The only memory I have of you is so elusive—it feels like a dream I had rather than an actual moment of my life when I knew you as my Mother. It seems like such a silly thing to remember and I ask myself why it is, of all things, my mind chooses to recall this particular instant because it seems so trivial. You were visiting me and my sister, at the orphanage that you made into our new home. You had come and the only thing I recall from that visit, is you getting ready to leave- you gave me some money, a few shiny coins that felt like a treasure in my tiny hands. I don’t remember if I was scared, or sad. Maybe you weren’t visiting, maybe you were leaving us there at that time. It is all a haze to me and I feel so lost like I am spinning out of control trying to relive that fraction of a moment with you. I can’t picture your face, is that awful?
Should I know what you look like? Why did you leave us there? I have so many questions but don’t have the slightest clue as to how to start looking for you. I don’t think I wondered about you as I was growing up, I might have shut that part of my life out of my mind as a preventative measure because I also have a few bad memories of that place you left us in.

I don’t know how long my sister and I stayed in that orphanage, it could have been years, or weeks, it is frustrating to try and think of that time. My recollection would be like trying to explain to someone about a strange dream I had. You know how dreams are, they don’t make any sort of sense and one thing flows into another, that is what my memories of being in Korea is like. I see me walking with some authority figure and a few kids, from the orphanage I suppose, we are walking to a baseball field, to see a game? I whine because I want to have what the street vendor is selling, something fragrant and sweet, but the authority figure says no because I already had ice cream. Then I see myself falling into a hole in the ground, my leg gets stuck, and it is broken, I wear a cast for a while- which leg it was, I don’t recall. Two separate memories but it could have been the same day. Did you know when I broke my leg? There I am playing doctor with a few of the kids, we get in trouble though we are so innocent in our play, strange thing to recall.
I then have those few bad recollections, I don’t want to tell you about them because you would blame yourself for leaving us there. I don’t blame you, I can’t when I don’t know what you were going through to make that decision. I told Dad about those damaging experiences just 4 years ago. I had to, it was time. He of course blamed himself but I know he had no control over what happened to me then.

He is the one who sent for me and my sister. He did not know where we were or what was about to happen to us because you had cut off contact with him years before. Why did you disappear with us? Why not send us to live with our Father? I was oblivious to the fact that my sister had been adopted by a family. At least thats what I know now. Maybe I knew then. There was a family visiting the orphanage looking for a child to bring home, I stood in a line with the other kids, being inspected, like we were for sale.  All I remember about the family that was to adopt me was that they were American, had two kids, an older boy and girl, and they loved me. I could tell by the way they treated me and the way they were so excited when I came to live with them. I was not so happy. I felt awful for not wanting to be with them, felt awful at such a young age. But my nights were filled with tears as I wanted to go back to what I knew, the orphanage. These people spoke a language that was foreign to me, English, and I could not communicate how sorry I was because I knew that they cared for me a great deal but I did not want to live with them. I also remember the mother in the family, taking me to a friends house, to show me off. I was playing with one of those Fisher Price Little People cars, the white one with orange trim, with the little person in the drivers seat. I pushed that little car up and down the arms of the couch while she sat and talked about me to her friend. It’s funny, but I also remember the smell, distinctly-sometimes I have a fleeting scent of something that brings me back to that day. The mother glanced at me now and then and I knew she was sad, maybe because she had a premonition that I would be going back.

I don’t know for sure what prompted them to follow my wishes, maybe it was my constant sobbing, or was I able to communicate that I wanted to go? They took me back to the place that held bad memories for me, but was home. They were all heartbroken, especially the children. They would have been wonderful as a big brother and sister. They taught me how to brush my teeth after all.
My memory jumps to getting on a plane with my guardian priest that brought myself and two or three other kids to the States to be adopted? I am now running(?) towards my father who has come to meet us at the airport, and instantly when I see him, I know I belong to him. How do I know this? He takes me to his home and my guardian and the kids go along. They stay there with us for a day or so and leave I suppose, since I don’t remember them growing up in that house. I stayed there in that house, with my new family. My father had managed to locate me and send for me before I was officially adopted but was not able to get my sister as she went to a family in a closed adoption. We don’t know where she is today. I don’t know if I will ever find her. Dad wants to find her but is having difficulty in knowing where to begin. I imagine sometimes that our paths have crossed. Did you know that I had forgotten that I had a sister until my step-mother told me when I was 16?  My father did not tell me because as so many other dysfunctional families, we never spoke to each other about important things. I now think that he did not tell me about her, or you, because he was ashamed of himself for allowing his children to have been so lost when we needed him.

He doesn’t like talking about it but finally told me about you in that same conversation I had with him 4 years ago. He truly loved you, I want you to know this if nothing else. He did his best and I do not blame him for anything that has happened in my life. I don’t have full account of my life till the age of 15 I believe. All the rest is just fuzz. Too many painful memories mucking up the good stuff. Maybe I will tell you about it sometime. My dream now is to find my sister and hope that we can piece our memories of you together so that we can get a full picture of why you left us when you did. It will be difficult I know as she was younger than me, maybe just 2 or 3, but I can hope. I want to know you also, to be able to introduce you to your grandkids. Everyone says they look so much like me, and according to Dad, I look very much like you. Can I see you in my children?
At times I feel this big hole in my soul that cannot be filled. I turn to God and He fills it as much as I will allow Him to, but I know the hole will be there till the day that my mind will let me remember you and the love that I know you had for me.  I wrote this so that I could sleep. You come to mind at the most inopportune times like when it is 5 am and I know that I better sleep because the kids will be up before I know it. For them, I write this down, so they will know my story, and in turn maybe see a little of their grandmother in it if they never get the chance to meet you. I will do my best to make you alive to them-my mind won’t let me remember you, but I know that in time, my heart will.