For fifty years, I have wondered who my birth mom was. What did she look like? Did I look like her? What was her personality like? Did I behave like her? Were there medical conditions I should know, that my girls needed to know? How was I born in Michigan but placed in a children’s home in Tennessee? Why did she keep me for two years before surrendering me to adoption? So many years with so many questions all wrapped up in the problematic acceptance that they would never be answered. She was a …