The week of May 28, 2013, I received the estate file for my birth mother. I decided to try to locate the executor of the estate, thinking she could give me insight as to who my birth mother was as a person. The executor I found on the internet had passed away, but her daughter was also a witness to the will. I looked her up on the internet and found her address and phone number. I called her and left a message. She called me back a week later. She told me I was a “blast from the past.”
The daughter of the executor told me, “Your birth mom wasn’t a bad person.” A lump formed in my throat. She told me my birth mom lacked social skills, was not a “motherly person,” and lived at the bar the executor owned. The executor bought all of my birth mom’s clothes and her necessities to live. It appeared she didn’t know how to live on her own. My eyes watered as I listened. Her experiences as an orphan molded her into the woman she became.
As we were discussing my birth mom’s life trials, the executor’s daughter said, “I remember the day you came along.” I almost fell to my knees when I heard that phrase. I asked her, “Wait, you knew about me?”
She laughed and said, “Rebecca, your birth was a comedy of errors.” She then went on to tell me that my birth mom was an alcoholic. She would open the bar at 7 a.m. and stay there, drinking all day and into the night. The evening of January 11, 1980, my birth mom was at the bar, where she had been all day. Suddenly she started having stomach pains and cramps. The executor drove her to the hospital, where she was admitted. The executor left the hospital to close her bar, and when she returned a nurse told her “it would be any time.”
The executor looked at her with a confused expression. The nurse said my birth mom was going to have a baby. The executor said that was impossible, as my birth mom didn’t have a boyfriend. The nurse quipped, “Well, she didn’t do it on her own.” My birth mom had no idea she was pregnant, nor did anyone else. I asked the executor’s daughter if my birth mom held me. She said yes, she did. I can’t explain the feeling I had when I heard that. I had wondered for 33 years. A smile came across my lips.
The executor’s daughter told me my birth mom would talk about my birth every now and then. She would get nostalgic on my birthday and wonder if I was happy and had a good upbringing. Again, a smile crossed my face. Another answer after 33 years. The amazing part is that the executor is the one who contacted the adoption agency. She told my birth mom she couldn’t raise a baby, and the best option would be to put her up for adoption. I began to cry when I heard that. I have had an amazing life with an amazing family. My birth mom gave me beautiful gifts of family, friends, and life. For these things, I am forever thankful.