The Mother I Never Met

To the Mother I never met,

I have a secret to share with you. I think about you every Mother’s Day. I think about the fantasy I made as child. I think about the life I might have had. The life I daydreamed about so many times. The imaginary perfect mother, loving, fun, validating. The imaginary house where food was homemade and it smelled like fresh cookies. A place where spills weren’t met with screams and mistakes were forgiven. A place where I was a child and got to be treated as such. A place where I was accepted and loved unconditionally. I lived in that daydream as a child.

Being adopted there are things I was never allowed to say aloud. Expressing abandonment is viewed as weak and ungrateful. I can discuss the problems but only if I make them palatable. I must make the issue minor, allow it to be viewed with humor, and above all coated in humble gratitude. After all, I should be grateful. Grateful I wasn't aborted, grateful someone clothed me and feed me out of the goodness of their hearts, grateful someone was gracious enough to invite me into their home, grateful someone could over look that I am "not their kid". I'm a survivor. Someone who didn't get stuck in the system. No one wants to hear anything but gratitude, anything less is an affront to my adoptive parents. So I don't complain. I have too much to be grateful for.

Getting older is funny. We learn that actions aren’t always thought through. Taught to hold space for what other people may be going through. Bullies’ harsh words have more to do with them than the person they are aimed at. We get taught about mental illnesses and how to have empathy for those that can’t feel any. We intellectualize actions that have lasting effect. “They were raised in a different time.” “I know they love me; they just can’t control their anger.” And it’s comforting…for a while. The lies we tell ourselves to survive. But like all lies they just prolong the inevitable, and reality rears its ugly head.

I thought I had forgiven you, truly I did. I thought I understood. Being young and unready, having no income or support. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I thought I was okay, then I found you on Facebook. I see the new family you built and I’m happy for you, at least I’m trying to be. I smile on the surface; tell my friends you look just like the picture I have of you as a teen. Underneath it something bubbles, boils, enrages my very soul. Call it jealousy, anger, whatever label helps. I think its mostly resentment. I resent seeing your family with smiling, happy faces. I resent the kindness that exudes from your eyes. The way you look at your new son with utter awe and adoration. I resent that I suffered the consequences of your actions, and you got to move on to the life you wanted. I resent that you are happy without me. Maybe that makes me a bad person. I’ll accept that title.

I understand you wanted a better life for me but that’s not what I got. I got dysfunction and rage. Blame and shame. I know it’s not your fault. You did the best you could with options you had at the time. You thought you were giving me better. So, I think about you every Mother’s Day. But now I think of you differently, you’re not a perfect savior coming to my rescue. You’re a human. A cowardly one, and I suppose the real secret is that while I don’t blame you, I don’t forgive you either.

- An unwanted daughter