The reunion. A magical moment in time. A terrifying moment. A moment relived over and over in my imagination. A moment I never dared to hope for. And then it happened. A cyclone. The world I once knew swirled and dropped me into another, and I didn’t recognize that world. When I met my birth mother, suddenly I had a birth story, my birth story. I had only lived on the fringe of my truth. A truth that was told to my parents all those years ago that became a sort of tale, with missing pieces and made up lines, sewn together and woven with my parents and siblings creating our family’s story. Those first days of knowing her, the first days I didn’t have to wonder what she looked like were blips in time. Hours felt like seconds and our conversations were downpours of facts, learning, catching up. That is how I remember the beginning of my life with my birth mother. But for her, I was fixed in her memory. For her time slowed down and went back and suddenly she was a new mother again.