Last year I received a “free ticket” voucher from United Airlines, after a flight schedule was changed. I learned that I couldn’t actually convert the voucher into a ticket unless I personally visited a United ticket counter—which, of course, means a trip to the Indianapolis airport, standing in line, etc. A hassle. I forgot about the “free ticket.”
In July I flew home from Charlotte on Northwest. While waiting in the airport security line, I found myself in front of the United counter. No passengers were there—none—but two agents were standing behind the counter. I fumbled in my briefcase and, yep, the voucher was there. I looked at my watch, I decided to take a chance.
I handed over the voucher. “Can you give me a free ticket?” The agent replied, “Sure; the voucher expires tomorrow.” She pointed out the “Expires July 14, 2008” in block print on the bottom. Whew. Just made it.
“Where do you want to go?” the agent asked. Uh, oh yeah. Where do I want to go? Something inside of me said, “Go to San Francisco and see your birthmother.”
I’m adopted; my birthmother has not seen me since my birth, 56 years ago. Like my wife, she is named Maureen. She called me once in 1991. And, then again in 2003 (I think). A few times after that. I cannot call her. I am her only child. She’s been married 50 years. She lives in San Francisco. She was born and raised in Ireland. She’s never told anyone about me; she was unmarried when I was born. Flying to San Francisco to see someone I’ve never met, who didn’t know I was coming, whose occasional phone calls are few and far between, seemed preposterous. But, “the still small voice” repeated, “Go to San Francisco.”
“San Francisco,” I said after a pause. “Fine,” the agent replied, “when do you want to go?” Hmmm. “The voice” said, “the week following Labor Day.”
“The week following Labor Day—but I have to be back by Saturday. I have a Sunday job, you know.” The lady behind the counter looked at me curiously, “Uh huh.”
I walked away with a $727.00 ticket, for free. I ran to the gate, boarded my plane, got home at midnight. I looked at the ticket to SFO. “What was I thinking? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
Monday morning, July 14: I noticed there was a message on my cell phone. I picked it up and listened.
“Hello, Jim,” said the voice with the pronounced Irish accent, “it’s Maureen in San Francisco. I am sorry I missed you. I will try and reach you another time. God bless.” Incredibly, it was “the other Maureen,” my birthmother. Astonishing. I had no way to call her back, but I knew God was “the voice,” that He was at work.
She called again on September 2; I picked up the phone and told her I was going to be in San Francisco the next day. She wasn’t sure if she could see me. She just didn’t know. I got on the plane September 3. On September 4, while jogging along the Bay, I prayed earnestly for something to happen—a crumb, a call. “Maybe this was the stupidest thing I have ever done,” I thought. At 11:30am, she called again. “Can you meet me tomorrow at 11:40am?” asked the soft Irish voice. “Of course,” I answered, “I promise.”
I stood in the parking lot. What does she look like? I wasn’t looking for the diminutive little 76-year old woman standing nearby. At last, I noticed her: slender, short, dressed liked she’d walked out of a Talbot’s store. I walked over, “My name is Jim Lyon.” She immediately gasped and gave me a hug. We walked across the way and sat down, talking for an hour.
She was lovely. Bright. Engaging. Genuine. She described her journey, as I prompted her with questions. She repeatedly interrupted with a gentle, “I can’t believe it has taken 56 years …” “I have prayed for you so long …”
But, of all the things she said, one thing will never be forgotten. “When I discovered I was pregnant, my doctor encouraged me to have an abortion. I was terrified. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. I did not know what I would do.” She took a breath, as if reliving those troubled days. “But I knew what I would not do. I would not end your life.” I stared back, my eyes tearing up. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, again, “after 56 years.”
She looked at her watch. Her husband would be waiting—she had to be on her way. He does not know. “It would kill him if he knew,” she told me. “Can you understand?” “Yes, of course, I understand. Thanks so much for seeing me today.”
“I will be in touch,” she said as she stood up and gave me another hug. “And, please give your mother my love. Tell her I thank God for her every day, for the way she has loved and cared for you. She must be a lovely woman to have raised a man like you.” She looked up and stared at my face again. “Thank you,” she said quietly. One more hug. And she was gone. I turned and began to cry. I didn’t mean to. I just did.
I flew home and gave my mom a hug.
Contrary to major media reports, data from the National Snow and Ice Data Center finds a dramatic increase in sea ice extent in the Arctic regions. The growth over the past year covers an area of 700,000 square kilometers, an amount twice the size of Germany. With the Arctic melting season over for 2008, ice cover will continue to increase until melting begins anew next spring. August ’08 data indicates a total sea ice area of five million square kilometers, up 13% from a year ago. 
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