One Mother was just not enough.
One mother was just not enough. I can say that now with a smile of joy and love on my face. Twenty years ago, this was a whole different story.
Let me share my wonderful story of two Mothers’ Love.
I am adopted. I was raised by a wonderful family that I feel so honored to be a part of. I was always told that I was adopted. I can never
remember a time that I did not know. I also always knew that my Mother loved me as much, if not more, than any Mother could love her child. My birth
made no difference to our bond; she is my Mother.
Just across the state line of The Two Virginias another story was unfolding. My Birth Mother was a young sixteen year old in an unsettled family
situation before she ever found out she was pregnant. After school she married my birth Father and went on to have two wonderful sons.
My Mom and Dad went on to have daughter. Similar blood running through our veins could not make us closer. I had a wonderful childhood, living with
a loving family. There are moments that my birth family crossed my mind as I am sure it does for every adopted child, but only in curiosity.
Strangely, throughout the years, our families’ lives intertwined many times. Sometimes some of us would be aware; sometimes none of us would even
know until years later. It’s odd how life can play out sometimes, but that’s for another story.
A couple of days before my fifteenth birthday, an ad ran on our local community channel. It was a greeting addressed to me from my birth family. At
first, I was too shocked to have any reaction. It was a happy birthday greeting from my birth family. Who are these people that I have never met
that are laying claim to me? It was at this time that I learned my first information about my birth family. When the ad ran on TV, I learned that
they lived in the sister town across the state line only miles away. I found out that my siblings, I only knew that they had two children, went to
school across the state line.
A couple weeks later, when our rival schools were playing a football game, I was given the opportunity to meet members of my birth family. I was in
the stands sitting with the band when another of my band mates said that someone claiming to be my sister was at the bottom of the stands wanting to
talk to me. Only it wasn’t my sister. (I later found out it was a cousin, and she had one of my brothers with her. The message got mixed up
either when it was relayed or in my anxious state.) They knew Mandy and this person was not her. I knew, somehow I immediately knew. And I knew that
I did not want to meet them. As I am sure any fifteen year old can tell you, I had one family I couldn’t deal with; I sure didn’t want another! I
knew nothing about them. I was not ready for this. So I did what any one would do; I snuck out the back. I explained to the band director that I
had a family emergency and left.
Luckily, I was given another chance. Years later, when I was nineteen, my Birth Mother reached out with a letter. It would still take a couple of
months and a slight nudge, but I finally got the courage to reach out and make contact with them. This was the beginning of our wonderful
relationship. I now have another wonderful family that I am honored to be a part of. Through the years we have built a powerful and special
For she is my Mother, her Love not my birth has made this so. I can say this for both of my Mothers. It was with the greatest Love that my Birth
Mother gave me to my Mother to raise me with the greatest Love.
edit on 6/20/1313 by Martin75 because: added some spacing