I'm not sure where this little essay came from, but it describes perfectly how I feel about my boys' birthmother, Amy.

This versatility in the concept of "mother" has been enormously illuminating and liberating for me as I try to be a mother to our daughter. I now occupy a vast, uncharted, and unimagined territory of grief and human connection. Not a day passes when I do not think of or pray for the woman who gave birth to our child. At the visceral level I experience deep emotional, psychological, and spiritual bonds with her. I am moved by the heroic quality of her life: bearing, caring, giving in, and finally giving up. I long to know her, to tell her that I am her shadow sister who walks with her, and that I will keep her trust to my death. In this almost surreal relationship we have been knit together by a trust without any guarantees. Not faith or hope exactly, because no promise has been given. Merely the amazement of two distant and unlikely fates inextricably intertwined through one little life.

[Author Unknown]