I was born, three weeks premature, to a young woman, an unwed mother, a student at university, in Philadelphia.
This wonderful young woman made the ultimate sacrifice.
Despite the social mores of the day, she chose to carry me for 9 months (well - almost), and then do the unthinkable.
She gave me up for adoption. It resonates with me often, this incredible thing that she was doing for me, her child. She wanted me to have more than what she could give me.
I was adopted into a home with a beautiful mother and a handsome father. I had a two year old brother waiting to tease me (and he still does).
Our mother called us her adopted darlings when we were younger. We are not related by blood, but by love. Matt will always be my beloved brother that I look up to. As much as he wanted to ditch me as a kid, he was always the first one to stick up for me when I needed him.
My mother loved us fiercely. Both my brother and I have now celebrated our first birthdays without her. Matt was adopted just a few days after he was born, but because I was premature, I didn't 'come home' until February 2nd of the new year. Mom and I always considered that our special day.
But on this day, I think of my birth mother, and the incredible sacrifice she made for me. God Bless her, where ever she is. I hope she knows that I think of her, and love her too.