My Mother and My Mom
At some point during my adult life as a mother, I was forced to come to terms with the reality that my biological mother was a real person with a heart and a soul. She was, in fact, my Mother. She was a woman who struggled just to live day to day under extraordinary pressures and battling a terrible disease of the mind and spirit. She was a mother in her own right and the tragedy of her life was the direction it took. My sister and I were not the losers in our family picture. We were the winners because we were special. We were chosen to be raised in a wonderful loving family and in many respects our childhood was ideal.
It occurred to me that Ellen was the real loser in the picture because she was not able to live to raise her children. She missed watching her children grow up. It was Mom who was there for us when we were sick, through all the sleepless nights, there for us as we struggled through our lives, when we broke our bones, scraped our knees and birthed our babies. Mom was there for us for every single school play, every concert, every teachers conference, sharing in our accomplishments, rejoicing in our happiness, watching us graduate and for every single birthday. For every holiday and every season, it was Mom who journeyed with us. It is Mom who we pick up the phone and call with our constant questions, life dilemmas, to share our happiness, and when we need a shoulder to cry on. Our Mom. We were the lucky ones. And Ellen deserves our sympathy.
My children are only six years old and 5 ½ months old, and yet I cannot even begin to imagine how I would feel if I missed even one second of their childhood. I am their mother and to have my motherhood taken away from me would be like ripping out my soul. My role as "Mom" is the most important role I could ever possibly have.
My sympathy for Ellen has overtaken my anger. I now know what helplessness feels like. I know what it is to be the victim of abuse. I can only imagine the heartbreak it must have caused her to live with a disease that took her away from her children. A disease that she did not choose to have and did not have the strength to fight. I grew up angered by her weaknesses and devoid of sympathy to her condition. I matured into a mother who is saddened for her loss.
The ten-year-old girl that sat in the judge's chamber has grown into a mother who not only feels special but also has an enormous amount of gratitude for the life that she was given. Being adopted has always made me well aware of the fact that my parents chose me and my sister. I have always known that my life could have taken a very different path and I will always have a deep understanding and respect for my Mom and Dad and for the sacrifices they have made during their lives for the benefit of their children.
My Mom has been a pillar of strength and tenacity throughout my life. She meets her problems head on and teaches her children by her example. Many of my own mothering techniques have come from my Mom and from the strength that I have witnessed through her. My innate sense of purpose, my self worth and my inner strength that has developed throughout my life has come from my roots. Not roots grown from a bloodline but roots grown from a firm foundation of a family of love.
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