As Mother's Day approaches, it's not my role as mother that I think about. It's my mother. I often think about the things she's done for me, but I don't tell her. I think about her every day, but I don't tell her that I think about her every day. I had that opportunity recently. I told her how much I appreciate that she raised me to know right from wrong, to know what is proper, to use good manners, to use good grammar, to appreciate fine things--especially antiques, to love travel of all kinds, to have a deep appreciation for history and the United States of America, and to be brought up in a loving Christian home.
On top of the wonderful mother I grew up with, I have another mother--a birth mother--with whom I share a wonderful relationship. She gave me up in love to another to be raised then found me and reconnected. We share lots of things--so much that it makes you wonder about nature vs nurture. We don't see each other or talk often, but there's a deep and lasting connection there that is special.
I never, ever remember a time that I didn't know I was adopted. I always knew and always felt I was special. It's been an interesting life. I hope there's lots of time left. I've got lots of plans and lots to do.
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