Mother's Day

Mother’s Day.

I know I just posted yesterday that I don’t think, I just type, but today’s post started a while ago—in anticipation for Mother’s Day.

See, God in His providence, in His infinite knowledge decided that I would need 2 Mothers.

The first, I u unaffectionally call the egg donor.  She got that name a number of years ago, while I was at work, talking with Elsie Lewke.  She coined the phrase egg donor.  It actually sounds harsh, it’s not meant to, but quite literally, my biological mother is exactly that.

Enough about her.

In 1982, at the ripe age of 13.5, my biological parents placed a phone call, asking for my Aunt and Uncle to take me.  I had no idea that this phone call had taken place.  Once the phone call was done, it couldn’t be un-done.  The answer was no, they didn’t want to take me.

My egg-donor told me I was no longer welcome in the home and in a sit down style meeting she told me where I was going to go.  I had 3 choices:

1. An all-girl Catholic School on the North Shore of Vancouver.  I would have to work for my tuition and so I would work all holidays, professional days and long weekends, I would not be permitted home.
2. Foster care.  This option, although more appealing than the first, scared me to death.  My brother had been in foster care and the boys never treated the girls very well.
3. I would go live with my Aunt and Uncle in Victoria.

The Catholic School was looking like the best option in my 13 year old mind. 

I knew my Aunt and Uncle from pictures really, they had been in Argentina and Toronto while I was growing up—moving to Vancouver Island just the year before.  If I remember correctly we spent 1 day (around Christmas) with them, but I don’t remember any interactions with that part of the family.

Once it was agreed that I was to go to Victoria, my egg donor filled my head and heart with fears.  I had to get a job, how would I afford soap?  I was equally terrified of the move to Victoria as I was a move to Foster care.  The following September as a jab my egg donor sent me soap for my birthday gift.  I have never forgotten that.

The day came to leave and I cried to my Father that I would be better behaved, I BEGGED him not to make me go, but the egg donor told him it was either me or her and he was making his choice—and it wasn’t me.

I sat in the van sobbing while my biological parents drove me to the ferry.  The egg donor said over and over again, shut up, I don’t want to hear you whining.

They walked me on the ferry, there was fear that I would turn around and follow them back.  Who would want to go back to that?

We met my Uncle at the ferry terminal in Sidney, my biological parents handed me off and said good bye. 

The drive to my new home was excruciating.  Fricker’s don’t really talk.  My new Dad asked me questions, but I don’t remember really responding.

We got to our home on Canterbury Road and my memory of this has not faded with time. 

My new mom said, “Where are they?”

 

Dad said, “They turned around and went home on the same ferry.”

Mom said, “What?”  She was irritated, I knew that for sure, but she was very controlled with her irritation.  She then took me in her arms, hugged me.  I felt like an alien and I couldn’t wait to get away.  She then took my face in her hands and said, “I’m your mom now.”

Who does that.  Really.  Who takes a kid like me and does that?  I was addicted to smoking, drugs, I drank on a daily basis, and I smelled, I had bad hair, I was underweight and yet there was immediate love.

Over the next couple days, I needed a wardrobe, I actually moved in with 1 pair of jeans, 1 pair of overalls, 1 t-shirt, 1 blouse, 1 bra, 2 pairs of panties, and a pair of runners.  All of my stuff actually fit with room to spare on one side of a suitcase.

So, she bought me clothes, I got a hair cut, and by three days in, I was pretty presentable.

Over the next number of years I learned so much from her.  One of the first things I learned was to be self-controlled.  It was something that I would work on for years, but she gave me someone to emulate. 

My mother is the kind of woman that people love and want to be.  Her kindness and goodness, overflows from her to those around her.  She has cried for me, her heart has been broken for me, she has advocated for me and she continually prays for me.

I have actually heard men and women say that she is the most beautiful woman they have ever known, she has grace and a sense of style and an unconditional love that is uncompromising.

If, in anyway, I can be like her, I am a better woman than what I should have been.  I know that full well.

I could never repay all you have done for me, taught me, emulated for me, instructed me and loved me…..today and always, I love you Mom!