Dear Birth Mom,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write this. The last few years have been a reckoning and reframing of everything I thought I believed and knew about you, and about myself. If you could see me today—the mountains I’ve climbed, the storms I’ve weathered. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times I almost called it quits. But you were always in the back of my mind. I knew you’d be disappointed if I gave up. After all, all I want to do is honor your sacrifice, and I have to be here to do that.
Whatever circumstances led you to leaving me, I forgive you. Maybe it’s not even you I need to forgive. But somehow, along the way, I spent most of my childhood believing I wasn’t worthy of your love—that I wasn’t worth keeping. I know now that isn’t true. It took me years to undo that narrative, to tell myself a different story. But it wasn’t just about telling a different story; it was about learning to truly believe it.
It’s hard living without you, and maybe you feel the same. You’ve missed some of the most significant moments of my life, and some of the best ones are still yet to come.
You make up so much of who I am, but you are unknown to me, so how am I to truly know myself? I do my best to honor you in the absence.
So,
If you think of me, I hope peace closely follows each thought.
If you wonder whether you made the right choice, I hope peace comes with knowing you did.
If you wonder how my story unfolded, I hope peace finds you amidst the unknown.
In moments of stillness, in the quietness of evenings, I hope I am not far from your mind, as you
are not far from mine.
In moments of utter joy, I hope you lean into every feeling of unbridled laughter and beauty,
without hesitation, without pause. For you are worthy of feeling that, whether or not I’m there to
share it with you.
In moments of deep sadness and grief, I hope you know that, regardless of our distance, I sit with
you in it. There is a primal ache we will always share together, and with no one else.
I hold close the last look we shared, the last words you whispered. Though they live deep inside,
in a place unreachable, I know they endure.
And whether in this life or the next, I await the moment our paths collide once more.
Love,
Ramya
Bio: Ramya Gruneisen is a transracial adoptee living in St. Louis, Missouri. She has found a passion in
adoption education and advocacy work for adoption agencies and adoptive and prospective families. Ramya's expertise has been recognized and featured by prominent organizations such as The National Council for Adoption and American Adoptions, where she has contributed articles as a writer. In addition to publishing articles, she has shared her experiences and expertise on podcasts, at national conferences and local workshops.
Apart from her work in the adoption field, Ramya works for the United States Committee for Refugees and Immigrants (USCRI), where she is involved in the Refugee Medical Screening and Refugee Health Promotion programs. She has found it to be the most lifegiving and humbling work. When she’s not working, Ramya loves spending time with her friends and family and climbing mountains. As a true St.Louisan, she also enjoys watching the St. Louis Cardinals and Blues play.
ramyagruneisen.com
