Love isn’t guaranteed. It’s something someone decides to give you and that choice can change your whole life. I learned that the hard way when my mother left me at three years old. I don’t remember her face or her voice, but I remember what it felt like to be left behind. It’s a kind of silence that sticks to your bones.
The man who became my father was a Marine who had just come home from Vietnam. He’d been through things he never talked about, but I could tell he carried a lot inside him. One day he told me, “Your mother left you with me to babysit and never came back. I couldn’t let you go.” So he didn’t. He brought me home and made me his daughter. In 1978, it became official, but really, he had already been my dad long before that.
He was quiet and humble, not one for big speeches. He showed love in small, steady ways, calling every morning to say he loved me, packing my lunch, helping me with homework, saving up to send me to a good school. He worked hard and never complained. I always felt safe with him. When I was older, he left his job and joined the seminary to become a priest. That was who he was a man who gave, who served, who loved without expecting anything back.
Still, there was a part of me that always felt incomplete. I didn’t look like anyone in my family. I didn’t have baby pictures or stories from when I was little. Kids at school would ask, “What are you?” I never knew how to answer. I felt different in ways I couldn’t explain.
As a teenager, I struggled with self-doubt. I remember freezing during a class speech, shaking so hard I could barely talk, and running out of the room in tears. Everyone saw a nervous girl, I felt like a failure. My dad always told me I was special, but a small voice inside kept whispering, If you were really special, your mom would’ve stayed.
College was the first time I started to see myself differently. A professor noticed I had a gift for writing and encouraged me to study communications. For the first time, I felt like I had something that was mine, something that didn’t depend on anyone else. It gave me direction, confidence, and hope.
But the biggest turning point in my life came years later, when I became a mother. The moment I held my son, I felt something shift inside me. Looking into his tiny face, I saw my reflection for the first time in another human being. That feeling that sense of connection, it healed something deep that had been broken since childhood. All the questions and self-doubt faded. I finally understood what unconditional love felt like.
When my son joined the Navy and left home, I thought I was ready. I wasn’t. Watching him go brought all those old feelings of loss rushing back. The sadness was so heavy it surprised me. But this time, I understood where it came from. Adoption had taught me that grief never truly leaves you, it just changes shape.
Years later, I found love again. My husband listens, really listens. He doesn’t try to fix me or tell me to move on. He simply stays. His presence feels like peace.
My story started with loss, but it didn’t end there. I’ve learned that love doesn’t erase pain, it gives it meaning. Healing doesn’t happen overnight; it happens through the people who stay, the moments of courage, and the quiet decision to love yourself, even when it’s hard.
The love that found me didn’t come from where I expected. But it came, and it saved me.
