Chosen to be loved
My mother always told me I was chosen.
Now I know everyone’s mom says that their children are special in some way, but my circumstances were different.
I was a foster child for 13 years and then adopted by my parents in 1977. I was in court for the adoption proceedings. I answered questions before a judge, and I watched my dad break down when the judge asked my dad how he felt about me.
With tears in his eyes he said, “I couldn’t love her more. She’s my little girl.”
My parents were my legal guardians nearly all of the years prior, and although I have no recollection of living with two other families, I have vivid memories of my childhood, in the home where my mom reinforced her love by telling me, “I chose you to be my baby.”
Mom always had a way of making me feel special. And daddy, well, there aren’t words for being the tomboy apple of his eye.
Although being a foster child drew curiosity from classmates when I was very young, my parents helped me understand the special circumstances that surrounded our family.
It’s not easy when your parents and sister have a different last name or answering the question why you had to miss school to go to court or why on the annual emergency card your mom and dad are identified as your legal guardians.
Still, my parents found a way to blend our unconventional family into one complete whole.
I never felt any kind of stigma about being unloved. I never had any resentment about my birth parents. I never invented fairy tales about how my life would have been different if I weren’t adopted — I never had to.
I recently had the privilege of interviewing a childhood idol of mine, Ben Vereen.
During our discussion, Ben told me he, too, was adopted. He explained the great love he had for his (adopted) mother and that her love and support made set his life in motion. Ben said his mother was the loving, driving force behind his success. Following her death, he searched and found his birth family. He had waited because his love for his mom was so great, he never wanted to risk hurting her.
As a foster child, I knew my birth mother and my mom made sure I understood my birth mother did what was best for me, as she couldn’t take care of me on her own. And when I had to go spend time with my birth mother, mom girded herself and my dad for the separation.
Mom had a way of helping all of us feel normal. It’s just the way life was in our home. And the secret ingredient was love.
After my parents adopted me, my mom gave me this poem:
Not flesh of my flesh
Or bone of my bone
but nevertheless still my own.
Never forget for a single minute
You weren’t born under my heart
But in it.
I would encourage childless individuals or couples to consider being a foster parent or adopting a child. Find out more about becoming a foster or adoptive parent at Pennsylvania’s adoption network: adoptkids.org or call 1-800-585-SWAN.
In this country there are thousands of children longing to be part of a loving family; desperately seeking to be chosen; to be lifted from unfortunate circumstances and set on a good path — just like Ben and me.
As I grew up, mom and I became best friends, just like mothers and daughters often do.
When my dad died, it was tough, but we leaned on one another and made it through.
Even when she was in a personal care home and dementia was bit by bit stealing her from me, I would go at the end of a bad day and lay my head in her lap. She would stroke my hair and tell me, “tomorrow is another day.”
I lost her in 2010, and I miss her each and every day.
She used to say how lucky she felt to be my mom.
Nope, I was the lucky one.