The Author of this Story is Cjaymarch84, aka DaveTheUseless. This is the ninety-fourth story narrated by DaveTheUseless.
Once upon a time, you were born (without having been born, there's no way you could be alive... and you'd need to be alive to be reading this... right?). If you were lucky, it was to a very loving and caring woman who nurtured and raised you, or you were adopted by such a person.
Regardless, a woman gave birth to you, and with that, the potential that you would experience all you do in life as you live it today. Joys, sorrows, and neutral moments, if there truly are any. In any event...
Odds are you'll live around 70 years or so, assuming you avoid accidents, abnormal illness, or have, say, a birth defect that is slowly killing you (even then, some folks with birth defects live until they're 90 or 100!). But... whether you live on this planet Earth for 15, 35, 75, or even 115 years, the fact of the matter is that you will spend far more time dead. Think about it: 70 years, or the rest of eternity from the point of your death forward? And lets not get into if we're actually dead in the time period before our birth: we'll leave that one to philosophers.
The bottom line is that death is like another mother of sorts--or, perhaps, who will kill you. If you die of natural causes, it's easy to say that your new mommy is your old mommy: by birthing you as a mortal, your eventual death was assured. But if, say, you're hacked to bits by a chainsaw-wielding maniac (your mother is unlikely to have produced this circumstance, even if she birthed you into the world in which it happened--another philosophical argument!), you may as well refer to him... or her... as your new mommy.
There was the person who gave you life, but lets not forget about the person that gave you death... especially because s/he will cause something that will last you much, much longer. Perhaps you should prepare your inevitable killer a card for the next Mother's Day--especially if they take you out in a nurturing or caring way.