Birth day - Birth Mom

 On the eve of my birthday, I want to give thanks to the woman who carried me for 9 months of true hardship. 9 months that were physically, emotionally and psychologically straining and then she did one of the hardest things a woman will ever do; she gave her baby away.  She gave me away. 

She knew my life would be better with a different family and MAN OH MAN was she right (it's a long story, one that I have actually written a yet unpublished book). 

I don't have an earlier picture of myself than the one above.  The picture was taken the day my mom and dad brought me home at six months. 

Her life's testimony since is encouraging to many people, especially women.  Our story is one that encourages and has allowed me to speak to groups that minister to young women who are making tough decisions as they are carrying "unwanted" children.  My youngest son, Ethan, used our story in Uganda this past month as he ministered to pregnant teenage girls to encourage them.  

You see, as my all time favorite bumper sticker said: 'GOD DON'T MAKE JUNK!' with a picture of a little baby next to it. The picture above could have fit on that bumper sticker.

I am not, nor ever was a "mistake".  The circumstances surrounding my birth were in many ways horrible and tragic, but I WAS NO MISTAKE and neither are those unwed mother's babies!  I don't mean for my blog to be political or devisive in any way, but the most startling thing I found out the morning I met my birth mother was that she had tried to abort me, not once, but twice.  Her life circumstances were so desperate and hellish that she felt out of choices, so she desperately searched for a resolution that might help her preserve her life and those of her three children. 

I have never told the story about finding my birth mother without the person I am telling either crying and/or telling me to finish the book, you see, she isn't the same person she was when she carried me.  Ours is a story of hope, faith and grace. She has a faith in God that she is loved, forgiven and free of any guilt and I bear no ill feelings about the past. God had a plan for me then and he still does now. 
 

 She is my birth mother and the reason I can celebrate my birthdays in spite of her earlier tragic circumstances.  

My mom, the woman who raised me, used to tell me on my birthdays that there was a special woman out there who gave her one of her greatest gifts; me.  

My mom was thankful for her and so am I.   

Please hug your mom!

Today was my mom's birthday.  I say was because I don't think birthdays are a big thing in heaven because everyday is like a celebrated birthday there!

This was my status update on Facebook this morning:

Today, I lift a glass to toast my mom. She has been gone since I was in my twenties, but she is so ever present in my heart and my personality. She (and dad) adopted me when I was a baby, but she never let me forget that "she worked damn hard" to get me. Today was her official birthday, but true to form for my mom and her unique style, she wouldn't celebrate her birthday on the same day as D-Day, so she unofficially changed it. Here's to a wonderful mom, who is so often missed!

Immediately my friends started LIKING the status.  This tells me two things, I have thoughtful friends and MOMS are popular!

My mom was an unpretentious scholar.  She was very loved by students and staff at the university she spent most of her career at.  My mom was a tough as nails first generation immigrant. She was a no BS'r and taught me there is no room for excuses.  The last thing my mom said in the ICU was to a nurse, "My son is a Vice President!"  Mom was very proud of my accomplishment in the business world.  My goal had been to hold the title of Vice President by thirty and I beat it by a few years, just in time for my mom to see "her boy had made something of himself".

Then my mom died. I was heartbroken and lost in many ways.  I tried to make sense of it all. I had two young sons and she needed to stay to be their grandma.  She needed to stay because I needed her.  She needed to stay because she was AWESOME!  I loved and liked my mom with an intensity that could only come from the fact that we had three years of battling and sadly a year like the cold war, where we both simply avoided each other.  Then I called her after listening to a friend tell me how much he hated his mom and I watched as his hatred was all consuming.  I realized in that moment that I had a chance to do the right thing, so I called her and told her, no matter what has happened between us, no matter who is to blame, I AM SORRY.  Please forgive me.  I miss you.  Mom cried and asked me to forgive her too.  That was about five years before she died, so I had five years of an adult to adult relationship with one of the most fascinating, wonderful individuals I have EVER met; my own mom. 

My biggest regret is that my scholarly mom, my English teaching mom, my great listener mom, my champion of anything I endeavored mom, my rock mom, my wonderful, complicated, crazy mom never saw me published.  I can think of nothing my mom would have loved more than to see her son in print. 

My biggest irony as a published author was that my first book; My Garden Visits, was about her and the eternal imprint that she left.  That all moms leave.

I wrote of experiences I thought would be universally comforting to those whose moms had left their earthly bodies and it worked! It works! My book is now out of print, but just yesterday a woman who read it for her book club ten years ago approached me to tell me how the book touched her heart.

So, PLEASE hug your mom today!  Call her if a hug isn't possible.  Tell your mom specifically what she means to you.  I would give a lot to sit with my mom and have one more lunch.  I played a game recently where you decide what three people in history that are no longer alive would you most want to have lunch with.  Of everyone I could choose my mom was one of them.  Seriously, to sit with her for a few hours, physically face to face is one of my biggest wishes.  If you still can do so and aren't, please do.

  

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Though the book I wrote about my mom is out of print, you can get it for a few cents on amazon.com.  I do plan to see the book uploaded for the Kindle and other eReaders soon. 


http://www.amazon.com/My-Garden-Visits-Justin-Matott/dp/0345412516/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344274444&sr=8-1&keywords=my+garden+visits

Of all human creations, a garden comes nearest to heaven. In Justin Matott's garden, sweet peas, larkspur, peppermint, peas, corn, tomatoes, and a hundred other sweetly-scented and delicious things bloom and ripen daily -- gifts of earth's bounty.

One day in that garden a very special miracle occurred. Justin felt the loving presence of his mother, who had left this earth five years before. Why had she come? What could her invisible but palpable presence mean?

As he sowed, weeded, and harvested, he listened to his visitor's silent communications and felt the movement of change and growth within himself. In the forget-me-not, he was reminded of the precious uniqueness of his mother -- and every other part of creation. Along with crocuses and daffodil, memories of childhood blossomed. The cycle of garden life impressed upon him the eternal flow of beginning, renewal, loss, and new beginning.

At first, Justin hesitated to mention these mysterious, wordless colloquies, but when he did, family and friends urged him to write about them. So now we have this wonderful book, which invites us into the author's beautiful garden to share the love and wisdom that flowered among poppies and bean poles.