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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.