A few years have gone by and I have only written a few chapters of my personal adoption memoir, Embraced Identity. I have been waiting for the most opportune time to write about the relationship that I have with my birth mother. The mere fact that I am calling her birth mother would have her in an uproar. But what else would I call her? She isn't my mother because I have a mother that raised me. I can't call her mom as I called my mom that too. I even called my mother "mommy" up to the day of her being on her death bed. Betty Peters Porter was my Mom, Mother, and Mommy. She was so right in saying that she was my best friend.
I tried to be cute and warm with my birth mother and give her the title of mom, but it never really stuck because she always seems to find a reason to distance herself from me. I am pretty sure that she is that way with her other children that she raised, but of course they have the benefit of being more familiar with her twerks, personality, loyalty, and love. I was the one she gave up. Oh, I am alright with that, but it just puts me at a disadvantage. Well, that's how I see it.
I really do feel blessed that I have had a relationship with her, but It doesn't set well with me that we can't have a steady friendship. I didn't have this issue with my mother, who raised me. Oh yes we had arguments, and very stressful times with each other, but it never caused me not to speak with my mom. I called her daily even after an argument because of my love and respect for her.
I have lots of irons in the oven right now. However, I am choosing to do more on my "To Do List". The rest of 2014 and all of 2015 is going to be about forward movement and taking my life to the next level. Life changes constantly, so I figure that it does not matter if after I have written the book Embraced Identity, that my birth mother decides to have this very close friendship. If this happens, then there could be a book two. I have known my birth mother since I was twenty-one. I am forty-six, so if we haven't gotten it all together yet, then I am not sure if we can in another twenty-five years. By then I will be seventy-one.
Rejection is not an easy thing, but hey! As long as I embrace myself, I will be alright!