Meeting My Brother’s Birth Mother

On Sunday (today, if you are reading this on Sunday), I will visit my brother Eric’s birth mother.

There are unnamable feelings, like an oil slick on water, or a Labrador of dog hair in my chest. I try to tease them apart, to understand, make sense.

The only feeling I can articulate is one of insufficiency: I am meeting with a woman because I am a conduit to a better understanding of her son.

I am meeting her because I said I would, and because she was gracious when we spoke, and because it feels like filling in an essential missing piece of a 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle, and honestly, because I am curious.

This morning (Thursday), Eric called. He said he would see if he could get off work so he could be there, too.

His text came back minutes after we hung up. “I am all set for Sunday.”

I’m glad Eric will be there. I’m glad I can be there as a bonus, rather than a consolation prize.

I’m most glad that these late-in-life connections are connecting my brother and me in new ways. I am so proud of how we are being gentle and careful with each other as we navigate this unfamiliar terrain.

Chewing the Cud of Good

Thankful for kindness.



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