I thought about what I was going to do with what Eleanor had left me.
Not the money — that was a practical question for practical days.
I mean what she had actually left me.
The knowledge that someone had looked for me for forty years and found me and thought I was worth finding.
That someone had sat across from me twice a week and seen something in my face she had not seen in fifty years and chosen, quietly, to stay.
I thought about my mother — my mother who had driven six hours to bring home a three-week-old baby and never once made me feel like anything other than completely, unconditionally hers.
I had two mothers.
Both of them had loved me in the fullest way they knew how.
One had raised me.
One had found me.
Both had given me more than I had known to ask for.
