I was born as a problem. A shameful situation that had to be dealt with. I was an embarrassment to my family, one that was hidden away, even before I saw my first glimpse of the world. I had committed the unthinkable crime of being conceived. And, my mother wasn’t married. She wanted desperately to keep me, but society had rules that she couldn’t conquer, and they were firmly upheld by her parents. It simply wasn’t done. She tried, for five months, while I waited in a foster home. But in the end, society won.
My mother was told, over and over, that she would move on, have other children, that she would forget about me. She never did. Every year on my birthday she wrote to the adoption agency to be sure they had her current contact information. She wanted to be found. And I did find her, nineteen years later. Thirty-three years ago, we reunited, and have been in each other’s lives and families ever since.