I cried for hours that night—the kind of intense, deep crying that leaves you completely empty. For the next week, I read the letters over and over, calling out of work. It felt too sacred, too unbelievable to share with anyone yet.
I remembered how she always knew exactly what kind of comfort I needed when I was sick. I remembered the unique lullaby she would hum, a tune I have never heard anywhere else in the world. And I remembered the one time she slapped a man’s hand away from me in the grocery store with a fierce rage that shocked everyone. I used to think she was simply overly strict or overprotective.
Now, I finally understood. She was holding onto me for dear life. She had lost so much and kept losing, quietly, every day. But she never let go of me.
Coming Home
The final, unexpected twist in her story was this: She never told my adoptive parents either. I found one last letter at the bottom of the folder addressed to them, dated a year before she died. She never sent it. It was her final confession, explaining the whole story, begging for their forgiveness, and expressing her hope that I would one day understand.Continue reading…
