Dear Birthmom

Dear Birthmom,

You don’t know me, but you saved me. 

As I’m writing this, I’m trying, as I have so many times, to picture your face. Nothing comes to mind. It’s a void that’s been there all of my life. Your eyes, your nose, your hair, your skin. I have no idea what you look like. 

When I see my reflection, I know you’re in the face that is looking back at me.

I searched for you years ago after I graduated with my Master’s Degree. My heart longed to simply tell you how grateful I am. I wanted to tell you all the things I’ve been able to become because of your singular decision: a son, a brother, an honors student, a Who’s Who Among American Colleges and Universities, a record-setting athlete, a musician, a vocalist, an award-winning creative professional, an author, a mentor, a factivist, an international public speaker, a columnist, a husband, and a father. Most importantly, no matter the circumstances of my conception, I grew up understanding I was always a child of God. 

I petitioned the court to unseal my adoption records and sent a copy of a song I had written to you called “Meant to Be.”

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