Every Mother’s Day I have not one, but three women to thank for my life.
First there is my birth mother, whom I’ve never met. The only facts I know come from a yellowed letter that describes the details of my adoption. If I could call her today, I’d thank her for the wonderful life she gave me by having the courage to give me up.
The letter is signed simply “Mommy and Daddy, your parents.”
“Mommy” was Dorothy, my father’s first wife. She was as intelligent and kind as she was intrepid. (She was a private pilot and an ombudsman in her adopted British home!) She had a natural grace, I’m told, and made friends wherever she went.
She died of asthma in Mexico when I was five. I’ll never know in how many ways Dorothy shaped me during those early years. But if I could call her today, I’d thank her for making me feel loved.
One year after Dorothy’s death, my dad remarried. The wonderful woman I now call Mamá adopted me and my youngest sister — and along with her two daughters, we formed a blended family.
But in spite of my parents’ best efforts, I had a hard time adjusting. Unsure of my place in the new household, I retreated into the shade of our back yard and into the depths of our pool.
It wasn’t until yesterday that I glimpsed how difficult that time was for my new mom, too: In a long-forgotten letter, I heard her describe a shy, aloof girl who feared loud noises and wanted little to do with other children.
Some parents might have given up. Instead, Carolina reached out to me gently and patiently. She sought to understand me. She made countless sacrifices, and taught me countless important lessons. And for that, how can I adequately say, “thank you”?
Desde el fondo de mi corazón: Gracias. Feliz Día de las Madres, Mamá.
