Before We Were Yours

Whispers of the Past

My dearest friend, I reckon you may not know me, and my story might be one of those that could easily slip through the fingers of time, uncaught, untold. But it isn't just a tale; it's the fabric of who I am.

I was born Rill Foss, on a shantyboat called the Arcadia, floating down the Mississippi River. Life was as fluid as the waters we lived upon, with love as deep as the river's own secrets.

My kin, we were river folks, and the currents were our roads, the stars our maps. There were five of us children, each one a link in a chain forged by our parents' fierce love and the freedom of the river.

We lived by the whims of the water, learning its ways, speaking its language. It was a life far removed from the solid ground of the cities, with their rigid edges and narrow views.

Your world, I imagine, is filled with such edges and corners, places where you must fit or be left out. But we, we fit with the bends and twists of the river, and that made all the difference.

It's easy to think that the hardships you face are yours alone, that no one could possibly understand. But beneath the surface, where the waters run deep, we're all fighting the same current, aren't we? You in your world, with its expectations and demands, and me with the river, which gave and took without warning.

We both know the pain of being uprooted, of fighting to hold on to who we are in the face of life's floods.

A Storm of Change

One tempestuous night, when the sky was a vast black canvas torn by streaks of lightning, our lives were upended. I was twelve, the eldest, with the weight of my siblings' well-being on my shoulders.

Our parents had left for the hospital, leaving us alone, a decision that would alter the course of our lives forever. That was the night the authorities came, the night we were snatched from our home and thrust into a world we didn't understand—a children's home, they called it, but it was more prison than sanctuary.

There, in the Tennessee Children's Home Society, under the iron hand of a woman named Georgia Tann, we faced the unimaginable. We were stripped of our names, our identities, sold to the highest bidder like cattle at an auction.

I fought, oh how I fought, to keep my siblings together, to protect them. You, too, have known desperate battles, haven't you? The ones where the odds are stacked against you, where each day is a fight to keep your head above water.

It's in those moments, when the storm rages fiercest, that we find out what we're made of. We either break, or we bend and adapt.

I learned to bend, to play the roles they demanded, to survive. I learned the bitter taste of loss, the ache of longing for what once was.

You know that ache, I'm sure—the longing for something lost to time, a dream, a love, a simpler day.

The Threads of Hope

Even as the days turned to months, and the months to years, hope was a stubborn flame within my heart. Hope that I'd find my siblings again, that justice would be served.

It's a strange thing, hope. It's fragile as a spider's web, yet strong enough to hold us together when all else fails.

You've felt that tug, haven't you? The one that whispers, "Don't give up," even when every fiber of your being wants to surrender. Hope led me through the darkest of times, through the churning rapids of despair.

And it was hope that brought me back to the river, back to the remnants of my family. The path wasn't straight or easy.

It was a winding river in itself, with its share of obstacles and rapids. But that's the thing about rivers; they keep moving forward, and so did I.

Perhaps you're navigating your own river now, with its unexpected turns and hidden depths. Maybe you've been clinging to the banks, afraid to let go.

But the river teaches us that there's a season for holding on and a season for letting go, for trusting the current to carry us to where we need to be.

The Bonds That Hold

Family, I learned, isn't just about blood; it's about the bonds that hold us together, the ones we forge through love, loss, and shared experiences. It took years, but I found pieces of my family, scattered like driftwood after a storm.

Each reunion was bittersweet, a mix of joy and sorrow, of what was and what could never be again. You, too, have your own patchwork family, I'd wager.

The ones you were born to and the ones you've chosen along the way. Each person a stitch in the quilt of your life, each one important.

Remember that, when the world tries to tell you that some bonds are less than others. It's the strength of the connection, not the type, that truly matters.

And when those bonds are tested, as they surely will be, that's when you learn their true worth. You learn who will stand with you against the tide, who will offer their hand when you're sinking.

Just as I learned who I could count on, who would fight for me when I no longer had the strength to fight for myself.

Reflections in Still Water

It's in the quiet moments, when the river is calm and I can see my reflection on its surface, that I ponder the woman I've become. The scars of my past are there, etched in the lines of my face, but they don't define me.

They're simply markers of where I've been, the battles I've fought. You, too, have your scars, I'm sure.

Some are visible, others hidden deep within, but they're proof of your resilience, your capacity to heal. Don't shy away from them.

Embrace them as evidence of your journey, as signs that you've lived and loved and survived. And remember, it's not the scars that matter, but the stories they tell.

Stories of endurance, of courage, of the unbreakable human spirit. Your story is still being written, just as mine is.

Each day a new page, each challenge a chance to add depth and richness to the tale.

The Echoes of Time

Time, I've come to realize, is the greatest storyteller of all. It softens the sharp edges of memory, dulls the pain of old wounds.

It grants perspective, allows us to see the beauty in our struggles, the strength in our weaknesses. With time, I've found peace with my past, found a way to coexist with the memories that once threatened to drown me.

And you? Time is weaving your story, too, threading each moment, each choice, into the tapestry of your life. It's teaching you, shaping you, even when you're not aware.

Trust in its passage, in the lessons it brings. Know that with each tick of the clock, you're becoming, evolving into the person you're meant to be.

Even now, as I write this, time is slipping past us, a silent current in the river of life. Embrace it, the ebb and flow, the highs and lows.

Let it carry you forward, to new adventures, new horizons. There's so much more to your story, so much more to mine.

A Journey Shared

And so, my friend, we come to the end of this letter, but not the end of our journey. For we are kindred spirits, you and I, connected by the shared struggles of the human condition, by the relentless pursuit of hope and the relentless grip of the past.

We've both faced storms, both been swept away by the tides of change, but here we are, still standing, still fighting, still dreaming. Maybe you started reading this letter with indifference, with no desire to know me or my story.

But I hope that as you’ve journeyed with me through these pages, you’ve found a piece of yourself reflected in my experiences. That you've seen your own strength mirrored in my resolve, your own heartache in my loss, and your own hope in my perseverance.

Through my story, I hope you've found encouragement to face your own battles, to hold tight to your own hopes, and to cherish your own bonds. And maybe, just maybe, you've come to love a stranger named Rill Foss, who once lived on the river and learned the hard lessons of life.

The Invitation to Discover More

As I step aside from being Rill Foss for a moment, I invite you to delve deeper into the world I've known and the heartaches I've endured. "Before We Were Yours" by Lisa Wingate is a masterpiece that weaves together the threads of my past with the present, creating a tapestry as rich and complex as life itself.

It's a story that transcends time, bringing to light the forgotten voices of the many children who, like us, fought to reclaim their stolen identities. In this book, you will find more than just my story.

You will find a mirror into your own soul, an echo of your own challenges, and a beacon of hope that shines through even the darkest of times. It's a narrative that will make you question, make you feel, and ultimately, make you understand the resilience of the human spirit – a spirit that you share.

I extend this invitation, not to preach or teach, but to offer you a companion in your own journey. In the pages of "Before We Were Yours," you will find friends and foes, love and betrayal, and the infinite capacity of the heart to heal.

So, take this step, immerse yourself in a story that is both mine and yours, and let it change you, as it has changed me.