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very nice person. My step father and my mom were old school and felt it was better for her to believe they were her parents and kept my place in her life a secret. I didn't agree with this at all but felt powerless to change it. I know they did this believing in their hearts this was best for her and though hurt and angry I respected their love for her in this.

My mom and step father gave her a good life there is no denying that. She was able to take dance lessons, attend the best schools and was a gifted and trained pianist. Megan had the best life could offer to her in many ways. She was a very wonderful and gifted child whose intelligence was evident to all that knew her. Yet that dark side of mental illness was always there, the damage of my choices coupled with that illness made it hard for her to thrive in the best of circumstances. My mother paid a heavy price by raising my child and there is no way I can ever repay her for the love and devotion she showed to my baby.

At 13 Megan found out the truth and it was devastating for her. A cruel and malicious person told her lies about her conception and about me which only made this harder for her to accept. Meg was already a difficult child with ADD and would later be diagnosed with a serious form of bi polar disorder, and this revelation only made her life more unstable and insecure. After a chain of events best left unspoken I was allowed to see her for the first time and so began a long and strained relationship. Though she loved me dearly, there were so many unresolved feelings of anger, resentment and abandonment that a real mother daughter bonding was nearly impossible. Her mental illness played a huge role in the difficulties we experienced but the love we had for each other managed to survive the most difficult and entangled circumstances.

I will never forget that phone call from the East Rochester Police Department telling me what had happened, or the ride to the hospital not knowing if she had survived or not. Though we were driving at a very unsafe speed to the hospital it seemed as though the car was creeping. When we arrived and the receptionist took our names, a nurse whispered, not so softly, to place us in a "quiet room" and I knew she had left this world. The next week is a blur of memories and sorrow for me. My extended family and I had been estranged for over 25 years and my relationship with my biological father was very strained, I was left to plan the funeral on my own as my parents both

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