Dear Mom,

Many have said they really began to appreciate their parents when they became parents themselves. This has also happened to me. The more I experience as a mother, the more I recognize the things you did do. My perspective has changed dramatically since I was a teenager. I have found that my life is better when I remember the good things (and there were so many) instead of the bad, and every day I hope that when my children grow up, they will do the same.

I once viewed many of your qualities as weaknesses. Now, I find them in myself, and I am thankful. I often pray for your happiness. I've found it, but I'm glad that I realized your part in putting me on that path in the first place. I love you, Mom!

I Learned About My Biology in Biology

When I was a teenager, I had the habit of referring to my parents as my biological parents because I lived with another family. After I married and moved away, I began referring to the family I had lived with as my foster family, so others would know which family I was talking about. This wasn’t as complicated as it sounds.
During a college biology class a year or two before I got married, I had a lesson I’ll never forget. The professor was giving examples in human genetics. When she explained that it is almost impossible for parents with light blue eyes to have a child with dark brown eyes, I thought to myself, “Hmmmmmm. Very interesting.” I think I took the news rather calmly.
My dad and I have always had a good relationship. I understand him better now than I did when I was a kid, but I think that is typical. He has struggled most of his life with depression and alcoholism. My parents fought a lot and were divorced when I was thirteen. Despite our family trials, my dad tried to instill within me a love for myself and my sisters. He often told us that most of our friends would not be around when we were grown, but our sisters would be in our lives forever; so we needed to be good to each other. He gave me a bracelet with a charm on it. My name was engraved on one side, and on the other side were the letters, “RYW.” He asked me not to tell anyone what the letters stood for, so it could be our special secret. Because I am writing anonymously, I will divulge the meaning: “Remember Your Worth.” I know a lot of kids had moms who would say, “Remember who you are!” But my dad had a way of making things meaningful.
I’m not sure if it was seconds or minutes before I decided that what I had learned in my class didn’t matter. My curiosity was not as great as my love, so I decided to let it go. Eventually, the conversation came up in my family. When I talked to my dad about it, I just told him I was thankful he was my dad. Then he retold the story of the moment he first saw me, and again described the love he felt as he looked into my dark newborn eyes. He said he didn't want me to ever know that I wasn't "his." He said, "I was afraid if you knew, you wouldn't love me no more." That was endearing; I had never heard my dad use a double negative before. It was then I realized that my new knowledge actually made me love him more.
After I was born, my dad knew that I wasn’t his biological child, yet he loved me as if I was. There were two men presented with the idea that they might be fathers. One responded by offering to pay for an abortion; the other asked my mom to marry him. Is my biological dad the man who did his part by taking money out of his pocket (money to end my life)? Maybe to some, but not to me.

Where to Begin?

It seems easiest to start with something I have already written. As a teen, I wrote poetry. It has been more than a decade since my teenhood. I know there is poetry in me still, but I am unsure of my ability to translate it into words. I would like to try writing again. They say children are better at learning a language than adults. In my case, this may also be true in the language of poetry...we shall see!

All Fall Down (age 19)

Fire life has dwindled

And the gray smoke stings my eyes.

I face it without turning away,

Refusing to give up.

A faint glow deceives me

And I give my breath

To the crimson coals—

But weightless dust flies away

And is lost.

I can never hold time,

And time will never spark flames

That are already gone.

I am ashamed that all I can do

Is blow on the ashes.