I have always questioned life, my existence, and why I'm here.
Perhaps because I never knew my biological father, that I was a 60s baby born out of wedlock, that my mother's decision to keep me was not her first thought. That even though not yet fully formed I withstood her anguish, desperate actions, and held on.
Despite all, I was born.
Or perhaps because in one split second, one fleeting conversation with a complete stranger in the bed next to hers, my mother resolved to keep me. Since deep down she knew. Knew she was strong, that she was capable, that no matter the rhetoric of her circumstance she did not have to let go.
Despite all, she could (and would) take me home.
Little picture moments. Stories of a Lifetime