I never thought of them as anything but my parents. They had adopted me when I was just a few days old, had taken me home from the hospital. They were always very open with me about the fact that I was adopted, had never shielded me from the concept of having "parents" and "biological parents." Mine was a semi-open adoption. I had the choice to seek out my birth mother when I turned eighteen. Despite all the legal tape suggesting otherwise, my adoptive mother kept in contact with my birth mother. They wrote letters to each other every couple of years, staying on surface topics such as my growth and development. I never knew that they still corresponded until after the accident. I found the letters in old shoe box in the back of my parent's closet. I don't know if my mother was trying to shield me from feeling pain or just considered the letters a private matter. I will probably never know. When I was about eight years old, I began to ask more questions about my birth family. My mother told me that my biological parents were very young when they had me, just sixteen and still in high school. They had made a tough descion and a deep sacrifice but they knew that they couldn't afford to keep me. They wanted to achieve things in their life such as graduating high school and going to college and they knew that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to make those dreams a reality with a newborn in tow. My mother always said that she prayed and prayed for a baby but that her body couldn't make them. She said that she prayed so hard, God placed an angel inside another women's tummy, a women who could have a child but could not keep and raise one, and that woman gave the angel to her. That's how I got my name, Ange. It's pronounced like Angie, but it is French for Angel.
My adoptive parents were older, in their late 30s when they recieved me. A bit old fashioned at times, but caring and stable. They provided me with all the nescitys and many extras that a child needs in life. Unlike a lot of adopted kids, I never felt like I had some gaping hole that I needed to fill. I had all the love I needed and I had no desire to rock the boat. At 13, I had become your typical rebelious teen. Over night, it seems, my hips spread as wide as Texas and a crop of white dots appeared on my forehead. I stared at my budding body in the mirror and felt both disgusted and a little excited. I was growing up! Finally! People were going to have to start allowing me more responsibility now, I was going to be able to make more of my own choices. My first choice was to stop eating anything but celery and fat free yogurt. My second choice was to attack my face with anti-acne products until my skin was red and raw.
