Seeing Her

We left before noon that Monday, for my birthmother's town. 'We' being myself and my (adoptive) mother. My stomach was tossing and turning and her driving didn't help matters and I did have some regrets about taking her...or, at least, allowing her to drive. She doesn't 'believe' in using cruise control. (I'm all over cruise when I'm in the driver's seat.) Truth is, I didn't know how I would feel being behind the wheel after I saw M.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was constantly scanning the lot, halls and elevators for possible birthfamily members. My plan - especially if I bumped into my sister - was to take their cue. I did not want to make anyone uncomfortable and I was there simply because I felt that I needed to be. So, if I bumped into them and they seemed friendly/receptive, I'd stop...if they didn't, I'd keep on going. Thankfully, I never bumped into any of them.

We made our way to M's room and I went silent. No words. In a mix of fear and anxiety, all words disappeared from my mouth and mind.

Marg's room had four beds in it and two of them were empty. The bed closest to the door was occupied by a woman that was doing a crossword puzzle. Beside her bed (and also beside M's bed) sat a caregiver/sitter who smiled and said hello when we stepped into the room. My mother asked if this was M's room and the sitter replied that yes, it was, but that M was having a rough day and needed to hold someone's hand. I looked and the sitter was helping the woman with a crossword puzzle with one hand and with the other she was holding my birthmother's hand.

I was filled with emotion, that I swallowed down, at that sight. M was so vulnerable...and alone, in that moment. I was sad that a stranger was holding her hand and her family was not.

My mother led the way over to M's bed and I followed. M was asleep and looked so small, compared to when I saw her last. Her hair was coloured. Her face was wrinkled. Her nails were long and jagged. Her legs, under the bed sheet, were as thin as the smallest part of my wrists. She was hooked up to many IVs. M was being pumped full of three antibiotics, trying to win the fight of infection that was going through her body rapidly. She was in a lot of pain and was on meds to keep her comfy and was on fluids for nutrition. She had not been eating or drinking for five days. It seemed like she probably had not taken any food/fluids for much longer than that.

M was not responsive when my mother went to the side of the bed and began to talk to her. I stood there, by the side of the bed, like my feet were stuck to the floor. Everything flashed through my mind... She wasn't going to respond. She wasn't going to hear me. She's dying. She doesn't know I'm even here. What do I say? What do I do? Do I touch her? How can I even talk to her? How can I say anything that's in my heart, to her, with my mother there?

My mom touched M's shoulder and said, "M, it's B and Laurel...we came from the city to see you. M, Laurel is here, she wants to see you."

As we stood there, M started to move her face and head. Her eyes opened slightly and she looked. She opened her eyes more and looked right at me and said, "Oh my...you really came?" (I'm still silent.) My mom says, "Yes, we came to see you because we heard you weren't feeling well and that you had a fall." M replied and said, "Well isn't this a surprise." She lifted her hands up as if wanting to lift her arms, too.

She was reaching...for me.

I moved in and bent down and with as much strength as she had (and it was a lot, I couldn't pull away) she put her hands around my head and neck and held it tightly to the crook of her neck and said, "My daughter...you came. My girl." When she let go and I pulled away, a smile was spread across her face.

While all of this was happening, the sitter next to her bed had dropped her jaw to the floor and a nurse walked in. The sitter told us that M had not opened her eyes or spoken in the last 36 hours. The nurse asked who we were. My mother explained while I stood looking into M's eyes and rubbing her arm and shoulder. M then also said, "My daughter, she came to see me," as she pointed in my direction. The nurse said that M was clearly ecstatic to see me and kind of shook her head, a bit puzzled, still...and left the room.

We talked to the sitter and made small conversation with M for the next ten minutes or so. M opened her eyes a bit and grunted, but kept falling back into a deep sleep.

(The sitter told us that there had been two girls in just an hour before us, to visit M. I had her describe the visitors and she described my sister and her girlfriend, exactly. I guess they 'kinda' didn't stay away from visiting M that day.)

My mother told M that we were going to leave and let her rest. M opened her eyes and said, "Make sure to come back." My mother nodded.

I leaned in to kiss her cheek and she said, "Don't forget me." I didn't quite hear her...and I asked her what she said and she said, "Please come back and please don't forget me. Don't forget me."

I shook my head to answer that I wouldn't forget her, but I didn't feel able to speak it and started to walk out. I was so overwhelmed with emotion and when I turned back, to say it to her, she was deep in sleep.

So, I said it in my heart, in hopes that she would hear it in her heart.

I would get the chance, a week later, to say it to her.