Martin Bridgeman

It’s a running theme in my blog about mothers. It’s bound to be when you talk of adoption. This is not about me, but rather, on this day, a celebration of a wonderful and inspirational woman who was my mother in pretty much every respect apart from blood. 

Since I’ve come to this search/journey/odyssey in the past few years, a lot of time has been around new beginnings, new insights, new relationships and realisations about myself and the people around me. Today it’s hit me hard about how an adoptive mother feels.

In my case, Maisie and Mick met me and took me to their hearts and home when I was 6 months old. In those times, it fell to Maisie to do the heavy lifting of rearing me and I was reflecting on this today. She was told a little about my birth mother and I’ve now seen some of the paperwork and I’m sure Maisie would have had her thoughts on her. Whatever she thought, she kept it to herself and only on one occasion mentioned it directly to me. 

As she neared her death, she sat me down and we had ‘the talk’. I had avoided it for many years at that stage and was a parent of two children so I was going through my own stuff but, in her own straight way, Maisie made me think. She made it clear that I had to seek out my birth story, make contact if possible, check out my full past if possible. She made it clear that I owed it to my children and that she was okay with me doing that. She made me promise I would. 

Doing the conversation she made a comment that said all I needed to know. “Don’t be hard on your mother. I’m sure she had her reasons. I’m sure she wanted the best for you”. As I reeled from that one, she went on. “You need to do this. Don’t worry about me. I’m good”. This was not a passive aggressive comment. Maisie was as straight as the day was long. She meant exactly what she said.

At the time I was deeply uncomfortable with this request. As time passed and I spoke with friends at her funeral, the full impact hit. This was a profound thing for one woman to do in respect of another;. Knowing now a little more about the process, I further reflected on the times. She had me as her own but there was still a possibility that my birth mother could have changed her mind, not signed papers, for example. Anything was possible so I expect that there was a sense of unease for a while. It’s just one among many things that adoptive mothers have to contend with. As I said, she never mentioned it. I, like many adoptive people, had that particular form of divided loyalty and I simply put it to one side.

As I have said many, many times, it’s complicated. Maisie has totally got that and had freed me in a way, her passing gift, a lifting of that guilt we all feel as adoptees. 

The fact remains that during my life as her son, she loved me in every respect, did all that was right for me to the best of her abilities, helped me, counselled me, scolded me when It was warranted and generally did her level best for me.

There are too many memories flowing around today but one came to me earlier. She loved her grandchildren deeply and it’s a cause of sadness that she never saw them grow up to be the fine people they are. She came to stay with us shortly after our daughter was born, who had been a colicky baby for about three months. We tried every known cure but despite our genuine efforts, night times were rarely peaceful for the little one. Her brother had no clue what was going on other than this crying thing was in his house and causing ructions. On Christmas Eve, Granny came to stay and insisted on our going out. Reluctant to leave our colicky daughter and her confused brother, she still hooshed us out the door. Needless to say, we didn’t stay out long. We came home and found the two on her lap, the little scrap peaceful for the first time at that hour of the night and her brother sitting as proud as punch on his granny’s knee. Her smile will remain with me forever. She had the gift and was helping the next generation, doing what was needed.

I’m proud to be her son.