Every year I remember my birth parents less and less, my memories of them dissipate, fade away. When they were gone, I was about ten years old. At first I went to my grandfather’s house, but he had not been close to his son, my father, for a long time. He hardly knew me and it wasn’t easy for him to raise me, as I think, so he refused to raise me and gave me to the guardianship authorities.
From the first day I was there, various families came to watch me, but I was already too “grown up” for them, as the educators said. There was one woman who really wanted to adopt me. She often came to see me, gave me gifts and tasty food, and we often went for walks with her. It took her a long time to take me home, but the biggest shock for me was when she had a framed picture of my parents in my childhood home.
Mom Sarah soon told me that she had worked as my babysitter as a child. I was just a baby, and she needed a part-time job. Through a firm my mother found her and hired her. When I got older the need for her disappeared, but my parents kept in touch with her. She found out about the accident that killed them, wanted to help my grandfather, but it turned out he had sent me to an orphanage. She had been trying to get custody of me ever since.
It would have been impossible to find a better mother than my own. Sarah had a fiancé, and pretty soon he was my father. They were wonderful parents, and although I was homesick for some time, they surrounded me with warmth and care so that I thought only of the present and not of the past.
From my childhood with them I have many great photos of the happiest moments. I was happy with them myself all the time. And now I am happy, knowing that they are doing well and it is thanks to them that I am standing firmly on my feet, I got a higher education and I have someone to introduce my boyfriend to.
I was very lucky to grow up twice with wonderful parents.
