OUT OF THE PAST - 3

I had learned, for sure, that my birth mother had loved me and now I had to wait for a letter from my half-sister, Jill, who had been looking for me for 15 years. It wasn't going to be an easy letter for Jill to write, so I understood that it might take some time. It came surprisingly quickly, during another Sicilian siesta hour, with a covering email from the lady in the Norfolk Adoption Department.

"Are you ready for this?" she  wrote. "It's very emotional."

I was as ready as I would ever be. I had an afternoon appointment within minutes, but I had to look. First, I opened Jill's letter, in which she told me about her search for me, her family and our half-brother in America. It was so kind and affectionate in tone that I felt close to Jill immediately, as I had known I would. There was a photo of her as well and I liked the pretty, gentle-looking woman I saw. Jill had enclosed my birth mother's last letter and several photos labelled "photos of birth mother, etc." I  was  already crying, so I realised I would have to leave the letter till I got back, but I couldn't resist opening the photos.

Suddenly, before me, was a woman whose features I recognised because - and this dawned slowly - they were also mine and she was smiling out at me. This was the first time I had seen a photo of any birth relative and I cannot describe what it was like. The overwhelming feeling was one of, "So there you are, with me at last" and I kept wanting to reach out and touch her. I think I did. 

Of  the second photo, Jill had written, 

"This is a photo of mum with an American soldier called *****, in London in 1949. Could this be your natural father, Pat?"

My birth mum and natural father,
London, 1949

I knew that he was, from the name  [which I won't give here] on the adoption documents, so after 64 years, I was sitting in Sicily looking at a picture of my natural father, too!  I certainly hadn't expected that....

Still feeling I was dreaming, I walked to my appointment, but my mind, as you can imagine, wasn't in Modica at all. I was thinking of a young couple in London in 1949 - it was even possible that my birth mum was pregnant with me when the picture was taken - and of another couple who were happy in London at around the same time:

My adoptive parents,
London, 1940s

Later that day, I came home and opened my birth mum's letter. I caught my breath as I saw her handwriting with the same upward slope as mine had when I was younger. After explaining that my natural father had died in America and that she had been under a lot of pressure to have me adopted, my birth mum writes, of me,

"I can't go into it all now and all I can say is that she was beautiful."

Then I put my head down on the desk and wept.

To be continued.

Post scriptum:
I can now tell you that when I posted this sabato musicale at the end of May, it was for my birth mum.