a letter to my birthmommy

Dear Birthmommy,
I can't remember a time in which I didn't know about you. My adoption was no secret growing up - it was something my family frequently spoke about and celebrated. I knew that you had given me up because I was born in a country where little girls are not as culturally valuable as little boys. But being adopted never phased me - sometimes kids would see that my mom and I looked nothing like each other and say, "Do you look like your dad?" Or they would point out other Asian children and ask, "Is that your sibling?" but it didn't bother me at all. I confess that amongst my many adventures growing up, I didn't think about you too much.
It wasn't until I grew older that I began to truly appreciate you. When I read stories about forced abortions or birth control, I began to realize how hard and dangerous it must've been for you. And now that I am struggling with my own fertility (or the prevention of it), I think of you even more. I used to think I was nothing like you, except for the fact that we probably look alike. You were someone far away, in a different culture and country. I had never met you, and I probably never would. But I have to come to realize we are more alike than I once thought.
We both have lost something. You carried me for nine months, most likely wondering my gender. I made you feel sick, I made you throw up, I made you feel tired. I made you irritable and emotional. I bet I made you cry. Yet through those nine months you kept me safe as we fell a little more and more in love with each other. 
Then I was born, and you saw me for the first time. Maybe you held me. Maybe you cried. But in the end, you lost me, and I lost you. We spent nine months together, but you never got to hold my hand while I learned to walk, hear my first jumbled words, or listen to my laugh. Shortly after I was born, someone tucked me away in a cardboard box and left me where they knew I'd be found. 
You see, in a way I've lost my baby too. It's not the same; I know that. I can never have a baby, so technically I can never lose one. But something has broken in my heart that will never be the healed. Something is missing that will never be completely filled. I won't "get better" or "get over it" because although loss may lessen, loss is forever. 
But because you lost me and I lost you, together we were able to make something good. Because you gave me life, I was able to bring joy to a childless couple. Because you gave me up, I was able to make a husband and wife into a daddy and mommy. Somehow our loss healed broken hearts and filled empty spaces. Perhaps I've romanticized everything; maybe you are nothing like I've imagined. But that's okay, because I do know this - that you valued life, my life, enough that you let me have a chance.
You gave birth to me, but you never saw me living life. Someday I hope to do the opposite - raise a child that I did not give birth to you. Although I used to think we were very different, I have come to realize that that isn't true. Though our situations are not the same, we've both suffered loss, and we've both brought joy amidst sadness. We both have lost someone dear to us. We've both felt the pain of desiring something that we can't have. 
I still don't know much about you. I've simply come to understand and appreciate you more. I've learned to keep a place for you in my heart, because we are more alike than I once thought. Because Birthmommy, we share more than just DNA.