Dear Birthmother,

I don't know you, you don't know me. You don't know my name, where I live, what I drive, or even the color of my hair. I do know the color of your hair, how tall you are, how old you are, but I don't know you.

I often wonder.

Do you think of Carly when the winter wind comes whistling, nose-biting cold? Do you wonder if she is warm enough, full enough, touching snowflakes with her tongue?

Do you miss Carly? Do you still feel her little soul reaching out to you, especially when she has a cold - like she does today - and she wants a cuddle? Do your arms ache with wanting to hold her?

Do you pray for her, little wishes floating to heaven in her behalf? Do you hope for her, wonder about her future?

Do you fret over her bumps and bruises, inside and out? Does your head split open when you think about how she will handle her first racist comment, her first too personal adoption question, her first trip to the hospital, her first baby of her own?

I often wonder.

How did you break the bond, did you erase from your mind the feel of her movements in your belly? Did you decide it was best for her to give her up, or was it best for you? Perhaps it was for you both. I wish I could ask you, I want to know if it hurts you.

I want to answer your questions too. I know you made some choices you aren't proud of. I know that you were angry, at first, and scared. I know that you lost more than just Carly along the way. I am torn between wanting to comfort you, wanting to thank you, and wanting to scold you. I am sometimes angry that you didn't take more care while you were pregnant, that you risked her life with your choices. I am sometimes bitter that you got to be there for her very first moments. I wonder if you kissed her, if you held her to your breast and felt the flutter of her heart with yours. I wonder if you were connected to her while she lived in the shelter of your body or if you were just trying to get through so that you could put her behind you.

I often wonder.

Are you well, are you happy? Do you still have the teddy bear we sent you? Do you wonder if Carly still has its twin tucked away in a pretty flowered box next to her first pair of shoes? She does.

I can answer some of your questions, though I know the chances you will ever read them are something akin to winning the lottery.

Carly is well, happy and vivacious. She is a D.I.V.A. with very particular tastes. She is strong - both in will and in body. She is silly and thoughtful by turns. She loves her brother and does everything that he does if it is humanly possible. She has food to eat, her favorite is ice cream. She sleeps in my room on nights like this, when she has a cold. She has a closet full of clothes, boxes and boxes from Aunt Angie that she is still too small to wear. She has pretty shoes and a jewelry box brimming over, she has nail polish that she likes to change every day or more, she has books to read and a whole city of dolls. She is smart, and safe, and loved.

I often wonder if it matters to you. I am afraid that someday it will make a difference to her if you loved her, afraid she will want to run to you. I am sometimes even more afraid that she will find you waiting to claim her. Will she be able to love us both?

I often wonder.