The Letter

                My mother broke the news to me the best way she could that I was adopted, but it was still hard to hear, as I then wondered what might have happened if I had two parents instead of one and they were the ones who gave me my life. I wondered if they ever loved me, or if they thought I’d be too much, so they just decided to leave me with a stranger. My adoptive mother gave me a letter from my birth mom, telling me I’m old enough to know about her:

 

Dear Angel,

 

                My child, if you’re reading this letter, then both your daddy and I have left this life and you’ve been adopted by someone. So I think it’s time you know the story of how you were born so you know that you were never unloved by us or abandoned.

                You were born on a long, winding road on the way to a large hospital in an unfamiliar town. You weren’t due for another two weeks, but already, I felt your little self trying to escape. We were at a concert; my god, you were a dancer. I guess you were trying to see the singer, because you kept pushing and pushing.

                We decided to leave, and never have I ever thought it could bring me such joy to have to leave a concert early. We rushed to the hospital, hoping to get there before you were born. Of course, we were pushing the legal limits for everything and finding all possible loopholes. Still, you were an impatient little girl, and I guess the music had made you even more energetic.

                On our way, I knew you were coming. You weren’t about to wait. We pulled over, and your daddy climbed into the backseat, where I was. He helped me give birth to the most wonderful little being: You. Your little cries made my eyes water, a big, foolish, exhausted but ecstatic grin on my face. Your little hand wrapped around my finger, and I never wanted you to let go.

                Honey, I loved you more than any love I knew I could hold. You were my everything, and you still are. As you are reading this letter, it means that I am in heaven. But I am never far away. I am in your curly black hair, in your beautiful rare two-colored eyes, in the way you smile, in every breath you breathe. I am in your passion for music. I am watching you every moment so I know you are safe, and I love you with all my heart.

                I will always be thinking of you every second, wishing I could just hold you again, but knowing you are happy because I see you dancing around in your brand new lace dress when you are four, blowing out your candles when you are turning ten, getting ready for a dance when you are entering high school in your beautiful jeans and a t-shirt, no jewelry, no make-up, just wonderful, pure you.

                Both your daddy and I knew we’d both be gone soon, as we had actually met in chemotherapy. We wanted you to never doubt our love, so we decided I’d write you a letter about how much we love you. Never lose that bright, innocent smile of yours. Enclosed is a picture of the three of us just days after you’re born. Use that to see whom you get your looks from. And just know that we’re both always watching over you, even if you can’t see us. We love you so much. Never forget that.

 

Love,

Mom

 

                By the time I finished reading the letter, it was already tear-stained. I pulled out the enclosed photograph. As I stared at my birth mom and biological dad, one single memory came flooding back. It was when I was two, and at a day care for the first time. My babysitter brought me to the day care, and I was crying for mommy and daddy. When I got there, a bright smile flashed across my face as I saw the two most wonderful people standing at the entrance, arms wide open. I ran into daddy’s arms, and all three of us were laughing so hard. I was filled with childlike, innocent, loving warmth.

                I don’t think I ever questioned why other parents had hair and mine didn’t. I think I just thought my parents were just different. And now? Now, as I look at the photograph, I realize that no. They weren’t just different. They were the most wonderful, unique, special parents I could have had. Losing them didn’t make them any less special. Knowing that they were there for me as long as they could have been despite everything they were going through made me love them and long for them that much more.

                The night I read the letter and saw the photograph, I cried myself to sleep. I dreamed about that one wonderful memory with my blood-related parents, waking up a million times only to find myself without them. When I actually woke up the next morning, my mom was in my room with a ready-made breakfast in her arms. But when she saw my tired eyes and tear-stained pillow, she hastily put the breakfast on the table and ran over to me. She said, “Oh, baby, I know it’s tough reading the letter and seeing the photo. I know, baby, I know.”

                “Mom, as much as I love you, and I know you sacrificed so much to get me to where I am, I still kind of wish I had my birth parents. Why? Why do I feel this way? I was raised by you, not them, yet I still feel like they’re totally missing.”

                “Baby, that’s totally normal, especially since your parents didn’t choose to leave you and loved you so much. I understand how you feel. I might never have been through it, so I don’t know what the feeling is, but I understand why. Would it help to visit them at the cemetery? It’s totally up to you what we do.”

                “Thanks for understanding, mom. I think that’s a good idea. Maybe that’ll give me some closure.”

                “Then that’s what we’ll do. Whenever you’re ready, we can go. It’s up to you.”

                We visited them at the cemetery, and I said a couple words to both the people who gave me life. It hurt so much to see the gray stones, knowing they’re six feet underground, never to be seen, never to be heard, but it gave me the closure I needed.

                I am now at my grad school graduation ceremony, and the three people I thanked the most are my two moms and my dad. I cried tears of joy and sorrow knowing the person who raised me is getting to see me graduate, but the two people whose arms I ran into when I was two aren’t. But then I remembered the words in my birth mom’s letter, the one I read a thousand times: “We’re both always watching over you, even if you can’t see us.” And I smiled.