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I recall doing a small slide show of pictures of my mom for a digital frame that looped all throughout the wake. My dad was the only one who asked me why I didn’t put any photos of me and my mom. My reasons were: I put a few of them in that collage I made, and I couldn’t seem to find the album filled with photos of me as a kid. My main reason was that: I felt like I shouldn’t claim what wasn’t mine.

Like, being inside the church, talking to everyone, accepting condolences and randomly bursting into tears was my adoptive sister’s job. She and the rest of them had every right to sob and mourn as much as they wanted. And since they did all that I figured I would either be questioned if I did the same, asked who I was, or just simply be stared down until I would feel too unworthy to grieve. So I decided I’ll do some background work, make her a little AVP, keep my friends at a minimum, and figured that would be enough…at least for her.

Today I found this in a plastic bag of photos I used for that little digital frame and I figured might as well show the rest of the world that, yeah, she was my mom, and to us (mom and I), it didn’t matter if I was adopted or not, she was my mom.

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