My parents adopted me around three or four from foster care. Before foster care I’d spent a year with my other mother in prison, when authorities removed me around age one, and I unconsciously held out for over twenty-five years for my prison mother to “come get me,” held out without knowing it.
I rejected my mother for decades, the mother who stood by me no matter what, the mother who waited for me to come out the other side of pain and fury, the mother whom I plotted to gas to death, the mother whose face my fist grazed before it punctured sheet rock, every bone in my right hand shattered.
At last, when my mother was in her 70s, I in my 30s, I "hired" her as my mother. She died on Thanksgiving, just hours after I flew in to spend the holiday with her.