Dear Hope Nation,
[This is a Choose Your Own Adventure letter with a twist. If you’re of a certain age, you remember this series of books. You’d begin a narrative and at an exciting part, you’d have to make a choice. For instance, “If you want to explore the cave, Turn to Page 87. If you want to follow the ogre, Turn to Page 112.” In the series, you got what you wanted. I hope I can give you what you need.]
Happy Mother’s Day!
I’m adopted. I never knew my biological mother, but I’ve found out enough about her to know she would have been a lousy mom, and, according to social work records at the time, was for the child she kept. I count myself the luckiest man in the world, though, that woman placed me for adoption so I could be raised by my real mom, my adopted mom, the woman who helped make me who I am.
Some of us were raised by women like my biological mother, whose lives were complicated, complicated by substance use, complicated by poverty, complicated by demons. Our moms loved us, but they couldn’t show it without some kind of distraction or twisted motive. Their need to fill some hole inside them kept them from being the mothers they may have wanted to be. If you want to read the Dear Hope letter about complicated or distracted mothers, Turn to this Page.
Some of us are lucky enough to have been raised by just the right mother, the one who knew us as we were and as who we were capable of becoming, the one who provided us with support and love, the one who cared about us and had the time and focus to share that caring. If you want to read the Dear Hope letter about a great mom, my mom, Turn to this Page.
If you just want to be wished a happy Mother’s Day, then Happy Mother’s Day, no page turning required.
Whatever your choice, know that
You matter. I matter. We matter.