Chosen and Found

It was the moment I had been waiting for. On April 8, 2020, I received the phone call I had longed for so many years. While the whole world was shut down, I finally connected with my biological mom. We talked on the phone for hours each day, catching up on years of missed memories and shared experiences. We made plans to meet in June of 2020 for my birthday, and I traveled across the country to see her — a journey that felt both surreal and deeply healing. The closer I got to her, the more my heart raced. I felt a mix of excitement, nervousness, and an ache I didn’t fully understand until I saw her. When we finally embraced, tears streamed down both of our faces. In that moment, all the years of questions, the longing, and the pain seemed to converge and release. It wasn’t perfect — we had a lifetime to catch up on — but it was real, it was raw, and it was beautiful. Through that reunion, I felt a deeper understanding of who I was and how God had been guiding me all along. Even in the gaps of absence, His hand had been at work, shaping me, teaching me forgiveness, and reminding me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Meeting my biological mom didn’t just fill a piece of my heart — it affirmed that I could embrace my past, honor my journey, and continue walking in faith and redemption. We talked about so much, including the hardest truth — why she gave me up. My mother told me she was drugged and raped. She didn’t even know she was pregnant until she was six months along. At that time, she was diagnosed with double pneumonia. The radiologist advised her to have an abortion, warning that neither of us, or only one of us, might survive. She said she couldn’t do that. Instead, she chose adoption as a way to give me life and a chance at a future. Hearing that stopped me in my tracks. For the first time, I understood the depth of her sacrifice — that I was never unwanted, but deeply loved in a way that required incredible courage. Two years later, she came to visit me in Florida. We shared wonderful times on the beach and experienced things she had never done before. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see her. On the day of her passing, I accidentally FaceTimed her, not realizing what was happening. My family had just sat down for our family devotion when I looked at my phone afterward and saw an emergency 911 text — she had passed. The shock hit me like a wave, leaving me breathless and heartbroken. I immediately called my cousin to confirm. Even in the midst of my grief, I couldn’t help but feel God’s hand in that fleeting moment. That accidental FaceTime — that brief connection — felt like a gift, a way for me to see her one last time, to say goodbye in a way words alone could not capture. I felt the weight of loss, yes, but also the gentle reminder that God is near in our deepest sorrow. In the days that followed, I clung to Him. I realized that grief doesn’t have to break us; it can teach us about the fragility of life, the preciousness of connection, and the depth of God’s love and comfort. Though I no longer see her here, her memory has become a sacred part of my faith journey — a reminder that even in loss, God provides moments of grace, and that He is always present, holding us through the pain.