Dreams were not something I usually remembered in the morning, but recently I’d started having vivid ones about my son. One Saturday morning I woke from yet another, rubbing my eyes in confusion. What did the dreams mean?
It wasn’t surprising that my son Chad would be on my mind. He had recently undergone brain surgery to remove a tumor. Doctors were optimistic, but a mother can’t help but worry. Chad was married, with two beautiful children. They needed him. We all needed him.
The strange thing was, Chad wasn’t the son I was dreaming about. I was dreaming about his elder brother, my first child, whom I’d never even seen.
I was 16 when I got pregnant that first time. Passion had taken hold of my senses. I thought only of gratifying my young heart. Now I would bring a child into this world. That changed everything. I matured overnight. My wants and needs took a backseat. In my heart I knew adoption was best for my baby, no matter how hard it was for me.
Night after night, all these years later, I found myself reliving it. When I closed my eyes I was a teenager once more, loving the baby inside me, knowing it was the only time we’d be together. In my dreams I signed the adoption papers again: I hereby relinquish all rights to my son. My son, even though I’d never seen or held or cared for him.
Adoption, in some ways, is like a death. Your baby is gone forever, but you never stop thinking about him, wondering about him, worrying: Is he okay? Is he happy? Is he loved? Is it possible I’ll ever cross paths with him? Would I know it if I did?
I got out of bed and tried to focus on the present. I’d gone on with my life, got married and had Chad. I couldn’t believe he was mine. I touched his cheek to make sure he was real, and counted all his tiny fingers. That love only got stronger as Chad grew up. Still there was a hole inside me that even Chad couldn’t fill. When he was an adult I told him about his brother.
“Did you ever think of trying to find him, Mom?” Chad asked after I’d finished my story.
I shook my head. “He has his own life now. If he wants to find me, I’m here, but it wouldn’t be fair for me to raise the issue if it’s something he decided to leave behind.”
How I wished he would come looking for me, to fill the hole inside me and answer all my questions. But I was used to that pain by now. Why was I suddenly dreaming about it? Especially when Chad needed my complete attention?
I pushed the dream out of my head and got dressed. I had plenty of things to do around the house. By afternoon I’d finished all the laundry and paid the bills. Guess I ought to check my e-mail, I thought.
I clicked on the computer and went through my messages. My eye fell on the yellow icon leading to a list of chat rooms. I’d never been to one. On impulse I clicked to a list of topics: relationships, sports, family. Family. Was there any better topic? I chose a chat room called “The Backyard.”
Two young people were already talking there. I quickly got the gist of their conversation. Both adopted, they weren’t sure they would ever want to meet their birth parents.
“My birth mother didn’t want me when I was born,” said one. “Why would she want me now?”
My fingers flew over the keyboard. “Your mother might have wanted you more than anything!” I typed. “Giving up my baby years ago was the hardest thing I ever did. I ache for my son to this day.”
Someone named Ioulette chimed in. “Me too,” she said. “Your mothers might be longing to know you.”
“With this big ole Internet,” I added, “it’s too bad birth moms like us can’t post our information to let our kids know we’re here if they want us.”
“We can,” Ioulette typed back. She gave me the link to a Web site that did just that.
I stared at it. Was there any way my son could be looking for me? I clicked on the address. A detailed form popped up, asking for my child’s birthday and the city where he was born. It can’t hurt, I thought. I typed in the information and pressed Enter.
A second screen popped up immediately with a name and e-mail address. Tommy McKinnon. Same birthday as my son. Same hospital. Same doctor. Same name: Baby Boy Zigler he was called at birth. It was him. My son. His name was Tommy and his e-mail address was right in front of me on my screen. In my wildest dreams!
I called Chad. “I’m going to send an e-mail,” I said. I wrote it with Chad on the phone for moral support. Chad wished me luck, and I hit Send. After that there was nothing to do but wait. Wait and ask the same questions I’d asked for years: Was Tommy loved? Was he happy? Would I actually get to see him after all this time?
Two days later Tommy replied with his phone number. I didn’t know if I could go through with it. What would I say? I called Chad for advice. “Let me make the first call, Mom,” he said. “Maybe that’ll make it easier.” After what seemed like hours, my phone rang. It was Chad.
“I have a brother!” Chad said. “I knew as soon as I heard his voice. It’s really him. He’s waiting for your call.”
My knees went weak.
“Just say what’s in your heart,” Chad said. “It will all work out.”
Lord, help me through this. I dialed the number. A man answered on the second ring. “Tommy?” I asked timidly.
Tommy didn’t miss a beat. “Mama?” he said.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurted.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Tommy told me all about his adoptive family and his own family. He was married, with two children. Suddenly I was a grandmother of four! And all my questions were answered. Tommy was happy. He was loved. A mother couldn’t want a better life for her son.
The very next night Chad and I stood in my driveway, waiting for Tommy. He was driving from Texas to Arkansas to meet us. Chad squeezed my hand as a red Jeep Cherokee pulled into the driveway.
A man climbed out and walked toward me with open arms. I held him to me. Finally! I drew back and touched his cheek. I took his hand and counted all of his fingers, just as I’d done the first time I held Chad. He’s real, I thought. The hole inside me was filled with love. Both my boys were beside me. I didn’t know why God had given me this gift.
We did all we could to make up for lost time. We pored over baby pictures. Tommy returned with his family. Tommy’s kids and Chad’s kids hit it off like the long-lost cousins they were. Chad threw a “meet my brother” party.
Everything seemed perfect. Then Chad warned me to brace myself for bad news. His tumor had returned. Chad went through a second surgery, radiation treatment and chemotherapy. This time the doctors were not as hopeful. Tommy drove up from Texas often and slept beside his brother on a cot in the hospital room.
Our big new family clung together for strength. Four years after Tommy came into our lives, Chad died. Without him, we needed one another more than ever.
Those motherly worries can eat at me on my worst days. Is Chad happy? Is he loved? Will I ever see him again? But on better days I have all the answers. God forever watches over children, whether they are near or far. Chad is happy and loved in heaven, and God will one day reunite us. The miracle of my first son told me I could count on it.
Read more stories about heavenly angels and angels on earth.
