There are multiple people on the trip who are able to either 1) meet one or both of their birth parents 2) meet their foster mother(s) 3) see the actual place where they were born or 4) talk with a friend of their mothers.
Words cannot express how happy I am for them. Having been denied all of these experiences, I can imagine how wonderful it must feel. Complex, yet great nonetheless. One cannot know the deepness of this happiness until one knows the deepness of the pain. Knowing the latter, I am so grateful that they have these opportunities and a better place to move forward from.
Likewise, words cannot express how envious I am of them and how much it hurts to hear their stories. To be filled with that familiar longing, doing all you can to force yourself to stay focused on the person, to fully share in their joy, while inside you’re dying is quite the struggle. It’s like being at a wedding when you’re 80 and unmarried, your heart breaking again and again and again.
Slowly, then all at once, your will to keep going slips away like a thief in the night, transforming you into an automaton with only basic functions.