So after a failed attempt to drive to my birth mother’s house (she wasn’t home), I sent a Christmas card. It was simple–nothing sarcastic like “To the best mother in the world at Christmas”–and signed with my name and cell phone number.
She just called.
She didn’t recognize the last name so I had to explain who I was and why I was calling. She says she never had a daughter. And that was it. She sounded shaken as well, but nothing more was said. It was just like calling a restaurant to ask what time they close. Short, sweet, informative.
So no sister. Feh. Just as well. Blood means nothing. Bridget is a better mom to me than anyone who claimed that title. Myke, Chris, Ziggy, Tekla are my siblings. There are too many cousins to count, but you know who you are. And I’d kill and be killed for you. Isn’t that what real family’s all about?