Every Sunday, I had watched her prepare elaborate family meals without noticing how little she actually ate. She had continued smiling, baking, and caring for everyone else while privately worrying about the son she had lost.
In September, Carol called to explain that Sam’s condition was deteriorating and that his doctors wanted potential donors tested urgently. Sam had also asked to meet his birth mother, even if their reunion could only be brief.
Mom invented the trip to Margaret’s house because Margaret had been the only person who understood what happened in 1963. She first traveled to Erie, visited the former maternity home’s location, and spent time at Margaret’s grave before continuing to Pittsburgh.
On Tuesday morning, she entered Sam’s hospital room for the first time. He recognized her immediately and greeted her with the word she had waited sixty-three years to hear.
“Hi, Mom.”
They spent the next six days together, sharing stories, holding hands, and examining the yellow blanket he had kept throughout his life. Sam told her about his adoptive parents, his marriage, his teaching career, and the family he hoped she would someday meet.
