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.