Don’t Make Us Choose. A Missive To Adoptive Parents.

The Unfair Cruelty of Secrecy. Exhausted, sweaty, jet lagged and anxious, I got off the elevator with no idea where to go so I turned left and wow, there was my mother at the end of the long, antiseptic hallway. Her tiny body — four feet, eight inches — and gleaming white hair, gripping a walker, a tall nurse walking beside her.