They cut me out of my mother just after she died. If the bullet had been a little left or right, well, they still would've had to cut me out. Except she'd be alive and not me. Needless to say I never knew my mother. Growing up I was told countless times how nice and wonderful she was. How she couldn't wait to bring me into the world. She did take a beautiful picture. The man I knew as my father did his best to show me how much he loved me. Even after he married and had my half-siblings. Always fair he was. He was the first to see if he matched when I needed a new kidney.

Shock or amazement, you decide which. Not only in having someone so young with failed kidneys, but then to discover its not your child. Apparently only mom knew. No match was to be had there. We did find a donor though. A gentleman that was serving out his final days on death row matched . Whatever it was that made my body so difficult to partner, he had it too. But that just raised more questions. What else did my mother hide from everyone?

After grandad dies some years later, grandma started opening up a bit. Then the skeletons came flooding out. I wasn't what you'd call a healthy child, and now I was beginning to understand why. Drugs, alcohol, abuse both physical and mental. All my life I couldn't understand why someone would shoot my mother. This version provided many possibilities. But anger drove me to find out who.

The police knew. The caught and prosecuted the man. Executed some 5 years ago now. However, this knowledge troubled me more than the relief I was expecting. Which is worse, not being able to face my mother's killer, or knowing his kidney saved their daughter's life?