The first moments of a daughter's life should be in a hospital bed, wrapped in her mother's arm while her mother looks at her and smiles through the tears falling from her tired eyes. It should be with the father looking at the two loves of his life, pride shining in his eyes as he leans over and kisses both mother and child, and whispers, “She's beautiful.”

Unfortunately, these are not the first moments I had. My life began with me being taken away from my biological mother and given to the woman who would become my real mom. My biological mother and I have never met, and we never will. To me, the woman who selfishly denied me of my perfect first moments in life is just a face in the pictures I'm shown and a name in the stories I'm told. She is my biological mother not my mom. My mom is the woman who saved me and gave me a second chance.

People say that an adopted child and their adopted mothers can never have the special mother/daughter connection she would with her real parents. For me, this is completely untrue. The connection my mom and I have can only be described as a special mother/daughter connection. My mom has always treated me as one of her own. She has never kept anything from me. Even when I became curious about my biological mother she told everything without a hint of jealousy or bitterness. My mom and my biological mother were best friends practically their whole lives, so seemed like she had countless stories. She would answer any question I had, the best she could. Not many moms would be selfless enough to do that. So, how can anyone say our connection isn't special or just like a real mother and daughter?

My childhood has by no means been bad. I have had a regular happy life with a family that loves me. But there was always a thought in the back of my mind, haunting me. Will I be like her? I worry that when I grow I will be as weak minded as her. So weak that I wouldn't even bat an eye at giving up my own flesh and blood or that even when I'm reached out to I would give up the chance to meet my own daughter. My mom was nothing but sympathetic and supportive, when I asked her about my fears. With a hug and a kiss she said, “Heather, the fact that you can talk about it shows that you would never let it happen. You are a strong person because that's how I raised you to be. You know what you want out of life, and you will go after it. You'll be just fine.” Since she is my mom and I trust her, she was able to calm my nerves. I still have fears, and I still worry; but it's easier because I know my mom will be standing right beside me helping me.

One thing I always expect from people when they find out I'm adopted is questions. Why were you adopted? When were you adopted? Are you related to him? How are you related to her? These questions are easy to answer because usually yes or no will suffice. There is one question I am asked often that I always have trouble answering. What would you say to your biological mother if you did meet her? I didn't think I would ever know the answer to this question. What do you say to the woman who you were suppose to be able to count on even before birth? The woman who decided to bring you into this world, only to throw you away like a toy she was done playing with. When I was younger I was angry. I wanted to tell her that she was the worst person on the Earth. I didn't care if it hurt her and I especially didn't want to hear her try to explain herself. Most of all I wanted to tell her I hated her. Of course, my mom had not raised me to hate anyone. She didn't want the hate to settle in my heart and make me bitter. So, she stepped in and gave me what was probably the best advice I would ever be given. “Heather, giving you up was wrong and no mother should ever do that to her child. But giving you up was the best thing she could have done. You should never hate anyone, especially her. She did what she thought was best . You need to forgive and forget so that you can move on.” Suddenly the answer was clear. I knew exactly what my answer would be, and the more I thought about it the more I realized that there were really only two words that were worth saying: "Thank you."