MARY LORRAINE DANROTH
I know alot of people that have some kind of keepsake from the day they were born, a sleeper, a baby bonnet, a card from their bassinet. I know I kept stuff for my kids. Always the card from their bassinet. To this day they seem to treasure that the most.
I was 4 days old when someone finally came to get me out of the hospital. I spent 4 days crying alone in a bassinet. This is how my life story begins. For 50 years I had no keepsakes. Even if there were anything it would've been lost in the house fire when I was 3. Although there was no talk of anything of mine, and believe me, I asked everyone I knew.
It took 50 years to find out that I actually did have a keepsake. My name. The day I received that information I cried...a lot. The day that letter came to my mailbox I panicked. I couldn't open it. I couldn't even hold it. This is where having my daughter still living at home was my blessing. She was just as excited to open it and read whatever was on the paper that I had waited for for 50 years. Now we were both scared and anxious. We didn't know if it was an original birth certificate or a veto letter.
She carefully opened the flap on the mysterious envelope so as to not destroy it's very precious information. To have the knowledge of my beginnings was almost too much to fathom. She quickly scanned the content of that very important fist document and then said it was ok for me to read. I took the first paper with trembling hands and instantly started to cry like a baby.
On that paper I discovered what my keepsake from birth was. My name...my birth name...the very first thing that connected my to my beginnings.
As I write down this memory from just 16 months ago my eyes still well up.
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