Picture of my birth parents

They look like strangers. They are sitting on what looks like a cot. They are sitting together sort of haphazardly on the cot. Next to the woman is a tiny baby covered in blankets. I suppose that's me. There is the youngest of their three daughters at their knees. She looks familiar. The birth father is wearing a sleeveless T shirt. He has a mustache. I remember thinking to myself, "I remember how much I disliked facial hair." The woman looks tired. She should be. Just had a baby that she is about to give away.

I don't know who they are. They don't know who I am. I wonder if they have any photograph of me. Or if they just have a memory. I don't think you can forget those things. What if they are dead? What if we never meet each other? I wonder if it is still possible. I wonder if I can retrace my steps somehow. When will I do this and how? Who will go with me?

I wonder where my birth sisters are. Do I have any nieces? Or nephews?

I always type parent or sisters without putting birth first. It's weird. They are related to me and yet I don't feel like I want to call them relations, because we are strangers. I'm still mad at them and I know I should thank them for bringing me to life and not killing me and doing the right thing. I should not be mad. But I am. I just look at them and wonder though for the most part.