So Much More(85)

She takes a seat calmly.

I sit next to her dazed, but alert.

She takes my hand in hers and stares at them in my lap.

And then she tells me about the day I was born. “My tummy had been hurting real bad all afternoon. When Mama came home from work and saw the sheets on my bed underneath me all wet, she took me to the hospital.

“Mama stayed in the room with me while you were born. She sat in a chair across the room. She didn’t look at me the whole time, but I saw her crying.” Hope’s eyes look distant with concentration like she’s lost in the memory, reliving it, recalling every detail.

“The second you were born, the doctor said, ‘It’s a girl,’ and you cried. Your cry was quiet but loud at the same time like you were a tiny kitty on the outside and a lion on the inside. It made me smile, ‘cause I knew you were strong. And I didn’t say it out loud, but I named you Hope ‘cause that’s what I felt. I felt hope.

“You were so tiny, just like a doll, when the nurse laid you on my chest. She smiled at me like she was happy and sad all at once, and she whispered, ‘We’re not supposed to let you hold her, but I think she deserves to know you, if only for a minute.’

“The tears started running down my cheeks, and I couldn’t stop ‘em. They weren’t sad tears. You were so beautiful. I stroked your head real soft like and talked to you even softer. ‘I love you, Hope.’ That’s what I told you. I’d never told no one I loved ‘em before. I never felt like I loved no one until I looked at you, and my heart felt so full I didn’t know how else to say it. And then I told you, ‘Your new mama and daddy are gonna take real good care of you. You’re gonna be smart, and nice, and good, and so pretty. I’m glad I got to be the mama who got to meet you first, I’ll never forget you.’” She looks at me. “I was right, you’re all those things.

“The nurse came back, and I kissed you on the forehead, and she took you away. To your new mama and daddy that my mama found for you. I don’t remember their first names, but their last name was—”

“Groves,” we say together. And my heart clenches for Hope and for me.

She nods. “They lived far away and couldn’t have a baby of their own, so they wanted you. And since Mama said I was too young and wasn’t ready to be a mama, I was glad you were gonna live with ‘em, ‘cause they promised to take real good care of you.” She looks at me thoughtfully, and there’s pride in her next words. “You were so special. Special like something that only happens once in a lifetime. When I looked at you, I only saw good things and it made me forget about every bad thing that anyone had ever said or done to me. You took it all away. You were my hope.”

“Did you ever think about me after I was gone?” All my life I’ve wondered. Dreamed that my mom was out there somewhere thinking about me like I was thinking about her.

“I knew better than to ask Mama, ‘cause she said you weren’t mine no more after that day and ‘cause you belonged to another family she said I wasn’t allowed to talk about you to no one. She told me to forget you, but I never stopped thinking about you. Every night since, before I go to bed I say a prayer for you, ‘Please keep Hope safe and happy.’ I don’t pray for nothing else. Just for you. And every year on your birthday I sing you ‘Happy Birthday.’”

“How old were you when I was born?” I ask.

“Seventeen,” she answers matter-of-factly.

I nod. She was young and obviously incapable of caring for a child. No wonder her mother intervened and I was given up for adoption. “What about my father? Who is he?”

Her eyes go dead for a few seconds before she stares off into space. I don’t think she’s going to answer. And then she does. “His name was Dan. I met him at school. He called me pretty. He was my boyfriend.”

“Where is he now? Do you know?” I have a feeling asking this question is a long shot, and to be honest I don’t care, hearing Hope’s story is enough.

She shrugs. “Don’t know. He had to move away after I told him I was pregnant. His mama needed him.” She doesn’t seem sad, more nostalgic. Like she’s thinking of someone she hasn’t thought about in a very long time.

“How did you know, Hope? That I was your baby? You only saw me for a few minutes, and that was twenty-two years ago.”

She squeezes my hand. “Remember what Seamus said this morning about meeting his babies for the first time and them imprinting on his soul?” She shrugs. “It’s true. I knew when you knocked on my door that first time and gave me a pineapple, who you were.”

I’m stunned and in awe, searching Hope’s face in a whole new light. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You have a family. You’re theirs. I didn’t think it was allowed like Mama said.” She truly believes it.

I hug her. “It’s allowed. And they’re not my family anymore.”

She pulls back from the hug and looks surprised. “They’re not?”

I shake my head. “No. You are.”

I’m gifted with one of Hope’s rare smiles and for the first time in twenty-two years, I feel complete. Satisfied. I know many would be skeptical, question it, dig deeper. But in my heart, the search is over and this part of my research is done. I found my mom. Or she found me.