Mother’s Day is this weekend. This will be my second time celebrating as a mother. But this post is not about that.

This week, one year ago, was the last time I heard from Little Lassie’s birth mother. I think of her many times a day. Most times my thoughts are gracious, other times anger and fear take over. Our agreement of maintaining an open adoption has not panned out. We send pictures, letters and inquiries about a meeting. The response? Silence.

The last time LL’s birth mother contacted me, she sent me a Happy Mother’s Day text message. I reciprocated not knowing that would be the last we would hear from her. Had I known that, I’d have said more- or maybe less. Well, I don’t know, I just wish I had known we wouldn’t have contact again. I don’t like the unknown.

My daughter has a tether to her birth family and what is on the other end of that tether is unknown to me, yet I feel compelled to draw that tether back to us. I worry that I might be inviting something dark into our home. Where is her birth family? Why haven’t they contacted us? Did something terrible happen? Did something wonderful happen? If I leave myself open to this open adoption will I endanger our family or the life we’ve created? These thoughts exist in my mind. They don’t plague me, they don’t keep me up at night. They simply exist. One day these questions will be answered and all I can do is hope that I’m prepared for the answers.

When I think of LL’s birth family, its almost like I’m watching a movie. I feel like I know the characters intimately because they are so often on my mind, but ultimately, they are characters conjurred up by me, saying what I think they would say, feeling what I assume they would feel.

My connection to LL’s birth family is completely inexplicable to an outsider. LL is my daughter 100%. But she is also someone else’s daughter, 100%. Illogical, nonsensical, but true. Can a fertile person really understand the feeling of sharing a child with another mother? No. Sharing. I hated that word when our social worker first used it. I didn’t want to share LL with another mother. I don’t hate the word or the concept anymore, but I fear it – because I don’t know who I share her with.