I was born in the late 1950’s, at a time when there was much condemnation, and little support, for unmarried mothers. My birth-mother found herself pregnant by a man who turned out to be married. She desperately wanted to keep me, but was faced with no way to support me, and a society that was extremely judgemental and unforgiving. Although it broke her heart, she gave me up for adoption by her parents. It was done because she loved me, and wanted the best for me, and I’ve known since I was 11 that she was in fact my “mother”, as well as legally being my “sister”. We’ve always had a very close relationship, and have often talked about the circumstances surrounding my birth. The hardest thing about it for her was, when I was a small child, hearing me call someone else “Mummy”. I may be biased but I think that she has the most beautiful heart and soul of anyone I know. She turns eighty this year, has crippling arthritis, and struggles to make ends meet on an old-age pension, with little money for anything other than the bare essentials. She hasn’t had an easy life, with an abusive husband who made her life hell, but she still puts everyone else’s needs above her own. I want to acknowledge her for loving me enough to let me go, for putting what was best for me above what she wanted for herself. My mother, my hero, my friend. If I can be half the person she is, then I will indeed be a good person.
Posted by no1ladydj, 10th May 2014