The Mother Who Matters
April 11, 2013
My family say that I have the eyes that are said to be cow brown, and my long brown hair is my best feature. My nose is a little too big, my face is oval shaped. I am not overweight, but I’m not skinny either. The only way to describe my height is vertically challenged. I’m relatively happy with my appearance, but where did I get it? Do I share the same features as some unknown stranger? Oftentimes, while walking down the street, I try to pick out that stranger, imagining that one of the woman I pass could possibly be my biological mother. I never met my birth mother. I was adopted the moment I was born, and I was taken into wonderful family with sibling. For a long time I wondered what life would be like with my birth mother. Would I be happier? Who would my friends be? These are the qestions I ask myself every day. I was never dissatisfied with my life, I just never stopped wondering what it would be like to have been raised by my biological mother. And then one day, I was baby-sitting with a friend, and I came across a poem on the nursery wall. It compared adoption to a seed that was planted by one person and then taken care of by another. The second person had watered the seed and made it grow to be tall and beautiful. I found that it compared perfectly to my situation. I realized that my mom had made me who I am today, no matter what either of us looks like. And I started to notice that we had the same silly personality, the same outlook on life, and the same way of treating people, along with some other things. She curled my hair for my first high school dance. She was there for my first heartbreak. She held my hand every time I got a shot at the doctor’s office. She’d been smiling in the crowd for my first school play. She’d been there for everything that ever mattered to me, and nothing can compare. She’s...
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