Thinking about my roots

Dear Mom, Birthmom, Woman who bore me, Ma’am,

I imagine you don’t know me any more.
After all, you did only briefly; though at 15 it must have seemed like an eternity.

These are the things I know about you –
You are beautiful - not in a traditional way. Really in more of a crazy, spirited way.
You have abundant energy - people love to be around you. You make them feel better about themselves than anyone else ever has.
You’re happy – really – you know that though you’ve made some tough choices in your life, they’ve been the right choices.
Your partner and children know about me and are ready for my possible resurfacing.
You smell like the earth – rich and inviting and warm and sunny.
You stand-up for all the right causes - and work hard to show people a caring way.
You’re a vegetarian - but not a vegan – something about eliminating honey just doesn’t work for you.
You look young for your age – people can’t believe you’re pushing senior citizenship.
Your job involves reaching people – you might be a therapist, a yoga instructor, a teacher.
Your house is small and full but not cluttered.
You read – a lot – and aren’t afraid to loan your books out to anyone – even the hardbacks.
You keep in touch with people - not many are lost from your life.
You do cartwheels in the hallways at work when no one is around.

Giving me up was the hardest thing you've ever done.

These are the things I don’t know –
If any of this is true.
If I can bear it if any of it is not.