“It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backward.” Lewis Carrol

I’m being encouraged by life, Others and myself to share a bit of the history that informs my work as an artist and Blossoming Crone, what I like to think of as being my own Here-O…it is a way to pull forward the power of foundations and deep roots…two qualities I value highly.

The original chapter of this story is seeded in my youth and created a Destiny Path for my life that has not wavered. Before my child was born and before I relinquished him to Catholic Charities I made him a promise.

I pledged that if our paths ever did cross that he would be able to be proud to call me his mother…and so it is...

the following is content from an article that appeared in our local paper in 2007…

 

By Donna Iona Drozda / Birthmother and Artist, 58, © 2007, for the Virginian Pilot

The answering machine flashes its light.

One message from Catholic Charities.

I had called a few days’ earlier seeking help for a hospice client. Only this area code is from out of state. Ohio.

I know immediately that this is THE CALL.

As the ring sounds on the far end of the line I reflect back 32 years:

A young nurse brought him in the morning after his birth not realizing that an  infant relinquished to adoption is not to be seen by the mother.

I instinctively take advantage of her mistake and allow him to be nestled into my empty arms. With not a moment to spare I pick up the envelope from the nightstand and quickly draw his sleeping face full of peace and quiet. I sign the tiny ball point pen portrait ‘my newborn 6.9.68.’ Within minutes she is back taking him away for ever.

The caseworker answers my return call. Upon hearing my name she says tells me that there are rules and she is not supposed to be in contact with me. Then she draws in a breath and says that she couldn’t help herself she had to put my file into the trunk of her car so that she could call me from her home. She states:

“I’m just going to say it:

I spoke with your son today.”

Words I’ve never heard spoken.

I read my body for its response. I feel calm and elated.

A doorway opens.

Several months later, August 19, 2000, John is visiting my home for the first time. We’re sitting on the porch overlooking my lush summer garden.

I have retrieved the memento and he holds the envelope in hand.

I look at the infant and the man.

With a soft gaze he turns to me and states with ease,

“It took us thirty-two years to get to this porch.”

5 Tips for Adopting a New Outlook:

• Be gentle with yourself.

• Have a focus for the day.

• Keep cutting the ‘t’ off can’t.

• Give what you can where you can.

• Believe that life works.

indeed… Life works…