Dear Birth Mom: One More Conversation with You

Dear Birth Mom,

If only I could rewind time to have one more conversation with you. I would hug you tight and thank you for giving me the best gift of my life: My parents.

I would hold your hand and tell you that I am eternally grateful for your unselfish decision for my future. You see, I thought we had more time together. Even though I have known you my entire life, I didn't know you. I didn't know your life experiences, your heartaches, your dreams. Even with the unknown and confusion consuming the space between us, somewhere inside of me, I knew you loved me. I saw how you respected my parents. No, not respected, how you loved my parents. I saw you at some of my special events, hiding in the background to avoid disturbing my life. I overheard the phone conversations that you and mom had about me and life in general. I remember all the Christmas presents you sent to me by my other siblings every year. I remember you encouraged a relationship between them and me even though you kept your distance. I now understand your distance was out of love for my family and me. You were ok with being on the outside looking in as we all grew to know and love one another. Now I'm old enough to understand your decisions and admire you.

Having my children now, I can't imagine how you struggled over my adoption. The pain and sadness that you endured. I hope someone was there for you.

I hope you were comforted during the hard days. More than anything, I hope you know I am grateful to you. I wasn't prepared to talk about the past and I don't think you were either.

Our relationship was in its infancy when you were diagnosed with cancer.

So, our time together was condensed into hospital visits and phone conversations. The only mention of our shared past was when you told me you had pictures of me from every big event. With one short sentence you took away all the pain and confusion and replaced it with love; you told me what my inner child's heart needed to hear. I knew your prognosis wasn't good, and the opportunities to discuss our past were slipping away fast, but something inside me held me back. In your hospital room, the past no longer seemed to matter, only the time we had left. I wish I had told you what was in my heart, but I didn't fully understand it at the time. So, we laughed and talked about insignificant topics.

Those days in the hospital are some of the best memories I have of you. There was no nervousness.

Both of us let our guard down and just focused on the present. I hope you enjoy Heaven and know you are loved, admired, and missed here!


Have you been impacted by adoption like Brandi? 
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