mama.

                                         

I've been resting on some sort of blog entry(ies) for one week now. My brain has been slam full and healing, my to-go cup runneth over,  and the life milestones, date-markers, big moments - one after the other, heartbeat after thumpy heartbeat - keep smashing into the hurry up of things, demanding pause, begging reflection. 

Grades loom, homework piles, bank account dwindles... 

Healing has to happen- for my brain, my body, my already, and my not-sure-yet...       

                                       

'Tis I, DJ two-stroke here, spinnin' the loquacious hits. 

Except just maybe it might just be DJ just-the-one-stroke. 

Drs aren't sure at this point. Could be heinous migraines, they say. Could be TIA but no damage, they say. You might have hypoglycemia or ("and don't google this," he says), perhaps lupus? Let's test for arthritis markers. On the other hand, maybe I'm just geriatric, falling apart, and fading. 

Cool thing, though? Today, at my doctor's appointment, I was able to say "let me text my mom to see if that runs in my family."

You get that?

LET
ME
TEXT
MY
MOM...

Big deal. 

Who doesn't say that now? I mean, the bigger question I guess would be "who even calls their mom anymore?"

If you're new here, though, might I refer you back to my blog entry entitled 48 Whitson, in which I discuss the most recent stops along Adoption Avenue: the spit-tube, search angel assistance, and God-guidance. 

Go there first, read and catch yourself up, then scurry on back over here. 

So yeah. 

I can text my bio mom. 

She has a name, a face, a phone number; not only does she have those, now I do, too. I get to ask the questions that have filled my space for 48 years. 

Her name is Elaine. She lives in a town in NC close to the beach, and she has loved me since March 30, 1974. She has carried with her for my entire lifetime the pain and secrets associated with my existence and her gut-shredding sacrifice. 

And for Mother's Day- mine and hers- I got to hug her, to breathe her in, and to exhale my life-gratitude. 

 

Finally. 

In person. 

Details to come... way too much for one entry...

I've decided to break my blog entries up into smaller chunks. Chapters, I suppose. 

Perhaps a book later? We shall see. 

PS. She said Lupus doesn't run in the family.

selah.