I have never known what it feels like to have a positive, healthy bond with anyone I am biologically related to. My biological father chose not to be part of my life. My mother left him when I was just 2, and according to her, the last time I saw him I was 4. He simply walked away from fatherhood and never returned.
Years later, in 2009, I tracked him down as an adult. We talked on the phone for a little over two weeks, and then, just as quickly, he vanished again. My stepfather never stepped into a real father role either; instead, he was abusive in several ways until his death in 2011. My mother and I today have what I call a “friendly but distant” relationship — for many reasons that formed slowly over time.
I am the oldest of five, the only girl among four brothers. My first brother spent his life in and out of jail before tragically taking his life several years ago. My second and third brothers have been incarcerated for more than 30 years each. My youngest brother stopped speaking to me entirely, largely because I refuse to stay silent about the abuse I endured from our stepfather — who was his biological father.
All of this has shaped me deeply. There are moments when I ache from never knowing what a genuinely close family relationship feels like. I have listened to friends casually chat with their siblings or parents and silently wondered, What must that be like? Hearing a friend laugh with her brother, another talk with her aunt, or watching someone share a sweet moment with their child — all of it would leave me longing for something I simply never had. I often wished I could relate.
Even so, I have been blessed with friends who have loved me fiercely and stood beside me through life’s journey. But that empty place where “family” should have been — it remained. I tried, genuinely, with my relatives. Eventually I realized I could create my own family through friendship. And now, through adoption, that dream is becoming real.
In the 1990s, I lived in Pennsylvania for a little over two years. During that time, I met Connie — a sweet 6-year-old girl in foster care. I became close not only with Connie, but also with her sisters and their foster mother. I first connected with her sister Danielle while volunteering, and soon I was spending time with the entire foster family.
Their foster mother invited me to church, and that church became my spiritual home while I lived there. I thought everything in that household was loving and stable. What I didn’t realize was that multiple painful things were happening behind closed doors — including several forms of abuse directed at Connie.
Years passed. Connie, her sisters, their two foster siblings, and the foster mother — who eventually adopted all five — connected with me on Facebook. When their foster mother passed away in 2009, I mourned with them. Still, life moved forward. Then July 2020 arrived, and everything changed.
Connie — now a single mother of two boys, working full-time as a nurse and sharing her story through YouTube — posted a video called “My Foster Brother Molested Me for 12 Years.” I watched, stunned, crying, heartbroken. I had her number, though we’d only chatted casually online, and suddenly I realized how much I didn’t know.
When we began talking by phone, I learned three powerful truths: everything traumatic Connie had survived, that I had meant far more to her childhood than I ever realized, and that — in a very real way — she still needed me. I had always been “Aunt Mary” in her heart, even when I didn’t fully see it.
She later explained it beautifully: while many adults drifted through her life, I was someone who saw her and heard her. That mattered more than I knew.
Believing her foster mother’s extended family had always supported her, I was shocked to learn otherwise. So I stepped in without hesitation. I began calling more, texting more, sending gifts, planning visits. I traveled twice in 2021 and scheduled two more trips for 2022. Our conversations quickly became daily — deep, honest, and healing.
The last time I had physically seen Connie, she was 8. In May 2021, I flew to visit her again — now 33. I returned for Thanksgiving, and during that trip, we made life-changing decisions: I would adopt her. She would have, at last, her third — and final — mother.
I chose adult adoption for two reasons. First, because our bond naturally grew into a real mother-daughter relationship. And second, because she had experienced two mothers already, yet never truly had the nurturing love every child deserves. When she told me she finally knew what it felt like to have a mom, it moved me deeply.
Connie describes this decision as giving her life new meaning — a chance to have family, stability, and unconditional love. It means her children gain a grandmother. It means she finally gets to choose her own future. For her, it is proof that it is never too late to create the family your heart needs.
For me, adopting Connie feels sacred. She came into the world deserving gentleness, encouragement, safety, and pride in who she is. I want to give her all of those things. Together, we are building the family we both longed for.
Years after first meeting Connie, I spent two years as a foster mother. Along the way, I formed “mother-like” bonds with several young women in Texas. One of them — Lupita — holds a special place in my heart. She lived with me for three months in 2009, disappeared from my life for three-and-a-half years, and then we reconnected in 2013 as if no time had passed.
Lupita is kind, humble, and deeply committed to becoming the best mother she can be for her two children. Our relationship is mutual and full of respect. She talks openly with me about everything, and her tenderness makes it easy to love her. When I later shared my plans to adopt Connie, she quietly said she hoped I would adopt her too.
Connie and Lupita soon connected by phone and became instant friends. They saw reflections of themselves in each other — strength, resilience, faith. Connie will visit me in April, after the adoption, and she and Lupita will finally meet face-to-face. After that, I will adopt Lupita as well. Two daughters. Four grandchildren. A growing, chosen family.
The joy of watching both of them mother their children — with compassion and intentional love — is one of my greatest blessings.
It began with Connie, but our story continues to grow. She now shares parts of our journey on her YouTube channel, including my visits, our Thanksgiving together, and soon, our official adoption moments.
That Thanksgiving in 2021 felt like my first true family holiday. Though friends had always welcomed me lovingly, sitting at Connie’s table — as family — touched something I’d waited my whole life to feel. We’ve already promised to make it a yearly tradition.
Connie and Lupita often tell me I’ve changed their lives — but the truth is, they have changed mine too. Through them, I finally know what it’s like to have close family bonds. I am endlessly grateful and honored to be their mother.
If you resonate with any part of our story, I hope it encourages you. Families can be built — gently, intentionally, beautifully — from the heart. My word for 2022 is CREATE. I am creating family — for Connie, for Lupita, and for myself.
