If I could meet anyone for an hour, I would want to meet my birth mother
I was born in Russia and adopted at six months old. I was brought to America and lived here all my life. I was told my birth family was really poor, only living in a one room apartment with two other children. I only know my parent’s names, eye and hair color and heights. I was told my father was a mechanic and my mother was a stay at home mom. I think. Not much was told… I didn’t know anything about my two older siblings except their birth months. One was born in 1997, the other in 1999. I don’t know who was born first. There was another pregnancy, but I don’t know what happened.
Upon my birth in 2003, the papers were signed so I was sent to an orphanage. Well, after 3 weeks.
There wasn’t any room at an orphanage for the first three weeks of my life so I had to stay in the hospital. While I was there, my birth mom brought me pumped breast milk. She didn’t feed me, heck, when I was first born, she didn’t want to hold me and get attached. When a spot at an orphanage opened up, I stayed there for about 6 months before I was adopted to a new family in September.
I doubt my birth mother would speak English
I would want to go to Russia, see her first hand and converse with her for the allowed time. After awkward introductions: “Privyet.. I am your daughter..” “What?” Of course I would need a translator, I doubt my birth mother would speak English. I would explain that I was adopted into a wonderful family and tell her how my life has been. I would show photographs of my childhood, show her some art projects I’ve done, explain my love of swimming, and ask her things about my father and siblings.
I would finally get to get a picture of her and what she looks like, finally be able to tell her how much I love her and appreciate everything she has done for me. I would be able to tell her how much it means to me that she was able to give her daughter a better life, no matter how much it hurt. I will be able to give her a hug, something I’ve never been able to do.
Read More Scholarship Winning Essays
Fences is an Experience, Not A Film