大象传媒

My birth took place at St. Mary's Hospital, May 26th, 1941. It was not a moment of joy for any of the present. Rather, it was an inconvenience. My birth mother gave me two names and her surname. One of those names was Desiree which means desired. I don't know if this meant she desired me or if it was a random choice. Her name is/was Thelma Osborne.
For the first 18 months of my life, I was taken care by a nurse who I presume was paid by her. At that age I was taken to a catholic convent, where I lived until I was five.
It was at the convent that my childhood memories of the war took place. I was fortunate to have been under the care of many wonderful nuns, especially the Reverend Mother Superior who molded my character and gave me the love I urged for.
I know my birth mother had had a previous child who her parents were raising.His name is/was Christopher. When she became pregnant again with me,at the age of 19, her parents could not assume another responsibility, therefore the decision was made to eliminate my being from their family circle.
During the war I was aware of the lack of food and money, however, the nuns and I survived, and she, the reverend mother who I will refer as RM, lead me into her spiritual being teaching me about Jesus and the faith in God.
Although as I grew I started asking where my mother was and there were no answers, RM fulfilled that need and became her substitute, giving me the warmth and care I needed, filling my spirit and soul with the love that had been taken away.
I remember feeling save next to her. She traveled between two convents and I always pleaded to go with her. She was not always able to bring me, and when she couldn't, I would cry.
One of those times, it was close to my birthday, and she decided to pleace me and brought me with her. That night, at the convent where we were staying, a bomb came thru. The convent was destroyed, all but the room where we were. Later, I had dreams of waking up in a room with no walls.
I also remember with fear, the sirens announcing the possible attack of bombs. This fear has lingered with me all my life.
Broken glass is another of my fears. During the bomb attack, one nun who later became my relative, was covered with glass from an exploding door, and had to have reconstructive surgery on her face.
The sound of military men marching, the particular noise of hundreds of boots marching in unison on the streets, has also had an impact on my nerves.
These are memories from a child less than 5 years old. The war affected people in many different ways.
It affected me, not by physical injury, but by wounding my soul and spirit in a permanent way.
I believe my birth mother worked for the Royal Air Force, or voluntered. Her sister Barbara, older than her, used to visit me along with their mother. She married an American and worked for the American Embassy in London.
At the age of 5, I was sent to Cuba and lived with a couple who later adopted me. My adopted father was the brother of the nun who had face reconstruction after the bomb attact.
I was loved and well taken care, but in my soul there has always been the emptiness of not being able to know my roots. I loved my adopted mother but never stopped wondering about my birth mother.
She was probably under a lot of pressure and did not have the character to face her responsibility. I forgive her for not keeping me, but not for throwing my body into an unknown world and not ever allowing me to know where I came from.
She knew where I was going and with whom I would be.
I have searched at the Family Center in London for her birth certificate which I believe is correct. I also searched for marriage certificates, for her sisters names, hoping to establish a contact that will allow me to know who I am.
Her life continued and maybe she remembers me, a part of her disposed for inconvenience. I wonder if she ever thought I needed her, and if so, has she ever wonder how I feel in my position. She may have thought it was better for her, more than for me, to dissapear. I am sure that in her mind I will always be.
RM sacrifized motherhood to give herself to God. I came into her life unexpectedly and her motherly insticts took over. She has loved me till this day, when she is 99 and still going. She had me for almost 4 years but she knew I deserved a set of parents and went out of her way to find them. She let me go, and I know a big part of her heart was broken when I left. She really loved me as a mother does, sacrifizing herself by loosing me for my own benefit.
Her love I cherish. We talk weekly on the phone and I visited her when she turned 95. In her frail voice I still feel how much a part of her I still am, a child alone who she embraced, loved and let go, an act of unselfishness. She stood brave but I know loosing me tore her soul appart. She continued her religious life later going to India as a missionaire.
Her energy as a human being I was fortunate to learn. I am a mother now of three grown up ladies. I have 4 grandchildren. My loving adopted parents are gone. My husband is my companion, my friend and has given me also unconditional love. RM is and will be forever my tower of strenght, the inspiration to accept the inevitable and the faith to trust in God.
I'm thankful to my birth mother for giving me life, a life that has given meaning to many, under the most unusual circumnstances.
If anybody reading this article knows about this story, or knows of Thelma, Christopher, or Barbara's whereabouts and wishes to contact me, please do so thru this network.

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