Once a year, my family celebrates a day that’s supposedly all about me. My kids whip up breakfast in bed and present me with handmade jewelry. Who could resist cold toaster waffles and necklaces crafted from questionable elbow macaroni? It’s a delightful break from the usual chaos of snack-making, nose-wiping, and monster patrols in the closet. While I can’t take a full day off from the important stuff, I definitely savor those few moments of relaxation over my less-than-gourmet breakfast.
The evening before Mother’s Day, however, takes on a more serious tone. It’s a time for reflection, especially about a woman I will likely never meet. My son is adopted; he was left behind as a newborn—possibly due to medical challenges that his birth family felt unable to handle.
I know little about his early life or the circumstances that led to his adoption. I’m unaware of the traits he inherited, like those charming dimples or his stubborn nature. In many ways, his journey truly began the day we first met, in a bustling government office when he was three years old.
Yet, it’s not as simple as that. My son’s life didn’t start the moment we connected. While I may never know his origins, the memory of his birth mother lingers in my thoughts. She occupies a special place in my heart every Mother’s Day, every birthday, and during countless moments in between.
I’ve spent countless hours pondering the reasons behind your decision. I can’t fathom the heartache involved in walking away from your fragile child, hoping he’d find a better life. I like to imagine you watching from afar, ensuring that he was discovered by someone who would care for him.
Though I may not understand your choice, I want to be clear that I don’t judge you for it. I can only imagine the tears you shed that day. I hope that, with time, any feelings of pain and guilt have eased, even if that hope feels unrealistic.
To say that you occupy my thoughts frequently is an understatement. I often wonder if you’ve found peace. Do you think about him? Do you think about me? I wish I could share with you how happy, healthy, and thriving he is. I wish you knew how deeply I love this child.
He hasn’t started asking about you yet, but I know that day is coming. I wish I could converse with you, to know what you’d want him to learn about you, about his roots.
I find myself curious about you—what you look like, how you sound. Do you have an adventurous spirit that sometimes leads you into amusing trouble? Are you tall, short, slim, or curvy? Do you have that one stubborn hair that defies all attempts to tame it?
I wish you could witness the joy I feel when our son experiences life’s milestones—big ones like starting school or riding his bike and smaller ones like baking chocolate chip cookies together. You are not forgotten, and in my own way, I love you.
People often say he’s lucky, and while you might agree, I want you to know that I consider myself the lucky one. I wish you could see how happy and safe he is, and I promise we will always remember you.
You are the one person I’d love to meet, even though I know it’s nearly impossible. I think about you during those late-night moments when sleep eludes me. I wonder if you think of me in the same way.
Someone once told me that I changed this child’s destiny, but in truth, he changed mine—and so did you. Thank you for the incredible gift you bestowed upon me this Mother’s Day.