By the time I was thirty-six, I had a family of three children and lived in Warsaw. For some unknown reason that I didn’t figure out at the time, we decided to move a way from our home town and move about twenty minutes farther a way.
I enjoyed the new home and our neighbors were kind. The schools seemed to be adequate. Life was good. One day, I bought a local newspaper. We were all sitting at the Pizza Hut and I decided to open the newspaper. On the second page, there it was.
I gasped for air for a moment, and my husband asked what was wrong with me.
” I see it! I see it! It’s my mama. Her father has passed and there is her name and the city and state she lives in!”
He looked at me and said nothing. I placed the newspaper aside, with each word of the obituary glued to my mind. We didn’t speak about it again, but inside I was like a jumping jack bean. I couldn’t wait to get home.
Upon entering our front door I grabbed a pop and sat down with my husband, telling him I was going to find out her number. My thoughts were racing. I asked my husband should I tell her over the phone who I was? Or should I write her? What should I do? I think my husband didn’t have any idea what to do, so he remained quiet.
The first thing I did, was call phone information and ask for her phone number. That was a piece of cake. I next called her but I didn’t tell her who I was. I just told her that I was a friend that knew her dad back home and I would like to send a card. I asked her, knowing she wouldn’t give a stranger her address, but she did. I quickly wrote it down and thanked her for the information.
I hadn’t seen my mama since I was five years old and had been searching for her since I was thirteen and now I am thirty-six and I have a piece of gold in my hand, her name, address and phone number.
I knew in my heart that the reason I had moved out of town was that God knew I could find my mama.
To be continued…