Roses are red...

My mom was adopted by my grandparents at two months old. She was raised by her adopted family as an only child, but her birthmother had six other children after my mother.

My mom never met her birthfather but we were fortunate enough to meet her birthmother and half brother's and sisters. We were told that my mom's birthmother was bold, strong willed and she had a welcoming personality. I admired her for being a strong woman and I know we inherited that quality from her. Even though we knew a part of my mom's family history, I still wanted to know who her birthfather was for genetic reasons. But I think that memory will remain with my mom's birthmother.

My mom was lucky to be adopted into a loving family who I write most of my blog posts about. It has always been my mom, sister and I. When my grandmother didn't have Alzheimer's and my grandpa was physically able, they would never hesitate to join the Russo girls. Our small family taught me loyalty and dedication and I quickly learned to value family.

After my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, I realized that my time was limited with my grandparents and I wanted to cherish every moment I had left. I remember spending hours with my grandpa listening to his corny jokes, WWII stories and advice. He was the wisest and kindest man I ever met...a perfect man in so many people's eyes. When I sat there listening to my grandpa, I remember thinking to myself that I would remember everything he said. I knew I would remember his story about the Battle of the Bulge and how he was more afraid of tree branches falling on him than his enemy. Come to find out, I can't remember all of his stories and the jokes he told every week.

When I look back on these precious memories, I wish I recorded our conversations or encouraged my grandpa to write down his stories. But there is one riddle that my grandpa would end every phone conversation with and that is exactly how I will end this blog post.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, I love you."