I was adopted at two. My adoptive mom always warned me, “Never go near your birth mom.” At 25, Marcus, my half-brother, showed up with her—Teresa, frail and trembling, wanting just one meeting. She explained her past struggles, her recovery, and that she simply wanted to know I was okay.
Over months, Marcus and I grew close. Teresa visited occasionally, respecting boundaries. When she passed, she left a key to a storage room filled with journals she’d written for me every year. Reading them, I cried, healed, and connected with my past.
Then, in an incredible twist, Teresa had donated her lungs—saving my adoptive mom’s life. She had given me life twice.
Now, Marcus and I run Pages of Hope, helping recovering addicts write to the children they lost. I still call her Teresa, not Mom—but her love, forgiveness, and second chances define our story.
