Every Day A Little Death
And Embracing It Determines How You Live.
Today is Friday, the 13th and it’s no surprise I’m writing about my experience with Death from the heart of Mexico. But let me get this out of the way …
My first experience with Death struck before I was born.
Actually…in the womb: the death of my first relationship — no, my mother didn’t die in labor (that would’ve messed me up in a different way) but whatever the potential relationship with her was to be…it ended before I got a chance to meet her.
Hospital protocol dictated I was to be removed from the labor room the minute of my birth. My mother was instructed not to look at me, not to reach for me. I was never to see or feel my mother, be held by her, never to breastfeed. So? What do babies know? Everything. After all, we were there.
I know I’m not alone. There are plenty of us adoptees out there. Giving up your unwanted baby was the abortion of the 60s. We rarely talk about the pain because it’s either buried too deep or…someone told us to always be grateful. We were chosen and special and spared a horrible life because of our “brave” adopted…
