She didn’t use to be a real person.
She was only a concept, a person who had at some point, at some place gone through the act of giving birth to me.
She wasn’t a real person in my mind.
Instead, she was a stranger, about whom I knew nothing, had no interest in knowing anything, and would not ever know personally.
She was never an actual person, who might look like me because half of her is in me and I come from her because she didn’t only push me out of her body, but half of her mixed with half of him and I grew inside her belly for nine months and at one point there was a bond between us that is closer than any other possible bond between two people.
Mother and child.
She was never an actual person from whom I had gotten at least part of my personality, my way of being, my way of thinking, the very way that I am me. In my mind, she used to be an idea, a thought, not a person, not my mother.
But at one point she was. At one point she knew me better than anyone else in the entire world. At one point she was the closest person to me in the entire world.
She was my mother.
Even if she didn’t want me.
Or even if I was taken from her against her will.
Even if I never find her, or the answers to my questions.
She was my mother, she is my mother, she will always be my mother.
I wonder if I will ever get to be her daughter…
Written by Amanda Medina
April 23, 2018