This glass dish belonged to someone I have never met. The bright orange color and design might be a little out of style but it is precious to me. I’m sure it holds secret memories of the past. Maybe beautiful memories, maybe memories too painful to forget. Maybe it once held fresh mints. Maybe filthy cigarette ashes.
The glass dish belonged to my birthmother, Betty Price. In a court document I later received, she said, “she never saw her baby, and it was all like a bad dream.” She had always proclaimed I was stillborn, probably to prevent other family members from asking embarrassing questions that would forever haunt her. She died at the age of 46. She drank herself to death, and died with the secret that I was ever born.
I’m sure, as she gazed into the eyes of the orange swan, she would often think of me, wondering if I was okay.
To Betty, I find comfort in believing you relinquished me to be loved. If that is true, thank you for making such a brave sacrifice. I am eternally grateful to have lived the life of an adoptee.
Yes, I am doing okay.