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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 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.