For Linda Byrd 7/14/53 to 7/17/2000
When I met Linda, she'd been diagnosed with stage three breast cancer that had metastasized to her brain. She'd just undergone brain surgery to remove the tumor. Hairless but for a decent wig, thin and frail but for the lymph edema caused by steroids, she was all smiles and perfect southern hospitality. My charge was to tutor her daughter through algebra I, II and geometry. For three years I sat at her kitchen table eating her food, tutoring her daughter, talking about life and falling in love with her and her family.
As her health declined, I watched in wonder as Linda's mother became her nursemaid. Unwavering in her care, Mrs. Garvin watched over her daughter, feeding her, bathing her, holding her hand through the horrible side effects of the chemo, and fretting only when she was out of Linda's earshot. Her maternal devotion was unparalleled. So I asked her how at 78, she could so unwavweringly and selflessly care for her adult daughter and she told me that her drive was due in part because she owed her daughter's life to another woman, Linda's birthmother.
Infertile myself and considering adoption, we began an ongoing discussion about what it means to be an adoptive mother, what feelings and emotions adoptees have and whether or not it was worth doing again when considered in retrospect. As a whole, the only regret Linda and Mrs. Garvin expressed was that the adoption was closed. Their reason was simple. A genetic family history might have provided the impetus for early breast cancer screening and perhaps given Linda a chance at survival.
My time as a tutor at their home was insignificant compared with the time I devoted to washing dishes, caring for Linda, cleaning the house, preparing meals and doing laundry. I always made time to sit at Linda's bedside to listen to her stories about her childhood and her laments that she never knew her birthmother. She always finished her tales with praises that God had provided her with such a loving adoptive mother who undoubtedly would rival all mothers as The Best Mother Ever and that she hoped her daughters would be able to say the same of her. Linda always encouraged me to consider adoption and to stay in touch with the first families if possible because medical histories are so important. And she always said, "I know one day you will be a mother too. I just know it."
The last coherent words Linda said before she slipped into a coma were, "It is well with my soul." Two weeks later, she left this earth. I had a dream of her later. She was in heaven sitting with her birthmother, all smiles and jublilation. She said, "This is my mother and I am well."
Five months later Mrs. Garvin was at my baby shower. We didn't say anything. We just held each other and cried. First and foremost in our hearts was Linda, whose words of love and kindness had carried beyond the grave and impacted my life and the life of my adopted children. I credit them both with the peace I have about choosing to adopt in an open adoption.
