Dixie

I was being ejected from the maternal unit's boyfriend's crappy apartment and so with a few of my belongings in my arms, I was taken to foster care and left. It was for the best.

The luck of the draw brought us together. Dixie was a thirty-seven year old social worker and I was a fourteen year old new ward of the state. Even after four long years in six foster homes and several institutional facilities, we were still friends.

Our friendship grew as our interaction changed from being a child to a young adult. She became the mother I never had and I was the daughter she never bore. We spent time together talking, laughing, seeking each other's counsel and behaving in a manner so unlike that with the sociopath that gave birth to me.

We celebrated holidays, had backyard parties with her extended family, endured divorces, mourned losses of jobs and family. I had found a place of shelter under her wing but now I stood beside her as an adult proud when introduced as a daughter.

She retired and moved to be closer to her only grandchildren and I moved onto a sailboat. A recent impromptu trip brought us together for a week. We laughed, reminiscenced and wondered how we were suddenly 72 and 50 years old. I was still proud when this old woman introduced me as her daughter.

Somehow I knew that would be our last time together and I'm so, so glad I made that trip. Although she was not at her best, she was also not on death's door so I couldn't have asked for a better, final set of memories of Dixie.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to Dixie on her 73rd birthday and fittingly on mother's day weekend. Despite the fact that she did not give birth to me, she will always be my mother.

I love you and will always miss you, Dixie.