well, in that case I think you better come in."
Closing the front door after me, she led me into what I gathered to be her living room. As we walked through, I noticed that she was the same height as me, slightly overweight with a friendly face, and the exact same hair colour as mine. She looked well for her age, and I was very pleased with what I saw.
She turned around, and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Well Ulla, I do realise that you are my daughter, and I can't tell you how pleased I am that you have finally come to look me up."
I was speechless. I opened my mouth in an effort to explain my position, but she raised her hand as if to stop me.
"I can see that you have your passport and other papers ready to verify that you are for real. No need for that. The minute I saw you on the doorstep struggling to say what you wanted to say, you looked so much like your grandmother that I immediately knew that you had to be my daughter. There is absolutely no reason why you should explain yourself, however, I do think that you and I have a lot to talk about. If you want to, that is. "
She watched me with what could only be described as tenderness, but with a hint of amusement in her sparkling eyes.
For a moment I just looked at her, couldn't find anything to say even if I'd wanted to. I was too choked up for that. I couldn't quite take it all in.
She took my hand in hers, and led me ever so gently to the sofa and beckoned me to sit next to her. I followed her, and for the longest time we just sat there until I felt sufficiently composed to start talking.
And yet, once again she pre-empted what I was going to say by asking me how I had managed to locate her.
By now I'd found my voice, and I told her a short version of how it had all come about.
She never let go of my hand, looking at me with her gentle smile which kept gracing her mouth. Her eyes were tender and filled with tears.
"Ulla, have you any accommodation arranged?"
And when I answered in the affirmative, she asked whether I would like to cancel it, and stay with her instead. She thought that we needed all the time we had to talk.
"Oh, I would like that very much, but in that case I better get a move on getting back to the Motel, get my things out and pay up what I owe them."
I felt dazed, hadn't really taken it all in yet. Could this be for real? But as I pinched my skin, I knew that I was very much awake.
Half an hour later I was back with my mother, a few dollars poorer, but, what the heck, it was worth it, and my mother showed me to my room.
"Just make yourself comfortable, Ulla. While you were away I managed to get a little food together. I also opened a bottle of wine which I hope you'll share with me." She paused for breath.
"Well, do you drink wine at all, Ulla?"
I smiled at her. "Oh, I do, and I agree, I think that is exactly what we need, and a bite to eat will be lovely."
When we sat down at the table she raised her glass. She watched me with an intense look, and to my astonishment, she continued to say.
"Can you ever forgive me?"
To be continued.
By Ulla
Previous:
I'm adopted and was born and brought up in Denmark. After an intensive search I've discovered, at the age of fifty one that my real mother lives in Santa Cruz, California.
I phone her from Scotland, where I live at the time, to ascertain whether she is still alive. She answers, and I hang up without a word.
Prior to this, I had already arranged to visit my good friends in Missouri, and I decided that I would carry on to California to look up my mother.
I have arrived in Santa Cruz, and I'm standing on her doorstep. She opens the door and after I struggled with what to say, she looks at me and asks me to come in. She says that she realised that I was her daughter as I was the spitting image of her mother.
It's a difficult situation for both of us, but in the end my mother asks me to stay with her, which I accept.
As we sit down to eat, my mother looks at me and says: "Can you ever forgive me?"
Part Nine.
Could I ever forgive my mother?
That was a question that hadn't really entered my mind. I had never been angry with her nor blamed her for her actions; always assuming she must have had some very good reasons for what she did. I was totally caught off guard.
I almost felt guilty that I hadn't had any hang ups about being an adopted child. All my emotions had only started less than two months ago, when this whole thing took off.
I looked at the tears in her eyes, and I could feel mine welling up as well. I choked, and seeing her anguish, I reached across the table for her hand. I looked at it for a moment, and for a split second, wondered whether mine would look the same in twenty five years. There were so many things I didn't know, so many questions to be asked, but tonight was not the time.
"Mum, why don't you tell me about it."
Mum!!! Had I really said that? We looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"Do you mind if I call you that? God, it just came out!"
"Oh, Ulla, why would I mind? It's the best thing I've ever been called. Please do call me Mum, I'd love that. I am your mother after all." Tears were flowing freely now amid her smiles. "Come here, let me give you a hug. I know it can't compensate for all the hugs I should have given you during the last fifty years or so, but it's a beginning."
I went over to her, and for the longest time we just sat holding hands, and looked at each other, food all forgotten, both of us wrapped up in our private thoughts.
It's hard to explain what exactly happened in that moment of bonding. How can you explain fifty years of feelings and emotions, which have never surfaced in as long a time?
I don't know how long we sat there, time suspended, just gazing at each other.
I was the one to break the spell. I bent over, took my mother in my arms, and without any hesitation I told her very simply that I loved her.
"Oh, Ulla, how many times during all these years have I been yearning to hear those words! I love you too, my dear, but now, let's stop this, and get on with eating. It's gone cold, but who cares. I'm starving! All this emotion takes the better of you. What do you think? We have so much to talk about, so we better get on with it."
I pulled away and laughed out loud. "Mum, you are so right; we do have loads to talk about. So let's eat."
We both raised our glasses to each other.
For a while we ate in silence, and I was surprised how hungry I was. The food had indeed gone quite cold, but I tucked in with relish.
After a while, when we'd finished, my mother put her plate to the side.
"Now, Ulla, I think it is time that you tell me a bit about yourself." She looked at me expectantly.
I gave her a brief outline, but we both knew that it would take hours just to scrape the surface.
In return, I asked her about how she had ended up in the US. I told her that I realised she had married George back in 1954, but all I knew was that they had gone back to Germany after their wedding in Denmark.
"Well, Ulla, shortly after we'd returned to Germany, we travelled to The States and settled here in California, where we have lived ever since. Sadly, George died ten years ago. We never had any children, to both our regrets. It was just never to be."
After that, we carried on talking, Mum and I. One hour turned into two, and then three. In the end, we both agreed that we had to stop. It was time to go to bed. We were both exhausted, and we knew that another long day of talking was awaiting us.
Fifty years was a long time, and we both wanted to know about our lives in the intervening years. Adding to that, I also wanted to know as much as I could about her family. They were also my family after all.
Just then, I turned towards Mum and said. "Christ, Mum, there's something I haven't asked about George. I know you never had any children in married life, but before that? Was he my father?"
Mum, turned to me, and gave me a penetrating look. "No, Ulla, your father he was not."
She suddenly looked very tired. "I think it's time that we go to bed. I feel emotionally drained. Tomorrow is another day, and then we will sit down, and I will tell you the story about your father, and how you came to be."
She turned towards me with a secretive smile, and gave me the most tender look, as she saw me to my room. "Night, Sweetie, see you tomorrow and we'll talk."
"Night, Mum, we will."
She turned to me one last time. "Ulla, I'm so glad you came."
And I was alone. That night I went to sleep a very happy woman.
To Be Continued.
By Ulla
Previous:
I've always known that I was adopted. Then, in the year 2003, at reaching almost fifty one, I decided to look for my real mother. After a short but intense search, with help from an unexpected angle, I found out that my mother lived in California.
A month later I travelled from Scotland, where I lived at the time, to California where I knocked on her door. After some awkward moments she realised who I was and asked me to come in. An hour or so later she invited me to stay with her, which I gladly accepted.
We spent a lovely time that evening starting to bond. When she wished me goodnight she turned to me, and her last words were: "Ulla, I'm so glad you came."
Part Ten.
I woke early the next day and looked around the unfamiliar room. For a moment I didn't know where I was, but slowly it all came back to me. The daylight cast its bright shadows across the wall as it peeped through the half drawn curtains. I just lay there and watched, floating in that peculiar state of being almost awake yet still half asleep.
I heard noises from outside, and realised that my mother would already be up preparing breakfast for us both. I swung my legs out of the bed, stood and had a good stretch. It felt so good to be alive.
I quickly dressed while I reflected upon the previous day that had brought so much joy. Better to get out there, so we could get talking again. We had more than five decades to catch up on after all.
The minute I opened the door the lovely scent of freshly brewed coffee hit my nostrils. I took in a deep breath, and quickly made my way to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Mum, did you sleep OK?" I went over to her, and gave her a peck on her cheek. She turned and beamed at me.
"Honey, it's a long time since I've slept so well. Whether that has anything to do with you being here, I don't know. What I do know though, is that I'm starving... Again! ... Did you sleep all right?
"I slept like a log." I looked at her, and laughed out loud when I saw the food she was preparing. "Hey, are we expecting an army? I know I'm hungry as well, but this! I don't know if I can manage all that."
"Of course you can, and besides, you'll need it when we get to talk. And talk we will. I've got so many questions for you, and you'll have as many for me if not more. Last night we just scraped the surface. But, before we get started, I think you could help me set the table. What do you think?" Now it was Mum's turn to laugh, when she saw my face.
"Ah, come on, have a glass of juice and a cup of coffee first then."
I looked at her with affection, admiring her energy. I don't know whether she was a bit nervous, which would be understandable, but, as I grabbed my coffee, I gradually understood what she meant by needing fuel for what was going to be like running a marathon. Not that I'd ever run one.
I set the table, and brought the food over as it was handed to me. We sat down, and ate in complete silence, although pleasantly so and, when finished, we took the remainders to the sink. Mum turned to me with that special smile of hers that I was beginning to recognise.
"Say what, why don't we go down to the promenade, and I'll show you the bench I've dedicated to George, the one I told you about last night. The walk will do us good as well as the fresh air, and we can resume our talk." Mum looked at me with something akin to a child's expectation.
I smiled, giving her a squeeze. "What a wonderful idea. Let's get ready and go. The dishes can wait until later. Come on let's be off. I'd love to see George's bench and looking over the ocean will be the perfect setting."
We proceeded down to the ocean, and after a long walk with the soft wind caressing our faces, we returned to sit down on George's bench. We sat looking over the vast, but calm ocean, without uttering a word. Mum took my hand in hers and said. "Not only do I have a daughter now, but I'm also a grandmother. I can hardly believe it all. It's almost too much to take in." She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears.
"You know, Ulla, I come here almost every day talking to him. George that is. He had his ashes spread in the sea, which I also would like mine to be. You see, I believe that wherever that might happen, all seas meet, and I will be united with my George."
I squeezed her hand, and we sat in complete silence for the longest time.
With an effort she sat up straight and exclaimed. "Now, enough of this. Let's go home, and sit on the terrace, and I'll tell you about your father. I did promise, and you ought to know. Beware though, it's a long story. So I suggest that we go to the local grocery first to get what we need for the next couple of days, and we can hole up!"
I looked at Mum with respect. She never ceased to surprise. What a spirit.
"That's a deal. On we go!"
When we got back, we packed everything in the fridge, filled the cupboards, and did the dish washing we had so carelessly left behind. We proceeded out on the terrace loaded with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. As Mum said, we would need the extra touch to celebrate the occasion. I thought for a moment what she could mean and suddenly realised that she might need some Dutch courage to tell me the story about my father. I admit that I didn't oppose the idea of having a wee glass myself.
We sat down at the table, and mum poured some wine into our glasses. She lifted hers acknowledging me, and I responded in like.
"Well, Ulla, 1951 started out with January being one of the coldest in living memory ..."
To Be Continued.
| Author Notes | Thanks to awmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previous:
I've always known that I was adopted. In 2003 at the age of fifty one, I finally decided to look for my birth mother. After a short, but hectic search I found my mother in California, and I travelled from Scotland where I lived at the time to look her up.
She welcomed me with open arms and we hit it off right away. Mum is now telling me the story about my real father.
Part Eleven.
"Well, Ulla, 1951 started out with January being one of the coldest in living memory. I lived in Gothenburg, Sweden, at the time, and nobody seemed to remember anything like it.
And I'm sure you'd like to ask what on earth I was doing there of all places."
I could only nod, because that was exactly what I was thinking. We both took a sip of our wine. I looked at Mum and nodded again, which she understood to mean as an encouragement to continue her tale. She took a deep breath and leant slightly towards me.
"Well before I even thought of going to Sweden, I trained as a hat designer in Copenhagen. I passed all my exams and started out fairly well. I managed to sell some lovely creations of mine, but time and fashion were changing, so making a living from it became difficult. I think hats were going out of fashion, and fast. Another issue was that your grandmother and I were starting to get on each other's nerves. I realised that it was time to leave home, and what's more I wanted to."
"OK, Mum," I said looking her in the eye, "I understand all that, but why Sweden?"
At this point mum hesitated, as if to figure out what to say next, but after a deep breath she carried on.
"I understand your questions and the concern that you obviously harbour, but it will soon become clear."
I nodded, and seeing my face, she soon added, "that doesn't mean you can't ask any questions."
I inclined my head in agreement and she resumed.
"I'd seen this advert from a family in Sweden who were advertising for a young person to look after their children. I thought that I could do that. It would take me away from home and, well, out of my mother's influence. Suited me down to the ground. So I applied, and was lucky to get the position. In early 1950 I went to Gothenburg and moved in with the family. The children were adorable and the parents, well, they were friendly and very approachable. To be honest, it was a bit of an adventure for me as I'd always wanted to travel. Don't look at me like that, Ulla, I know Sweden is not a million miles away, but in 1950, it was far enough."
I smiled at that, nodded in agreement and continued to say, "all right so you were effectively what we would call an 'au pair' today."
Mum smiled as she leant back in her chair. "That's exactly right. And that brings us back to where I started."
"Tuesday was my day off, and on that particular January day I'd decided to go into the downtown area of the city. There were some wonderful shops I wanted to look at, and looking at them was all I could afford, but that didn't stop me from dreaming that maybe one day... just maybe. I was familiar with a couple of the cafes in the area, one of which I'd planned to visit to have a hot chocolate. I also remember how icy the streets were, and how we all struggled from falling. Just to keep upright was difficult in places. The few cars that were about, not that you saw that many in those days, were skidding on the ice not making much progress at all. The drivers were probably cursing that they were there in the first place."
I nodded again smiling, but said nothing.
"And yet, it was amid all this misery and minor chaos that I met your father. He was taller than life itself and most likely one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen. Not that I'd seen that many, let alone met one, but he had this special something that I will never forget. His hair was fair contrasted by his darkened skin, and then there were those eyes. I will never forget them. Penetrating and dark. Ulla, he swept me away!"
At this point Mum's eyes filled with tears, and I realised the memories were taking over. But I knew better than to say anything.
We looked at each other in silence while we took yet another sip of our wine. I could see that this was difficult. Mum had probably not thought about it for a very long time, let alone talked about it. So I just sat back and nursed my glass while I waited for her to continue.
Mum didn't say anything for the longest time, until she suddenly sat up straight as if to say. OK. I'm ready now. Ready to carry on with the story. A smile graced her face as she remembered what was happening next.
"We literally bumped into each other, but I was so busy to look where I was going that I didn't pay any attention to what was happening around me. The next thing I knew was that a pair of strong arms were holding me, preventing me from falling over. And that was when I first laid eyes on your father."
"Wow! Young Lady watch where you're going. Can't hurry like you're doing in these conditions. You'll harm yourself that way." His dark eyes sparkled with laughter.
"Ulla, I think I fell in love with your father there and then. Next thing he invited me for a hot drink, and before I knew it I accepted."
To Be Continued.
| Author Notes | Thank you to avmurray for the use of the beautiful artwork |
By Ulla
Previous:
I'd always known that I was adopted. In 2003, at the age of fifty one, I finally decided to look for my birth mother.
After a short search, and with a lot of help, I located my mother in California. I decided to travel from Scotland, where I lived at the time, to look her up.
She welcomed me right away, and invited me to stay with her. My mother told me that two years after she gave me up for adoption she married George, who was from California. They never had any children, and he had sadly died ten years ago.
Now twenty four hours later my mother is telling me the story about my father, and how they'd met in Gothenburg, Sweden in 1951. He'd invited her for a hot drink which she accepted. She was smitten.
Part Twelve:
At this point I sat very still just looking at Mum. I could see the faraway look in her eyes, and I knew she had transported herself back to that cold January day when she'd literally bumped into my father. For a moment I thought she had even forgotten about me.
As for myself, I was in turmoil. This was a lot to assimilate in less than twenty four hours. I had only met my birth mother the day before, but we were becoming closer to each other by the minute. And now, here I was on the brink of finding out who my real father was.
Mum turned to look at me and raised her glass, and I realised she had returned to our present time.
"Ulla, let's finish this glass of wine and then I suggest lunch. I don't know about you, but I'm starving ... again. This is taking a lot out of me, and I would imagine you as well. We need a break. What do you think?"
I could only nod in agreement, but at the same time I was torn. I so wanted to know the story about my father.
But, there was no need to worry.
"I know what you're thinking, Ulla. As soon as we've eaten we'll sit down with a nice cup of coffee, if that's what you want to have, or whatever, and I'll continue the story about your father. But I need some nourishment right here and now!"
I couldn't help my big smile.
"You know what, Mum, this whole thing is going to make us fat if it carries on like this. But I agree we need some food to process it all." I stood and headed towards the kitchen.
"I'll help to put something edible together. The quicker the better. I can't wait to hear the rest."
Mum laughed. "That's OK, come on, let's get cooking."
I thought that it had to be a Danish thing about always doing things that involved food. On the other hand I was genuinely hungry as well. I guessed it was all the emotions that had to work their way through our system. I would suggest a brisk walk after eating before mum resumed the story. Keen as I was to know more, I needed a bit of exercise.
As it turned out Mum agreed with me. She admitted that she needed some fresh air as well, so it was late in the afternoon when we finally settled down out on the terrace yet again. It was a lovely temperature with that certain sweetness in the air that only a day in May can bring.
We both sipped our coffees, the strong aroma drifting in the air. Mum looked at me, and took a deep breath. The story was about to continue.
"Well, I told you that I accepted the offer of the hot drink that I was offered, and we dived into the nearest cafe that was open, with no thought as to whether it was a nice place or not. That's how cold it was."
Even after all these years Mum looked enraptured.
"He was so handsome, Ulla, and at first I was rather tongue tied. But he put me at ease, and we soon talked away. I could immediately tell that he was American."
I just sat there and looked at Mum. So I was half American! A memory stirred within me, and at that very moment it all made sense. It was like the pieces in a puzzle that began to fit into their slots.
The long forgotten remark that my adoptive father had made, when I was a young teenager, about my real father being a foreigner, suddenly came back to me. And there was something else. Something that wanted to surface, but which wouldn't quite make it. What was it? Something else was said that afternoon so very long ago. It was almost there, but then it eluded me yet again. It would come back. I just had to concentrate.
Mum had gone quiet, a concerned look on her face.
"Ulla, are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
"No, no Mum, it's all right. It's just that it reminded me of something, when you said that my father was American. I will explain later. Please, do go on, I can't wait to hear what happened next."
I gave her a big smile, and the truth was that I was eager for her to carry on.
"Oh, the charisma he had. I learned he was in the Merchant Marines and would be calling into Gothenburg rather frequently during the next few months."
Mum turned towards me, cup in hand. "It's important to me that you understand that during the next few months we fell more and more in love with each other. It was a wonderful time. We even talked about having a future together."
I nodded. It was a lot to digest and yet, I was far too keen to learn about it all. So I merely inclined my head, begging Mum to carry on with her story.
"Well, in early May the family, for whom I worked, told me that they regretted they had to terminate our contract as they were moving to some faraway place, and that they wouldn't need me any more. They told me how sorry they were and paid me a handsome amount of money by way of saying thank you. I was not entirely dismayed, and in late June I was back in Denmark, and I moved back in with my mother."
"But, Mum, what about my father? Surely you must have seen him again, otherwise I couldn't exist?"
Mum laughed out loud at this. "Ulla, you have certainly done your maths! And we did indeed see each other again. Your Father sailed into Denmark as well, so we kept on seeing each other as often as we did in Sweden. That was not a problem. But then a few things happened that will forever stay with me. A sequence of things that was to be of consequence for me as well as for you, and for your father as well I suppose."
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previous.
I always knew that I was adopted, and in 2003 at the age of fifty one I set out to find my roots. I'm Danish, but I lived in Scotland at the time. After a short search, and with a lot of help from Denmark I located my birth mother in California.
I looked her up after travelling to Califonia and one day I stood on her footstep. She took me in and we hit it off right away. She is now telling me the story about my father.
The Quest Part Thirteen.
I was mesmerised. I now knew for a fact that I was half American, but I wanted to know so much more about ... well, about everything. In fact, I craved it, and I was not let down. What came next was mind blowing. Mum had not exaggerated when she said it would change everything, and have consequences for all of us.
She looked at me, and clearly wanted to carry on with the story, but I sensed that she struggled as if not quite knowing how to do that. I realised that emotions were taking over, so I leaned back in my chair indicating that I was ready to listen whenever she was ready to carry on.
It was getting dark ... and fast. However, the sweet scent of fresh blossom lingered on as the night was closing in. It was one of those mild evenings that only May could bring in this part of California. I sipped my wine, which we had brought out after finishing the coffee, and yet again I marvelled at the easy way mum and I seemed to have with each other. It was difficult to imagine that we had only ever met the day before.
Mum suddenly sat up straight, cleared her throat, and gave me her lopsided smile that I was to become so familiar with.
"Sorry, Ulla, but for a moment I was transported back in time, forgetting everything around me."
I inclined my head in acknowledgement, keen for her to carry on.
What she did next will forever stay with me. She lifted her glass to me, and gave me the sweetest smile. A smile so filled with love, an unmeasurable love which was reflected in her eyes as she gazed at me.
"As I said earlier, your father and I kept on seeing each other during the next few months after I'd moved back to Denmark. But, one beautiful day in late July, he told me that he would be going to South America for a time, not knowing when he would be back."
I looked at Mum, sensing more than seeing the emotions that must have run through her back then.
"Your father would be back in Denmark in early August before going to the other side of the world. He had requested some extra leave, so we could have some more time together.
"I was of course devastated, but I also realised that his going away was to be expected in his line of work.
"We spent a lovely time together, that last week. We went to a remote part of Denmark, and well, he showed me what the true meaning of love meant."
Mum looked as if in another world.
"We both promised to write to each other, and your father assured me that this didn't mean the end of what we had experienced.
"What happened next, Ulla, was beyond me though. I couldn't quite take it in, and I didn't know what to make of it."
I said nothing, knowing somehow that this was not the time to comment. I took another sip of my wine, and waited for mum to continue. I didn't have to wait long.
"Once your father had left, promising that we would write to each other, I started to look for work again. It was all very well to live with my mother, your grandmother, but we were starting to get on each other's nerves again.
"Meanwhile, I received a lovely letter from your father littered with beautiful descriptions of the faraway shores he was visiting. He told me how much he missed me, and I sent him a reply in kind. Oh, I missed him so.
"All in all it was not such a bad time, until the morning sickness set in. At first I didn't make much of it, but slowly it dawned on me what it might mean. Dear Lord, this cannot be happening to me. Please, please no, it can't be the case!
"But as time went on, and nothing changed, I had to face that I might be pregnant. I reluctantly went to my doctor, and once confirmed, it hit me like a sledgehammer. At first I thought what an idiot I've been. How could I have given in. Giving in to all those lovely words, and to the lovely time your Father and I had shared. But then again, I had no regrets. There was no doubt that I loved him, and I couldn't believe that he'd used me like that. I couldn't believe he didn't love me at all.
"I wrote him a letter and heard nothing. Then I wrote another, and I still had no reply. By now I started to get worried, and to be frank, I felt a stab of fear. Had I just been an easy amusement with no thought of the consequences? Oh, it was a hard pill to swallow. I kept asking my mother, your grandmother, whether there was a letter for me, but she always answered me in the negative."
"So what happened then?" I asked, looking Mum straight in the eye. "Come on, have a sip of your wine before you continue. I can see that this is not easy for you, and in a strange way I find it a bit difficult as well."
Mum leaned towards me, glass in hand. "Thanks, Ulla. You're right, it's more difficult than I realised as well. I haven't thought much about it for almost fifty years. Suppressing it I suppose. And now I'm suddenly reliving it all again."
Mum took a deep breath.
"Well, I was on my own and I had to figure out what to do next."
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thank you to avmurray for the use of the art work. |
By Ulla
PREVIOUS.
I always knew that I was adopted, and in 2003, at the age of fifty one, I set out to find my roots. I'm Danish, but lived in Scotland at the time.
After a short search, and with a lot of help from Denmark, I located my birthmother in California. I looked her up after travelling to California, and one day I stood on her doorstep.
She took me in, and we hit it off right away.
This is only the day after, and mum is now telling me about my father. They met and fell in love, but he had to leave due to work. He was in the Merchant Marines. All I know for certain at this stage is that he was/is American.
PART FOURTEEN.
"I was devastated, Ulla. I didn't know what to do, or what to make of it. I was also confused. How could I've been so wrong? I felt the fool. It was awful."
A tear trickled down from her eye, and I could hardly sustain from bursting into tears myself. The pain she must have experienced almost became my own. I was part of it after all. Privy to it, although on an entirely different level.
I took a deep intake of air.
"Listen, Mum, if you don't want to talk about it, let's abandon it, and get back to it another time. Honestly, I don't want you to be so upset. I feel so guilty for bringing all this on you. Yesterday, I didn't exist as such, and now see what I've done!"
Mum's throaty laugh rang out, her laughing eyes on me, making me feel all right again.
"Oh, Ulla, don't ever think you make me feel bad. This has to be told, and as for me, well, I think it's a good thing that I get to talk about it. I talked with George, my beloved George, and he always understood; but this is different. Now I can tell my own daughter. The daughter I had to give away."
Her tears fell freely now.
I sat back saying nothing, waiting for mum to recover.
"Could you pour me some more of that wine please?" Tears were still falling down her cheeks, but I sensed that mum slowly recuperated. I poured some into her glass and into mine as well. I smiled.
"Ulla, where was I? Oh yes, I got more pregnant by the day, and I still heard nothing from your father. Almost four months gone, and I knew I had to do something about it. For one thing I didn't want my mother to know about my condition. I can't explain why, but that's how it was."
An unwelcome thought came to me. A sudden memory of an almost forgotten conversation so long ago flashed before me. I remembered when I told my adoptive mother about my miscarriage, and how sorry we were, my then husband and I. I will never forget her answer.
"Well. Ulla, maybe it's for the best, never knowing which genes you carry."
I shuddered at the memory.
Mum, looked at me with an enquiring gaze, but I shook my head, and begged her to continue.
"So I had to act. I applied for a few places with different families, well, what you call being an 'au pair', but when I told them about my condition they didn't want to know. Until one day, when I received a positive answer from a family in the outskirts of Copenhagen. Well, in those days it was in the country, really, and what is more, it was a lovely area. Another advantage was that I was well away from my mother being on another island. In 1951 it was still some distance to travel, so I felt safe."
I looked at mum, and leaned forward.
"Why did you feel that way, Mum? Why couldn't you confide in your mother, my grandmother, and where was your father?"
Mum shook her head. A distant look in her eyes.
"Ulla, this is such a long story, and if we are going to get anywhere about your father, you'll have to accept it for now. I'll tell you all about it in time. Suffice to say that your grandmother and grandfather had divorced quite a few years prior to this. It was all about my mother and me"
I nodded; I could do that, and encouraged her to carry on with the story.
"It was a lovely family, and they took me in with open arms. As the months went by, and as I got bigger, I realised there was no way I could take care of you. At least not in a proper way. There was no help, back then, to be had from the State. It would have been an impossibility to look after you properly, so reluctantly, I decided to give you away for adoption.
"Let me tell you one thing though. It was not as easy as it may sound. You were making your presence known all the time; what with the moving about in my tummy and the kicking. Oh, do I remember the kicking. Ulla. I cried myself to sleep many a time during those difficult months."
I almost choked, as tears filled my eyes, and in a hoarse voice I asked mum to continue. Oh, this was hard.
"All through this time, I regularly checked with my mother whether any news from your father had arrived, but, as there was nothing, I slowly gave into what I had to do.
"As the time neared, the family assured me that I could come back to them after leaving the hospital, not only to recuperate physically, but, as best as I could, mentally as well. Oh, was I grateful for that!"
"Mum, a thought just occurred to me, was this the address you gave to the authorities when you gave birth to me?"
Mum nodded, looking at me with an enquiringly look.
"It's only that when I received the very first information about you, I actually went there. The house, you lived and worked in, has been demolished. Nice area as you say. Hard to believe it's only a couple of months ago that I was there. I'm sorry, never mind me, please do go on, Mum. What happened next?"
Mum smiled at me, and I could see that she was tired. I reached over and touched her hand.
"It's getting late, let's continue this tomorrow".
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
Previous.
I've always known that I was adopted, but in 2003, at the age of fifty one, I decided to find my mother.
After a short search, and with a lot of help I found her in Santa Cruz, California. I travelled from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her footstep. She took me in with open arms, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story how I came to be. How she met the handsome American, who was in the Merchant Marines. How they fell in love and he is called to sail to South America. He leaves with the promise to write and my mother receives a couple of letters, when she discovers that she is pregnant. She writes my father several times, but hears nothing. My grandmother keeps insisting that no letters have ever arrived.
My Mother gets a job as a nanny with a family outside Copenhagen, who are prepared to take her on despite her conditition. My mother doesn't want my grandmother to know.
Part Fifteen.
I woke early the next morning, and made my way to the bathroom to have a shower. Once back in my room I got dressed, ready to start the new day. I noticed that it was another glorious morning, as I entered the kitchen where mum was busy preparing our breakfast.
I gave her a peck on the cheek and she beamed at me.
"Morning to you, did you sleep OK?"
I smiled at her and gave her another peck.
"I sure did. I hope you did as well; and whatever you're making smells, yum! Can I pour you some coffee while I'm having one?"
Mum nodded, but didn't stop what she was doing. The table had been laid and, as I realised there was nothing for me to do, I handed mum the coffee, and went out to the terrace enjoying the early morning sun. I decided that I would suggest going down to the water front after breakfast. It would be good to get some fresh air and a bit of a walk. I took a deep breath, and imagined that I could smell the sweet scent of the sea mingled with the aroma from my coffee.
"Ulla, breakfast is ready. Could you give me a hand please?"
"But, of course, coming right up."
I hurried in, taking the plate out of mum's hand, and brought it over to the table.
"Mum, this looks delicious." And I tucked in.
"I have a suggestion, what do you think of going down to the beach after we've finished this? It's such a lovely day, and it will be great to get some fresh air."
Mum smiled at me, "I think that's a splendid idea, and an appropriate place to continue where we left off last night."
Soon we were on our way, and walked briskly beside the deep blue ocean. We didn't say a word, each deep in our own thoughts, but when we approached George's bench Mum motioned me to take a seat.
I knew that my mother was ready to continue her story.
She took my hand in hers, and gazed out over the sea with a faraway look.
"Ulla, the time was approaching fast for giving birth. I was called into the hospital where they asked me to sign papers to confirm that I agreed to give you up for adoption ... and yes, I signed, and yes, it was hard... but strangely, at the same time I felt quite detached from it all, as if it had nothing to do with me."
I squeezed mum's hand.
"Well, the time came and I gave birth to you. I think I have been suppressing the memory for so many years now that I don't have much recollection of it. What is crystal clear though, and something that has never left me, is that you were taken away immediately. I was never allowed to see you, let alone touch you. It was like my soul being ripped away.
"What they did do was to bring me yet another form to sign confirming that I was giving you away. They also asked me to name you, and I gave you the name of your grandmother which I now know is your middle name."
Mum was sobbing by now, and my own tears flowed freely. We sat there for the longest time not uttering a word, when Mum suddenly turned to me, her face streaked with tears.
"Ulla, can you ever forgive me?"
This made it the second time that my mother had asked me that question within forty eight hours.
"Mum, there is nothing to forgive. You were, and ... well, I suppose we were both victims of circumstance and the times."
We sat in silence looking at the soft surf as it hit the beach below us, so calm and so very soothing.
I turned towards her. "Mum when you are ready. Please do tell what happened next."
Mum wiped her tears and swallowed. She blew her nose, and with a certain determination, straightened her back.
"I was soon back with the family, and my healing began. They were wonderful to me;
something I will never forget. What I did want to forget was everything else. I yearned to go as far away as I could in the hope of building a new life.
"To my delight, my wish was granted soon after. The family I stayed with, told me of an opening with an American family they happened to know, who were stationed in Heidelberg, Germany. They were looking for a nanny for their two young children, and would I be prepared to take on the job? I could have jumped for joy, and agreed immediately.
"And so it was that in late August 1952, some three months after your birth, I left for Germany."
"Mum, did you know what had happened to me at all?"
"No, all the hospital told me was that when you were ready you'd be placed in an orphanage and put up for adoption"
I nodded, already knowing that. That particular stay lasted for two and a half years. But this was not the time to dwell on it.
"To make a long story short, Ulla, I thrived in my new position, and I liked being in Heidelberg. Slowly I reverted to my old self, and I even had a little contact with my mother back in Denmark by means of a few letters.
"Then something wonderful happened. It was early autumn 1953, when I met George. We fell in love, and in the spring the following year he proposed, and we agreed to marry later that same year. He'd sadly lost a brother in Korea, so he was free to return to the States, and that's what we wanted to do. We also agreed that we would marry in Denmark, one of the reasons being my mother. We set the date to be in the beginning of October 1954, and here comes a couple of those small quirks that fate plays on you."
Mum turned to me and threw me a rueful smile.
"You know what, let's go back home; the rest I want to tell you in a comfy chair out in the terrace, and a cup of coffee too."
I couldn't agree more.
To be Continued
| Author Notes | Thank you avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previous.
I've always known that I was adopted, but in 2003, at the age of fifty one, I decided to find my mother.
After a short search, and with a lot of help, I found her in Santa Cruz, California. I travelled from Scotland where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She took me in with open arms, and we hit it off right away.
My mother has told me how she met my father, a handsome American, who was in the Merchant Marine. They fell in love, but six months later he had to sail to South America. He promised to write. This was not to be the end for them. And he indeed wrote several letters.
Mum then discovers that she is pregnant. She writes my father several times, but hears nothing. My grandmother keeps insisting that no letters have ever arrived. Mum is devastated.
My mother then gets a job as a nanny with a family who is happy to take her on despite her condition.
My mother doesen't want my grandmother to know about her pregnacy, but she keeps checking whether any letter has arrived, always with the same negative answer.
Mum makes the hard decision that she has to give me up for adoption.
I'm taken away right after being born. My mother never allowed to see me. When Mum has recuperated, she gets another job as a nanny, but this time with an American family in Heidelberg, Germany.
In late 1953, Mum meets George, an American soldier, and they gradually fall in love deciding to marry. Mum is now telling me about their plans to marry in Denmark.
Part Sixteen.
We strolled back from the waterfront in a companionable silence, and once inside, I motioned for my mother to take a seat out in the terrace while I put on the kettle. Once the water boiled, I quickly made our coffees. Only two days since I met my mother for the first time, and I already knew how she liked her brew. Amazing! I brought both cups out; placed one in front of her, and sat down facing Mum.
"Ah, this is nice." She smiled. "A few sips of this and I'm ready to continue with my story."
I smiled back at her, thinking how happy I was, and how I could hardly wait for Mum to carry on.
"Well, where was I?" Mum cleared her throat as if to better her train of thoughts.
"Oh, that's right, George and I were to go to Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954. We had informed my mother, and to my great surprise, she claimed that she was thrilled.
"Then something strange happened. A few weeks before we were due to leave, a letter arrived from the Danish Authorities asking me to sign for the third and the final time to ensure that I agreed to give you up. A couple wanted to adopt you, the proceedings well on their way, but could not be finalised without my signature.
"To be honest, it freaked me out. I can't say that I had forgotten about you, Ulla, but I had sort of put it all into a compartment that I didn't visit, but this brought it all back. I was shaken to the core."
I looked at my mother and the sensation of the small hairs at the back of my head standing on end was overwhelming. What she'd just told me reminded me yet again what my adoptive father said so very long ago. The day he blurted out that my real father was a foreigner, maybe an American. Then my adoptive mother frantically tried to stop his outburst which only had the opposite effect. There was something else he'd said, but what was it? It was lurking in the background, but it refused to come to the fore. However much I focused, I still couldn't remember. It was right under the surface, yet it stubbornly stayed underneath as if prevented from coming up and catch a breath.
I made a quick decision to say nothing, letting Mum get on with her story. She wouldn't know anyway, so better say nothing at this point... I managed to smile and encouraged Mum to carry on.
"It was kind of strange, the timing of it, that is. George and I were going to Denmark anyway, and I was asked to sign the third and last time. Ulla, believe me it was hard. I could easily have refused to do it, claiming you myself. But I chose not to. A couple wanted to adopt you and give you a new life. A life I had been prevented from giving you, so who was I to deny you that opportunity, and more to the point; who was I to deny that couple the chance to fulfil their dream?"
I took a deep breath. "Mum, what were George's thoughts about all this, or did you not consult him?"
There was something here I didn't feel quite comfortable with, but what Mum said next put my mind to rest.
"Oh but I did. I can assure you that George and I discussed it in great detail. George so wanted to take you on, but at the same time, he also understood the implications for everybody concerned. It was a difficult time and a hard decision to make, but in the end I made the choice I thought was right. I'd already given you up almost two and a half years ago. A part of me argued that, who was I to interfere in your life all of a sudden, and the other part also told me that I didn't want to deny you the best opportunity in life."
Mum looked at me with a sad smile. "I don't know whether that will ever make sense?"
I smiled and nodded.
"Mum, lets not pursue this. I sort of understand that it was not a bad decision on your part at all. As you now know, I had a lovely upbringing at least up until my adoptive father died. But tell me what happened next? You and George had decided on marrying in Denmark and you were soon to go. Please, I can't wait to hear what's next."
Mum smiled and looked at me through a film of tears. "How can you be so understanding, Ulla? Well, let me have another cup of coffee and I'll tell you exactly what happened next. You may actually want another coffee or something slightly stronger."
I laughed. "OK, Mum, in that case I'll have a glass of white wine from the bottle we didn't finish yesterday. Do you want some?" Mum shook her head, and once I got my glass and another coffee for Mum, I settled in my chair ready to listen to what was next.
"The time soon arrived for me and George to leave for Denmark. We travelled by train and I still remember the bleakness of the post war Germany that was so much in evidence.
"My mother met us at Copenhagen Central Station. She lived nearby, and she soon settled us in. Everything went without any hiccups. I proceeded to the office to sign the papers about you, George never leaving my side. I dreaded it, but I will admit that once done I felt a strange sort of relief.
I swallowed, and took a sip of my wine.
Mum watched me as if to gauge my reaction, but as she saw none she continued.
"The day of our wedding arrived, and it was a lovely service at a small church just north of Copenhagen. Afterwards we went back to my mother's place where she had prepared a light buffet.
"The three of us stood in her living room where everything was set up for our wee celebration.
She turned around to get her glass, but as she turned back towards us, instead of a glass in her hand there was a letter. l frowned at my mother with a puzzled look."
"Elise," she said. "This is the last letter that arrived from that American lover of yours!"
I almost choked on my wine, and all I managed to say to Mum was an inadequate: "You are joking!"
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thank you to avmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
Preview.
I've always known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter.
End of last chapter:
"Elise," she said. "This is the last letter that arrived from that American lover of yours."
I almost choked on my wine, and all I managed to say to Mum was an inadequate. "You are joking!"
Part Seventeen.
"Ulla, I wish I was. There we stood, George and I, only married an hour earlier, and your grandmother threw that at us. I honestly didn't know what to do nor how to assimilate it. I was speechless. I took one good look at my mother, and I wanted nothing more than to leave. There was one question though that I had to ask first. How many more letters had there been? It came out in barely a whisper.
"My mother looked at me, shrugging. She thought there had been eight or maybe nine. She couldn't remember exactly.
"When I asked her what she'd done with them, she looked at me in disdain and said she'd burned them. I think I gasped out loud. It was hard to take in that she could have been so callous. How could she have done this to me and why? Did she really hate me that much? For what else could it be?
"This was way too much. I found it difficult to breathe, and I knew that George and I had to take our leave at once. I looked down at my hands that still clutched the letter, feeling that I couldn't be in the same room as her for a moment longer."
I was shocked at what I was hearing, and now it was my turn to whisper. "Mum, whatever did you do then?"
"Oh, George and I left immediately. He was so angry, he could hardly stop from shaking, and as for me, well, I felt bereft to say the least. This was supposed to be one of the happiest days in my life, and instead I felt like a steam train had just run over me."
I sat speechless not knowing what to say. The implications of what Mum had just told me were almost too much to contemplate. Dear God, what had she done, that grandmother of mine. She'd played God with all our lives. I swallowed. Oh this was hard to take in. I felt as if I was drowning.
For the first time since I'd met Mum, I felt a sense of great despair. It engulfed my whole being, threatening to take over whatever I had felt earlier. I was devastated.
I went in to free fall as the enormity of what Mum had just told overwhelmed me. I burst into tears realising that this was too much.
How could my grandmother have done what she did? And at that moment it dawned on me that everything could have been so different.
My grandmother had played roulette with all our lives, and a feeling of anger that I'd never experienced before descended on me. How dare she! I was reeling from the monstrosity of it all.
She had not only played with my Mum's life and destiny, but also with mine. Three lives in fact as she had also affected the life of my father. Whether it would have been a good life with my real parents was not the issue here, because I will never know, and it didn't matter, not now, anyway. What mattered was the utter frustration of it all, and again I asked myself, how she could have done what she did. What the hell possessed her? I sobbed into the napkin Mum had provided.
"I am so sorry Mum, but this just threw me. How could she possibly do that to you? And on your wedding day, no less. What did poor George do, and what was in that final letter from Dad?"
"Whoa, Ulla, that's a lot of questions. I will answer you one by one, but first we need to eat and I think yet another glass of wine is called for. I feel we both need the sustenance. Come on girl, in the kitchen now!"
I smiled, tears still running, but Mum was right, of course. What we needed was fuel to see us through what was to come next.
We brought our late lunch out to the terrace, and ate in silence, each engulfed in our own thoughts, and it was good not having to say anything just yet. It was such a beautiful day, the birds chirping away happily, or so it seemed.The bright sunshine and the gentle heat combined with food and wine warmed my rather chilled heart.
I thought about how incredible it was what had happened in the last forty eight hours since I met my Mum for the very first time. I still had another two days before I had to go back home to Scotland, but I pushed that thought away. Here and now was so much more important, and I was soon to learn what was in the letter from my father.
We finished our meal and Mum poured us yet another glass of wine before she resumed her tale.
"Ulla, why your grandmother did what she did, I will never know. It was never spoken of ever again. Besides, it was many years later before I could even face seeing her. What I can say for sure, is that George was furious. He could see the hurt she'd caused, and all he did was to grab my arm telling me that we were leaving.
"We found a hotel for the night, and after settling in, I remember we got some food delivered to our room. I found that I was still holding on to the letter, and I also remember George gently taking it out of my hand placing it on the table between us. His exact words to me were that first we were going to eat, and then, I could read it, and tell him what it said ... if I wanted to, that was. We had a lovely meal that I managed to enjoy while we went over the events of our day. George poured us some coffee, and the moment had finally arrived to see what the letter said.
"I opened it and started to read."
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thank you to avmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
Preview.
I've always known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter which had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turns out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once, and checked into a hotel. Mum is now about to open the letter from my father.
Part Eighteen.
"It was all a blur, Ulla. I just couldn't make out the words, and my hands shook so badly that it didn't help either. George, my dear husband, just sat back watching me, not making a move. I knew he wanted to know what the letter said as much as I did, but he must have realised how difficult this was. A voice from the past, and what is more, a voice that could have changed everything, had I only received it in time.
"I will not keep you in any further suspense so excuse me a moment, Ulla, I'll go fetch the letter, and read it out to you as I once did to George."
As Mum rose, I looked on in astonishment. Had she really kept this letter all these years? Well, it appeared so. She disappeared inside and was back moments later, holding an old looking letter in her hand. The envelope was yellowed with age and looked well worn.
"Wow, Mum, you have kept this during all these years?" Repeating what I had just thought.
"Yes, I have, and I can understand that you look surprised. Truth be told, I looked for this last night suspecting that we might come to where we are now. I almost gave up though. I hadn't given the letter a thought for so many years, but then, I vaguely remembered putting it with some old correspondence, and, well, here it is. It's dated November 1952, six months after your birth."
I took a gulp of coffee, and noticed that the bottle of wine was still on the table together with our glasses. It crossed my mind that Mum had left them there on purpose expecting that it would be needed sometime later on. What I also noted was the old exotic stamps on the letter that Mum held in her hand.
"Well, Ulla, to go back to the night of my wedding. As I sat across from George, I opened this envelope, and pulled out two sheets of paper, with a handwriting strangely familiar to me. I also remember I looked up at George, and I think he must have seen the fear in my eyes, because he reached over to hold my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze."
Mum cleared her throat as she started to read out loud from the yellow sheets of paper.
Meanwhile, all I could do was to sit back and listen to the words that could possibly hold the key to what could have been.
Dear Elise,
I write to you yet again, in the hope that I will finally receive an answer, but I will admit that I don't hold up much hope any more. I presume you do know that I have written numerous times after your revelation that you were expecting our child.
I confess that at first, I was in deep shock, which I also made clear at the time. But then I got to think about it, and the old cliche sprang to mind, that it 'takes two to tango.' Well, this may seem flippant to you, but take my word, nothing could be further from my mind.
Elise, whether you believe it or not, I did fall in love with you, and I believe that I am still in love with you. But after all this time, I don't know what to believe any more. What I do know is that at the time of writing this you will have given birth, and I will be the father of a little boy or a little girl.
I would dearly like to know what it is, and I would have loved to bring up our child, but for some reason that I can't fathom, you have chosen to withdraw from my life. If you are to change your mind though, then I am here for you and our child. All you need to do is to let me know.
I hope that you will answer this time.
Yours always, Reuben.*
I sat bolt upright, and looked at Mum in a state of shock. What I had just heard not only chilled me to the bone, but it had brought to the fore that other long forgotten remark that my adoptive father made all those years ago.
What he'd also said ... oh my God ... was that an American gentleman had come to the orphanage looking for me. But that the very same gentleman couldn't get any further in contacting me as my adoption was a fait accompli. The implications of it all didn't bear thinking of.
"Ulla, are you all right?" Mum leaned forward with a concerned look.
"I'm all right, Mum, not to worry, but I just got to think of something that my adoptive father said so many years ago, and which explains a lot of things. I promise that I will tell you later. Never mind me Mum, but do tell, what on earth did you and George do after this?"
"Oh, I burst into tears and George, bless him, pulled his chair over next to me and just held me. Ulla, I cried as I don't think I've ever cried in my life.
"Here I was, just married to a lovely man, and yet, I was crying my heart out for something that should have been well and truly buried. But how could it be? I felt so bereft. I had lost a daughter and her father, and apparently for no reason at all. Or so it seemed. How could my mother, your grandmother have done this to me? Well, I will never know, will I?
"What I did know though was that I had married the kindest man on earth, and that in my moment of need I reached out for him. As it turned out, he was to be my rock for the rest of his days."
"But, Mum, could George just accept it all? Was he not hurt?"
"Oh, I believe he was, but I'd been honest with him, so he accepted that it was part of the package that he'd agreed to."
I looked at Mum through my tears and smiled. I poured us a glass of wine, which I think was very welcome, before we carried on with more revelations.
To be continued.
| Author Notes |
* The letter is a reconstuction. I looked for it after Mum passed away, but I never found the original one. I did read it quite a few times when Mum first showed it to me, and I have reconstructed as best as I could to the original writing.
Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork |
By Ulla
Previous.
I've always known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter which had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turns out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once, and checked into a hotel. In that very last letter my father yet again asks why he hasn't heard anything and whether it is a boy or a girl they'd had. It is a last plea for my Mum to answer.
Part Nineteen
"Mum, did you ever write to Reuben, to tell him that you had finally received some communication from him?"
I realised how utterly tired my mother was when she shook her head, her face utterly drained. Admittedly I was very tired myself.
She looked so sad all of a sudden, and I went over to her and gave her a big hug. "Mum, please, don't, please don't! I know this is ripping up a lot of memories. I am being insensitive in all my curiosity. Let's go to bed, and tomorrow is another day."
Mum looked at me and said. "You don't mind then that we wait until tomorrow? I really do feel very tired."
"Of course I don't. C'mon off we go."
We hugged for the longest time, and each went to our own room. My last thought before nodding off was that I was going to find my father if at all possible.
I woke up early the next day and when I looked out the window, yet another wonderful day was greeting me. I smiled to myself, and thought that I could get used to this. I felt so gloriously lazy, I couldn't be bothered to get out of bed just yet.
I'd only just thought it, when I heard noises from the kitchen confirming that Mum was not only up but probably already cooking our breakfast. Well, I thought I'll better get a move on. A quick shower later, and I entered the kitchen that was filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with toast and other enticing ingredients. My mouth watered.
I went over to Mum, and gave her a quick peck on her cheek.
"Good morning to you Mum. You look as if you had a good night's sleep, and you seem to be at it again, cooking for me. I feel guilty that I am not doing anything."
"Morning to you, my dear. Not to worry. You can cook for me soon enough. But this is my treat while you are here." Mum gave me one of her bright smiles that I was starting to get used to. Her smiles were quite extraordinary. They lit up her whole face, and for some reason gave her a gloriously wicked look. I loved it. It was infectious.
I quickly set the table out on the terrace, and soon we tucked into slices of fruit and all the other things that Mum treated us to.
"Ulla, what do you think about going back down to the waterfront for another walk today, and pick up where we left it last night?"
I could only nod in agreement, my mouth full of food.
I swallowed. "That sounds fabulous; lets go. I want to sit on George's bench while we are talking though."
Mum chuckled. "You got a deal!"
An hour later we were sitting looking over the ocean. The morning seemed so crisp, the rays from the sun shimmering in the sea. I noticed a few sails out in the distance and thought that it was a perfect day for a sail. The feeling of nostalgia ran through my mind when I looked at them. I used to do that, the sailing, and I acknowledged that I missed it. Never mind. I was brought out of my revelry when I realised that Mum was talking to me.
"To repeat the answer I gave you last night. No I didn't answer your father's letter. What was the point really? It was almost two and a half years later after giving birth to you when your grandmother handed over the letter to me. Not only was your adoption coming through, but I had only just married George. I mulled it over very carefully and decided against it. I was into a new life, and I reckoned that so were you. So no, I never told your real father."
"Mum, do you know what?" I turned towards her and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "I can totally understand that. So we have now covered most of the past, and I think the time has come that we talk of the here and now. I only have today and tomorrow before I have to head back to LA and fly back to Scotland. What do you suggest we do?"
"I think we should go back home. First of all I want to call my best friend Miriam, because I want you to meet her. And next I have something to tell you. We have been so busy talking about the past that I have almost forgotten to tell you about the present."
Mum stood up, begging me to follow suite.
"C'mon, off we go then. This is something I want to tell you in the privacy of home."
I laughed as we quickly stood, and could barely hide my curiosity as to what Mum had to say. On the way back we bought a couple of unhealthy doughnuts and we were soon settled on the terrace with our wicked treat and steaming hot coffee.
Mum looked at me as she took a sip from her mug.
"Ulla, I can't say how happy you have made me by finding me, and coming all this way to look me up." Mum looked very serious all of a sudden.
"What I want to tell you is that after fifty years here in California, I have decided to move back to Denmark."
I looked at Mum with an open mouth.
To be continued
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previously.
I've always known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter which had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turns out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once, and checked into a hotel. In that very last letter my father yet again asks why he hasn't heard anything and whether it is a boy or a girl they'd had. It is a last plea for Mum to answer. She decides against it as she's just married George and was about to start a new life.
Last chapter ends when Mum tells me that she is moving back to Denmark after fifty years in The States.
Part Twenty.
I looked at Mum in astonishment, and I must have been gaping at her, because the next thing I knew was that she broke out in one of her now familiar shiny smiles.
"My dear, don't look so shocked. You should be pleased really. Because what it means is that we will be much closer and able to see each other all the more. Ulla, look at me. Three days ago, I didn't know about your whereabouts, but here I am after a perfect, happy life which has been mine for more than fifty years. I have thought this through very carefully."
"Oh, I am sure you have, and of course I am very pleased. How could I not be? I only find it amazing that after fifty years of living in The States you've decided to move back to Denmark. What on earth made you decide to do that?"
"I can assure you it is not a decision I made on a whim.
"George, bless him, has been dead for ten years, and we never had any children. Since then, I have lost what family was left. His brother and his wife passed away not that long after George's passing, and one by one, of what other family there was left, has gone. I do have a niece and her husband, but they moved out to the East Coast, and I never seem to hear from them any more, which I find very sad.
"However, what put the nail in the coffin was when two of my closest friends died within a couple of months of each other. And then, Miriam, my oldest and dearest friend told me that she was moving down to San Diego to live with her son and daughter-in-law.
"By the way, that's the Miriam you are going to meet tonight. When she told me the news that she was leaving, my mind was made up. I would be all alone here having lost everybody I used to know, and that I am not quite prepared for. I feel that going back to Denmark will at least enable me to connect to some of my roots."
When I didn't say anything, Mum cleared her throat, and continued.
"I put my house on the market a few months back, and it sold just a few days before your arrival."
I think I must have looked like somebody not quite getting it, because again Mum burst out laughing.
"C'mon, Ulla, please don't look so surprised."
"Well Mum, I am. I hear what you are saying about having your roots in Denmark, but what is there for you in Denmark after all these years? That's the part I don't quite get. You will be as lonely there as you feel you'll be here. As I see it, you are at least on familiar ground here, and surely you'll be able to meet new friends?"
"You are going to be surprised, my dear. What you don't know, and can't know, is that I have a half sister in Denmark, and I also have a dear old friend who I have known since my childhood. She lost her husband a few years ago, and she is thrilled that I'm moving back. We have all kept in touch throughout all these years, and I am quite looking forward to going back to the quaint old country."
I looked at Mum, and I burst out laughing.
"Oh, Mum, we are not that different then, are we? The apple has not fallen that far, as we would say in Danish."
What I meant was that we both had the ability to face change, and do something about it.
Everything made a lot of sense to me all of a sudden, and at some level, I was not at all surprised about the news that Mum had a half sister. I would ask her about that on a later occasion. Now was not the time. We had so much to catch up on. A whole lifetime in fact.
To my joy I also realised that I was thrilled that Mum was moving so much closer, because it would mean that we could see each other all that more often. I started to warm towards the idea. And, any way, who was I to say anything? I had only met Mum three days ago, as she so eloquently had put it, although it seemed to be a lot longer than that. It was as if we'd known each other for years.
Again I looked at Mum, and was sincere when I said.
"I'm thrilled, Mum, I really am. We will be nearer each other and we'll be able to visit more frequently. It is obvious that we have such a lot to talk about. What a bonus! So when are you planning to move, and who is helping you with all that?"
I saw the twinkle in Mum's eyes, and I somehow knew, I was in for another surprise.
To be continued
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previously.
l've aways known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter which had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turns out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once, and checked into a hotel. In that very last letter my father yet again asks why he hasn't heard anything and whether it is a boy or a girl they'd had. It is a last plea for Mum to answer. She decides against it as she's just married George and about to start a new life.
Mum tells me that she's decided to move back to Denmark. She reveals she has a halfsister and an old friend she's known since chilhood.
Part Twenty One
"What do you mean with that look of yours, Mum. Do you have it all planned?" I couldn't help smiling. She just looked so wicked. "Come on, please do tell, I can't wait to hear it."
Mum's smile got even wider. "OK, I'll put you out of your misery. As I said ealier, this house has already been sold, but what I didn't say was that I've also bought a house in Denmark. When all the paperwork is finished here, I will start packing up, and I reckon it will be towards the end of August, when I travel to Denmark."
I must have looked like one big question mark, because, before I could say anything further, Mum continued.
"I can see what you are going to ask, but it's all taken care of. All my furniture, in fact everything I own is going to be shipped over. Even my beloved car is coming with me."
I could only look at her in wonder.
"You are joking, surely. Your car? Why not just sell it?" I laughed.
"Mum, when you say it will be shipped over, do you actually mean that all your possessions are to be sailed all the way to Denmark?"
"Oh yes, Ulla, that's exactly what I mean. A whole team will come here and pack up every single item that I own, which will then be sailed over. By the way, don't snicker. I love that car, and that's it."
I nodded and did my best to hide a smile as Mum continued.
"When all is done, I'll leave for San Francisco staying a couple of nights, before I catch my flight. I'll be staying with my dear friend in Copenhagen, the one I told you about, until everything has arrived. It's a door to door delivery, and the contract we have agreed to, is that they will move everything into my new home as well. All I have to do is to tell them where I want my furniture. So, you see it's all planned and thought through very carefully."
I looked at Mum in astonishment, and I had to admire her. What a woman! Yet again, I discovered where I had certain things from. It never ceased to amaze me every time I recognised another trait that I had inherited. It thrilled me. In fact, it was such a novelty. What most people took for granted I was only starting to discover at the grand old age of fifty one.
I was quiet for a wee while, and Mum let me be, as she seemed to understand what went through my mind. That I had to process it all, and in my own time, which I was grateful for.
To say that I was overwhelmed was an understatement. In less than four days, I had not only met my birth mother for the very first time, and travelled half way round the world to do so. She'd also told the story about my father, who I was determined to find, and now to cap it all, she'd told me that she was to move back to Denmark opening up the possibility for us to see so much more of each other.
I had rarely felt so pleased in my life. What a journey this had been and still was, and something told me that it was far from over.
In the evening, Miriam came over to meet me, and what a lovely lady she was. I realised how close friends they were, and it was evident how sad they were to be separated.
The next day, Mum and I decided that enough had been said for the time being. It was my last day before I had to head down to Los Angeles to catch my flight back home, and we spent the day in an amicable way in the knowledge that a strong bond had formed between us.
All the same, it was not easy to leave. We were both tearful and hugged as if we were never to let go. We both knew that we would be calling each other, yet the feeling of loss was overwhelming.
I pulled out of the driveway, and as Mum waved, I could see her tears matching mine. I knew it was not a final goodbye, yet I felt as if deprived of all joy. One last wave and I was away.
I thought back to five days earlier. Was it really only five days ago? When I had driven the opposite way crying like a baby for fear of meeting my Mum, and how she would react. And now... now I was crying because I was leaving. Leaving my Mum, who I had come to love. Crying because I would miss her, but also crying with joy, because I now knew that we were an item and I was to see her later in the year. Meanwhile, it was good to know that we would be speaking on the phone.
I was a very happy woman as I drove down highway one, a woman so different from the one that had driven up the other way a few days earlier.
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previously.
l've aways known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter which had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turns out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once, and checked into a hotel. In that very last letter my father yet again asks why he hasn't heard anything and whether it is a boy or a girl they'd had. It is a last plea for Mum to answer. She decides against it as she's just married George and about to start a new life.
Mum tells me that she's decided to move back to Denmark. She reveals she has a half sister.
and a very good friend, whith whom she'd never lost contact. I have to leave to go back home to Scotland.
Part Twenty Two
I found a Hotel for the night in a unique location. It was built high up on the cliffs and its spectacular setting allowed me to sit out on a balcony that belonged to my room. That, of course, was not unusual in itself, but what made it stand out was that there was absolutely nothing between me and the ocean. It hung as if in mid air. It was spectacular. Had the balcony collapsed I would have been swallowed up by the Pacific- if not already dead before I got that far.
I spent the evening out there eating the meal the room service had provided, and I raised my glass to the ocean and thought about my mother. What an appropriate setting to celebrate our reunion, and as it was also my birthday, I couldn't have wished for more.
My mobile suddenly sounded, and I saw that it was Mum. Oh, bless her, she hadn't forgotten! We'd talked for quite a long time, when she suddenly asked. "Ulla, have you looked in your handbag?" I was puzzled and said. "What do you mean? Yes, of course I have been in my handbag today."
Mum laughed and I visualised her breezy smile. "Well, Dear, have another look, and Happy Birthday! We'll speak soon. Nice flight home and before that enjoy your day down in Venice. Love you!"
"Love you too, Mum, and speak soon." I hung up, already roaming around my handbag. And then I saw it. How I could have missed it was beyond me. I pulled out the envelope, a big smile on my face as I read.
Dear Ulla,
Not only am I wishing you a happy birthday, but I am also thanking you for finding me. What I want you to do with the money I've enclosed is to enjoy a meal in your favourite place, and then go buy whatever takes your fancy. We've spent such a lovely time together and I'm so looking forward to seeing you when I am back in Denmark.
Lots of love. Your Mum.
I smiled and thought how hard it would be not to love her.
The next day I woke early and arrived in Venice, Los Angeles, well before noon. I checked in to my hotel, and yet again I found myself in a splendid room which looked over the beach and the Pacific.
After a quick change of clothes, I went outside breathing the fresh air that drifted in from the ocean. I stood still and took in the atmosphere. Nothing seemed to have changed. People dressed in all sorts of colours were milling about looking at the stalls that sold anything from T-shirts to sunglasses and God knows what. This place held so many memories for me!
I promptly did what I'd always done, and that was to buy some T-shirts as well. Not only were they cheap, but the quality was superb compared to anything you could find in Europe. I was happy as a lark. And then it was time to eat. I made my way towards the place I knew so well, and there it was. Side Walk Cafe was where it had always been, and as busy as I remembered.
I entered and had to smile when I saw the young guy approaching me on roller skates. Some things never change.
"Are you looking for a table, Ma'am?"
Being addressed like that made me feel a million years old, but I bit my tongue and smiled.
"Yes, I certainly am, and I hope you'll have one in the front row looking over the beach."
He gave me a brilliant smile."Are you eating?"
I nodded, and again he smiled,
"In that case you are in luck. One last table is available. Come this way, please."
I followed as he rolled away, and once seated, I was left to peruse the menu.
I chose a hearty salad, and to drink, well, a strawberry Margarita! Yeah, you may laugh, but I was here to remember old times and that was one of the drinks they used to do best. In my favour, I also ordered a bottle of water.
That done, I sat back and let my thoughts drift. I had so many memories of this place. For twenty years or more I had visited with colleagues through work, but also with family. However, I think the one memory that stuck out was the morning after a seven on the Richter scale. I remembered it so well, because it was the day after Denmark won the European Championship in football.
The earth never stopped moving, and my work colleagues and I spent most of the time right here. Oh, we didn't drink Margaritas all the time, but we had a few during that time. That is for sure.
And now, now I was adding yet another memory to this place, and a most important one. That of finding my mother. Yes, I was content!
The day passed so quickly, and all of a sudden it was the next morning and I was on the plane going home. I arrived to an unusually bright day for Scotland, and realised that I must have been asleep when the taxi pulled up at my front door.
I opened the front door, and was met by an array of letters on the floor. I bent down, picked them up, and with bleary eyes brought them out to the kitchen. A month was a long time to be away. I dumped them on the table and went straight for the kettle before filling it with water. I was dying for a cup of coffee before heading off to bed.
Once settled with my mug, I scanned through the pile of letters. There was the usual mix of bills and adverts, but then a letter caught my eye.
It had Danish stamps, and it was rather official looking. I turned it around and the return address was from The Foreign Ministry in Denmark. All fatigue forgotten I ripped it open.
I scanned down the page and saw that it was signed off by Marianne. The very same who had helped me to trace my mother as far as to Heidelberg, Germany in1954, enabling me to do the rest.
I quickly went to the beginning of the letter I held in my hand and Marianne explained that it was a rather informal notice. She told me that she was not officially entitled to reveal the information, but due to our mutual friends she would like to pass on to me what she knew of my father. I chuckled when I thought that the mutual friends were my ex husband and his wife. Granted, we did get on very well.
I read it several times, before I lowered it onto the table.
My father's name was Reuben, as I already knew, and the surname I didn't recognised at all. I must have remembered wrongly what Mum had said. And then I almost stopped breathing.
His last known address, which was back in 1952 at the time of my birth was Jamaica ... Jamaica?
To be continued.
By Ulla
Previously.
l've aways known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter which had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turns out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once, and checked into a hotel. In that very last letter my father yet again asks why he hasn't heard anything and whether it is a boy or a girl they'd had. It is a last plea for Mum to answer. She decides against it as she's just married George and about to start a new life.
Mum tells me that she's decided to move back to Denmark. She reveals she has a half sister.
and a very good friend, whith whom she'd never lost contact. I have to leave to go back home to Scotland. On arrival I receive a letter telling me that last known address of my father was in Jamaica, It also gives a surname I don't recognise at all.
Part Twenty Three
I looked at the letter again, but my befuddled brain couldn't make a coherent thought, so I put it back on the table deciding that it would have to wait.
A quick shower, and I went to the bedroom setting the alarm to wake me up three hours later. I knew from experience that it was important to sleep a few hours only, if I was to get any during the night. My last thought before I drifted off was of what bliss it was to stretch out on a proper bed.
When the alarm went off, the urge to go back to sleep was overwhelming. It was an effort to force myself out of bed, but in the end I succeeded and shuffled out to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Time to phone Mum. She wanted to know that I was home OK. I decided against saying anything about the letter, let alone the issue of my father living or being from Jamaica. I knew she had said he was American, but I felt that this was not the time to approach the subject.
"Ulla, so happy you're back safe. I'm fine and as we speak I have started to pack. I know it's only June in a couple of days, but before I know it it will be August. I can see that smirk on your face you know." She laughed.
"I know Mum, and I'm not laughing, all right? I don't know how you'd think that." I chuckled. "The flight was hellish and I'm shattered. Just wanted you to know, all is fine. Let's speak in a couple of weeks, and I'll tell you what news I have by then. Love you."
"Great, my Dear, looking forward to that. Love you too."
I made some more coffee, grabbed the letters from the table and went to my favourite chair in the living room. I loved the view over the Clyde and up the Loch Long. So settled, I sifted through the other letters I had discarded so readily earlier on, when one caught my eye. It was from a company to which I had applied for a job and with whom I'd had a couple of interviews prior to departing for The States.
Christ, so much had happened that I had almost forgotten. I ripped open the envelope and read in disbelief that they were happy to offer me the position and could I start the first of August. I looked over the river and the mountains where the Highland began, and thought how happy I would be to accept. I decided to contact them first thing in the morning and give in my notice to my old company with immediate effect. It freed me up for almost two months. Perfect! It suited me down to the ground.
The following day I set it all in motion, and my next step was to ring my best friend Marjory. We had often talked about going to Denmark together. She'd never been, but always wanted to. Now was the time! As she was a school teacher she would be on holiday the next couple of months.
I was in luck, she answered on the second ring.
"Hi Ulla, You're back? Can't wait to hear what's gone down. When can we meet?"
"That's why I'm phoning. How are you set? Fancy going to Denmark for a few days?"
I could hear the silence at the other end.
"But, don't you have to go back to work?"
"No, not before August. Remember the job I told you about? I got it, and I am free as a bird until then."
Marjory laughed. "I don't have anything on either the next couple of weeks. Tell you what. You're still tired from it all, so let me get some tickets. I find the best deal and we're away. What do you think?"
"Great, ring me when you've got news."
I turned off the phone, and must have looked like the cat with a bowl of milk.
We left a few days later, and had a great time. It was lovely to be able to visit all my old haunts and some historical places as well. All interspersed with great food and long talks. Marjory was overwhelmed when she learned what had happened in The States, and we celebrated the good news more than once during our stay. The weather was with us so our last night was spent in Tivoli, Copenhagen, eating and drinking to our heart's content. It was time to go back.
The same night I arrived home, I decided to go on the Internet and see if I could trace my father. I put in all the information I had, and it came up with a big blank. I tried all kind of combinations, but still got the same result. Nothing!
I leaned back in my chair when my mobile chimed, and reached over to answer. Another good friend of mine asked whether I would like to join her for a drink the day after tomorrow. I readily agreed and arranged a time.
How was I to know what was to happen next?
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previously.
l've aways known that I was adopted, but in 2003 at the age of fifty one I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She lets me in, and we hit it off right away.
She is now telling me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marines. He promises to write, and Mum receives a few letters. She then realises that she is pregnant, and writes numerous letters, but never receives an answer.
It is with a heavy heart that she gives me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum leaves for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she meets George. They fall in love, and leave for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They have just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she hands my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter which had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turns out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum leave at once, and check into a hotel. In that last letter my father yet again asks why he hasn't heard anything and whether it is a boy or a girl they'd had. It is a last plea for Mum to answer. She decides against it as she's just married George and about to start a new life.
Mum tells me that she's decided to move back to Denmark. She reveals she has a half sister.
and a very good friend, whith whom she'd never lost contact. I have to leave to go back home to Scotland. On arrival I receive a letter telling me that last known address of my father was in Jamaica, It also gives a surname I don't recognise at all.
I have been away to Denmark with my best friend and the question about my father is yet again postponed. When I return, another friend is asking to meet up with me.
Part Twenty Four
The next afternoon I boarded the train to Glasgow to meet with my friend. I'd decided to play it safe. It allowed me to have another glass of wine if I so wanted.
We met in a beautiful old bar that used to be the old courtroom in the city, and as usual it was teeming with people. My friend waved at me, and I weaved my way through the throng to where she was standing. A quick embrace, and she turned to me. "What are you having, Ulla?" I looked at her glass of white wine. I smiled. "Tina, I'll have the same as you."
We soon fell into our natural chatter, and she wanted to know all my news. To be honest, I found it a bit too crowded and noisy to be able to talk in any detail, but I managed to tell part of it. I kept being pushed from behind, and as I turned around to complain, I looked into the eyes of a tall dark haired man, who watched me with a bemused look.
At that moment my fate was sealed. I'd just bumped into the man who was to become my future husband.
What followed next was a bit of a haze. We had a lot in common, but what clinched it though was our mutual love of sailing.
Alan had taken early retirement, was divorced, and was in the process of moving to Spain. He had already brought his yacht down to The Mediterranean, where he planned to sail. He was leaving for the boat in ten days, and before I knew it I was invited to come along. As Alan so eloquently put it. "To find out whether we would get on, and if so, whether it was to be the two of us." I agreed to go for two weeks.
I still had plenty of time before I was to start my new work.
I phoned Mum a week before I was going, and her exact words to me were. "Ulla, I can't tell you how happy I am for you. As long as you're sure you're doing the right thing, I'm with you. I trust your judgement. Wow, I'm so pleased. Phone me as soon as you're back, and let me know. We'll have just enough time to talk before I'm moving to Denmark."
"Mum, how selfish of me, how is it all going? I'm sorry, too wrapped up in my own things."
"Don't be daft, girl, it's natural. How excited you must be. Wish I was your age."
I laughed. "Come on Mum, I'm fifty one, hardly a girl any more. But do tell me, how are you getting on?"
"Just fine, still packing. Everything's on track. You have a great time. Love you."
"Love you too, Mum. Speak when I'm back."
Needless to say that I forgot to ask about my father. It didn't even occur to me. Too much was happening and in such a short period of time.
Alan and I fell in deep love on that trip, and our future life together was sealed. I told him everything that had happened to me the last couple of months, and Alan urged me to pursue the quest to find my birth father. I realised that I had to confront my mother.
It's hard to describe the speed with which everything happened that year. While in Spain we decided on a house at the coast, mainly to spend the winters as we would be sailing the rest of the year. I wrote to my company that due to personal circumstances, it was with regret that I declined the position I'd been offered.
It was like a dream come true.
July was coming to its end, and I phoned Mum as promised.
"Ulla, how did it go? I've been thinking so much about you. Are you all right?"
"Mum, couldn't be better. This is unbelievable. We are just so happy, and . . . not much else I can say, other than we are moving down to Spain early next year. I've given up my rented house and moved in with Alan. His house is now up for sale, so hopefully everything will fall into place."
We agreed to speak in a little over a month when Mum would be in Denmark waiting for her house to get ready and all the furniture to arrive from The United States.
Yet again, the issue about my father wasn't mentioned.
Everything went according to plan though. Mum left for Denmark, and Alan's house was shown a lot of interest.
August came and went, and before long, it was well into September. Mum had moved into her new house, and an offer was made on Alan's house in Largs.
It was agreed that we would both go and visit Mum in late October. She couldn't wait to meet Alan, and I couldn't wait to see her again.
We arrived one late evening, and Mum being a night owl, something else I discovered we had in common, stayed up with us into the small hours. It was obvious that she adored Alan. I sat back in my seat looking, and let them get on with it. I was a very content woman.
I'd meant to wait, but suddenly I couldn't contain it any longer. I had to ask.
"Mum, I have received a letter from the Danish Ministry telling me the name of my father which is quite different from what you told me. They also said that the last known address is Jamaica! I thought you said he was American?"
Mum looked at me and burst out laughing. "Oh, I'm sorry I should have said. At the time of giving birth to you, I was asked for your father's name so the Danish authorities could find him to ask for child support. That was the last thing I wanted. I was so down at the time that I reckoned if he didn't want to know, then I was the last one to chase him. It would have been too much of a humiliation as I saw it then. Jamaica is easily explained. He actually lived half the year with his parents at their Jamaican plantation. His main address was in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Don't know whether he's still there if he's alive."
Mum gave me his proper surname, confessing that she had provided the authorities with a false one as well.
The next few days we spent in great harmony. Mum and I grew closer, and her bond with Alan became tighter.
Five days later, and Alan and I were back in Scotland. We had settled in for the evening when Alan glanced at me. "Why don't you go on the Internet and look up your father just as you did whith your Mum."
I smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."
A few minutes later, and I was connected. I put in all the new data I now had, and held my breath. And . . . there it was. Everything I needed to know. Wow! For the second time that year I was looking at information that could change my life.
I gazed at Alan with tears in my eyes.
"Well, Ulla, what are you going to do?"
Too choked for words, I reached out for the phone.
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thank you avmurray for the use of the art work |
By Ulla
Previously:
l've always known that I was adopted, but in 2003, at the age of fifty-one, I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I traveled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She let me in, and we hit it off right away.
She told me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marine. He promised to write, and Mum received a few letters. She then realised that she was pregnant, and wrote numerous letters, but never received an answer.
It was with a heavy heart that she gave me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum had left for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she met George. They fell in love and left for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They had just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she handed my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter that had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turned out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once and checked into a hotel. In that last letter my father yet again asked why he hadn't heard anything and whether it was a boy or a girl they'd had. It was a last plea for Mum to answer. She decided against it as she'd just married George and was about to start a new life.
Mum told me that she'd decided to move back to Denmark. She revealed she had a half sister,
and a very good friend, with whom she'd never lost contact.
I had to leave to go back home to Scotland. On arrival, I'd received a letter telling me that the last known address of my father was in Jamaica. It also gave a surname I didn't recognise at all.
I went away to Denmark with my best friend and the question about my father got yet again postponed.
Once back from Denmark, my life took an unexpected turn. I met my future husband, Alan, and we decided to move to Spain to live and sail. We went to visit Mum in late autumn, and she provided me with the missing data of my father.
When we arrived back to Scotland, I entered the correct data of my father on the Internet, and the last chapter ended when I was about to dial his number.
Part Twenty-Five
Alan watched me while I dialled the number, and as I waited for the ring tone I could feel the gradual ease to my shaking hands. As a further bonus I thought I had gained the control of my voice as well.
I had no idea what I was going to say, only that I had to improvise and hope I got inspiration from somewhere. This was a whole lot different from being face to face with my mother when I'd looked her up in California and stood on her doorstep. I felt the bile at the top of my throat as panic started to set in yet again.
The ringing went on and on, and I had almost given up, when the deep voice of a man reached me. I swallowed and, with a trembling voice, asked whether I was talking to Reuben such and such.
"Speaking," came the short answer. Oh, this was not going to be easy at all and, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alan closing the door behind him, leaving me to it.
"Hello," I said, rather inanely, and I had to give him credit for not hanging up on me. What on earth was I going to say? I couldn't possibly blurt out that I thought he was my father and that I was his long lost daughter ... and then, then it came to me. All of a sudden, I knew what to do.
"Please, please, don't hang up on me. For a start, you don't know me, but I hope you'll listen to what I have to say." I gave him my full name and before he had a chance to say anything, I carried on. "I've given you my name as it is now, but I was born, with quite a different name, to a Danish woman that I understand you knew quite well back at the start of the 1950's." I proceeded to give my mother's name as it was at the time of my birth.
I took a deep breath waiting for some sign of a reaction at the other end. How I'd expected the poor man to react I don't know, but I couldn't deny the disappointment sweeping over me when there was none. This was not easy at all. I'd rarely felt so awkward. I didn't have an inkling of what to do next. While I lingered in this vacuum, it occurred to me that he'd either hung up on me or he'd gone totally quiet.
"Hello, are you still there?" I asked, and, to my great relief, I thought I heard a slight intake of breath.
"Yes, I'm still here. I will not hang up on you ... well, at least not yet, but if you don't mind, would you please repeat what you just told me, like say, a somewhat shorter version? Funny enough though, I've a strange feeling that I know where this is going."
I had to suppress the chuckle that threatened to escape, as I realised that the person, who I now believed to be my father, had a sense of humour or at worst was being sarcastic. I hoped it was the former. I complied, of course, by repeating a shorter edit of what I'd already told him, and again I was met with what appeared to be a dead line. This time, I didn't have to wait quite as long for his next comment.
"So what you're really saying is that you're my daughter. Am I correct? Oh please don't say anything. It was a rhetorical question." I could hear him clearing his throat yet again, but when he continued to speak it was his turn to stumble on the words.
"Hmm ... well ... what can I say other than ... than, as a matter of fact I tend to believe you."
I could have jumped for joy. And then it came to me, the inspiration that I had so longed for.
"Yes you're right. That's what I've been struggling to say. That I am your daughter, that is. You don't know how pleased I am that you're not dismissing me right away. I have a suggestion though. I realise that this must be a bit of a shock for you. I admire you for not hanging up on me and telling me where to go." I swallowed.
"Go on."
"What I would like to suggest is that I'll write you a letter with all the facts about me, how I found my mother, including what she's told me about you. I will leave a couple of weeks and then phone you back, if I may, and you can tell me what you think. How does that sound?"
"Young Lady, I think that's a very good idea. I'll be looking forward to your letter. But, let me say one thing before we hang up." A very long pause ensued ..."I've ... I've always wanted a daughter."
I gasped, tears filling my eyes, and I found myself too choked to say anything other than a feeble good bye.
I sat back in my chair when Alan eased the door open and peered in on my tear stained face with a startled look. I felt utterly drained. I threw him a wide smile while the tears continued rolling down my cheeks.
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thank to avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
By Ulla
Previously:
l've always known I was adopted, but in 2003, at the age of fifty-one, I decided to find my birth mother. After a short search with plenty of help, I found her in California.
I travelled over from Scotland, where I lived at the time, and stood on her doorstep. She let me in, and we hit it off right away.
She told me the story of my American father, who had to leave for faraway shores with the Merchant Marine. He promised to write, and Mum received a few letters. She then realised that she was pregnant, and wrote numerous letters, but never received an answer.
It was with a heavy heart that she gave me up for adoption right after my birth in May 1952.
Mum had left for Heidelberg, Germany to work and to mend, when she met George. They fell in love and left for Denmark to marry in the autumn of 1954.
They had just arrived at my grandmother's home after the wedding when she handed my Mum a letter, saying that was the last letter that had arrived from my Mum's American lover.
It turned out that there'd been eight or nine letters prior to that, but my Grandmother had burned them all.
George and my Mum left at once and checked into a hotel. In that last letter my father yet again asked why he hadn't heard anything and whether it was a boy or a girl they'd had. It was a last plea for Mum to answer. She decided against it as she'd just married George and was about to start a new life.
Mum told me that she'd decided to move back to Denmark. She revealed she had a half sister,
and a very good friend, with whom she'd never lost contact.
I had to leave to go back home to Scotland. On arrival, I'd received a letter telling me that the last known address of my father was in Jamaica. It also gave a surname I didn't recognise at all.
I went to Denmark with my best friend and the question about my father was yet again postponed.
Once back from Denmark, my life took an unexpected turn. I met my future husband, Alan, and we decided to move to Spain to live and sail. We went to visit Mum in the late autumn of 2003, and she provided me with the missing data of my father.
When we were back in Scotland, I entered the revised data on my father on the Internet, and dialled his number. It was very emotional and we spoke for the longest time, my father saying he'd always wanted a daughter. We agreed that I should write him a letter calling him back a couple of weeks later and we hung up.
Part Twenty-Six
I motioned for Alan to come and sit next to me, not yet knowing whether I was able to speak. It was as if a bubble of air was trapped in my mouth making it impossible.
Alan sat, took hold of my hand, caressing it gently, as he waited for my tears to subside. It had a wonderful soothing feel to it.
"Would you like me to bring you something a bit stronger than the cold coffee sitting there in front of you?"
I nodded and threw him a grateful smile. He rose, and a moment later was back handing me a glass of wine holding on to a glass of his own. We sat for a while in total silence, sipping our drink, both of us deep in our own thoughts. My tears were still flowing, but not as much as before, and I could feel myself calming down.
Alan watched me over the rim of his glass. "Do you want to tell me about it, Ulla, or are you not quite ready?"
I smiled through my tears. "It was just so emotional ... and ... and he sounds like such a fine man. I am to write him a letter telling him about myself and everything that will be relevant about Mum. We've agreed I'll phone him back in a couple of weeks' time and we'll take it from there."
Alan nodded. "Great idea and sensible too. Poor man, he's just heard from a long lost child. I don't blame him if he's in a bit of a shock. I admire him for his reaction though. You've maybe not fallen so far from the stem after all."
By now, I had fully recovered. I smiled throwing Alan a mischievous look. "Well, in that case I better give Mum a quick ring, she will be itching to hear how it went down. I promise I'll make it short. It's time we got something to eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
Mum had indeed been waiting to hear from me, and was thrilled when she heard the news. She made me promise to keep her posted about future news.
The next couple of weeks passed in a whirlwind of preparations for our move to Spain. So much had to be ready. We were leaving for good, after all, and decisions had to be made what to bring along and what to part with. It was an exciting time.
And then, one day, it was time to phone my father, and yet again, I found myself a complete wreck. My hand trembled so badly that I missed hitting the right numbers having to redial a couple of times, but in the end I managed to get it right.
This time he answered on the second ring.
"Hello, Reuben, how are you?"
I tried hard to keep my voice from shaking and I felt like choking. I didn't know what to say, my brain gone all empty.
To my relief he sounded quite pleased to hear from me. I cleared my throat and found that I could speak after all.
"Did you receive my letter, Reuben?"
"Yes, Ulla, and I read it with great interest. It confirmed that you are indeed my daughter. There was far too much information that nobody else could possibly have known."
I sighed, and smiled at the phone. Phew, I thought, that was a big hurdle to have overcome. Now what?
Before I got a chance to say anything further, he continued.
"Ulla, I have thought this through very carefully and as I've already said, I accept that you are my daughter. I lack words to say how pleased I am about that fact. But ... at this moment in time I'm not quite prepared to meet you if that's what you had in mind."
My heart sank below stomach level and a sense panic set in. At the same time I knew I had to be strong and accept what was being said. It didn't make it any easier though. The disappointment swept over me like a dark blanket.
I tried to say something but my father was already talking again.
"That doesn't mean that I don't want to have anything to do with you. Quite the opposite. I would very much like to know you better. My suggestion is that I give you my e-mail address and we write to each other. That way we can get to know each other a bit more and the odd phone call would be good as well. What do you think? Will you go along on those terms?"
I felt my spirit lifting. So all was not lost. I tried to think on my feet.
"Reuben, that's a great idea. Lets do that. I certainly respect and understand that this can't be easy for you. I don't even know what your family situation is."
"Well, I divorced many years ago and have never remarried. I live with my older brother who moved in with me when he was widowed a few years back. I also have a son who lives in the State of New York, and I just don't feel ready to tell them about you. Well, at least not yet."
"I understand, Reuben. Let's do what you're suggesting and write to each other. That'll be great."
I got the details of the e-mail address and we said our fond good bye. As I put down the phone it dawned on me that I had a brother.
To be continued.
| Author Notes | Thanks to Avmurray for the use of the artwork. |
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