My thoughts turned to Leona. I knew how difficult it must have been for her to share this news with me. The next day was Mother’s Day, and I felt guilty even thinking about calling this woman when Leona had been such a wonderful mother to me. Throughout my life, I had spent that special day in church honoring her as she proudly wore the corsage that announced she was a mother. She had chosen to love me when she had no obligation to do so. She had happily taken me into her home and treated me as well as she had her biological child. She didn’t deserve such disloyalty.
As I sat near her in the pew at church the next morning, I felt such love for her, but as I squeezed her hand, I couldn’t stop thinking about the other woman, the one who had given birth to me when she was only fifteen years old. I couldn’t quite fathom that. I felt compassion for the young girl who had been faced with such an adult situation.
By the end of the day, I knew what I had to do. I had always believed that everything happens for a reason, and this could be no different.
When I got home, I walked into the living room and sat down in my favorite chair. Still holding the woman’s picture, I reached for the phone and began dialing. My heart was pounding as I punched in the numbers. Holding my breath, I waited.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
Then I heard a man’s voice on the answering machine. Speaking with a distinct accent, he said, “You have reached Judy Gilford and Frank Velasquez. Your call is very important to us, but we are unable to take your call at this time. Please leave your name and phone number, along with your message, and we will return your call as soon as we can.”
Disappointment raced through me. I wanted so badly to hear her voice. I hesitated for a moment.
Taking a deep breath, I finally spoke. “This message is for Judith Gilford. This is Gary Stewart, and I think you may be my mother.” I paused for a moment, steadying my voice. “If you are my mother, I would like to wish you a happy Mother’s Day … for the first time. If you are not my mother, then I hope you have a happy Mother’s Day as well. If you would like to return my call, you can reach me at …” And I left my number.
Not knowing if I had done the right thing, I sank into my recliner, drained. It had taken everything I had to make that call. I reached over to turn on the lamp and then sat there for hours, staring at her picture.
Later that evening, Frank Velasquez decided to call home and check for messages. He and Judy, as she preferred to be called, were visiting relatives in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Although they were not married, Judy often referred to him as her husband. They enjoyed traveling together and had booked this trip as a short getaway.
Frank listened for a moment and then retrieved the message again.
“Honey, you have to listen to this one,” he said, handing Judy the phone. She listened to the message over and over, crying uncontrollably as she heard my voice for the first time.
“You have to call him now,” Frank insisted.
Judy couldn’t. She was too overwrought.
“I can’t. It’s so late,” she hedged. “And I don’t think we have enough minutes on the phone card.”
Frank took the phone from her hand and dialed a number, paying for an additional thousand minutes before handing the phone back to her.
Judy stared at it for a moment and then dialed the number I had left on the recorder.
I was still sitting in my living room when the shrill ringing of the telephone startled me out of my reverie.
“Hello,” I said, my voice cracking as I tried to still my trembling hands.
“Hi,” Judy whispered into the phone. “This is Judy Gilford.”
The sound of her voice shot through me like an electrical current. I started crying. I couldn’t speak.
“I know you may not believe me, but I love you. I’ve always loved you,” Judy said, her voice quavering. Like a dam that had suddenly broken, we both started talking at once. “You have a grandson,” I told her. “He’s ten, and his name is Zach.”
We talked for what seemed like hours, interrupting each other in our eagerness to share everything. It felt as though I were in a dream – that this was happening to someone else, that an impossible prayer was being answered. We agreed to leave the past behind us and make our new relationship whatever we wanted it to be. Excitedly, we began to make plans to meet.
When I hung up the phone, I leaned back in my chair, savoring this special Mother’s Day. It was a day I would never forget.
I couldn’t sleep that night, so I tried to put my feelings into words by writing her a letter:
Mom,
Today my world changed. When I first learned that you were searching for me, I was completely shocked. Then, when I spoke to you this evening, I knew once and for all that you are my mother. Words cannot describe what my heart feels now. There is so much more to motherly love than most people understand. For all my life, I have had an emptiness in my heart that was impossible to fill. The missing piece was something that I did not understand, something I didn’t even know existed. When you spoke those words to me this evening, “Gary, I love you,” the emptiness was gone.
On June 1, 2002, Zach and I drove to New Orleans International Airport and boarded an airplane bound for Oakland, California. I sat quietly, my stomach in knots, looking out the window at the fluffy white clouds below while Zach talked with Joe Dean, the athletic director for Louisiana State University, who was seated next to us. Zach sensed how nervous I was and left me to my thoughts. As the plane made its way across the country, I became more afraid and excited.
Although I had experienced unconditional love and acceptance in my adoptive parents’ home, the knowledge that my biological parents had not wanted me had plagued me throughout my life. In my mind, I had always been John Doe, a boy who had been discarded and given a new name by adoptive parents. As a result, I had trust issues during my adolescent years and then later in my adult relationships. I lived with the fear that I could be rejected at any moment because I could never be good enough that someone would want to keep me around. Loyd and Leona did everything they could to make me feel loved and wanted, but all of my adult relationships with women were destined to fail as long as I remained John Doe in my heart. My fear of being discarded rendered me incapable of loving fully, because I felt like I didn’t deserve to be loved. After all, how could anyone love me when I didn’t even know who I was?
Although I was divorced from Zach’s mother, my relationship with Zach was quite different. I might not know myself, but I knew my son deserved better from me than I had received from my biological parents. I dedicated my life to ensuring that he would never experience the horror of feeling unwanted and that he would always understand how much his father loved him.
Now that I knew that Judy had been a child when she gave me up for adoption, I had no residual bitterness as I mentally prepared for our meeting. My excitement began to build as I realized that I would finally have answers to the questions that had accumulated over my lifetime.
When the plane finally landed, I wiped the sweat that had beaded on my palms onto the legs of my pants. I had yearned for this moment my entire life, and now that it was here, suddenly I was torn.
I wanted to run away.
I wanted to meet my mother.
A few minutes later, I saw her at the far end of the terminal, standing with the man in the picture she had sent, and my heart began pumping furiously. She was tall – taller than the man next to her. Her hair was shorter and blonder than the picture had suggested. She was looking around anxiously. Even from a distance, I could see the same fear and excitement that I felt reflected in her face. I broke out in a cold sweat, but my steps quickened when our eyes met for the first time. From the moment I saw her eyes –