Mother Memory, By Sara Spring

I am watching the PGA, 39^th Annual Ryder Cup and drinking a Coca Cola from the can so the bubbles won’t dissipate faster as they do in regular cups.

I’m wearing blue and white stripped cotton pajama bottoms, a black spaghetti strapped shirt and my hair is tied up in a ponytail. Sitting cross legged on a tan leather couch with a Chinese red blanket covering my legs, I am comfortable and for the first time in a long while I feel safe.

For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to find my biological mother. As I sift through the old files of memories stuffed into the back recesses of my mind, I stumbled across a couple of buried moments.  Though they are a handful, I wouldn’t trade a single one of them.

She had cold hands, long straight chestnut brown hair and green eyes. I pulled her hair once while she was cooking just to see what would happen, I don’t remember the result. She would come by the house but never stayed long or took me with her. Then one day she knelt down, touched my cheek and left.

For a long time I have been torn between the belief that I will reunite with her and together we will build what was lost or that I will simply gain closure for the absence of our relationship and move along. I find peace after all of these years knowing that deep down there has already been some sort of closure as I did get to see her one last time, just not in the way I would have expected and if I never do find her at least I know she said good bye.