Halfway there

So, tomorrow I turn 45. I was born on Mother's Day, and due to complications, born dead. Or delivered dead, at any rate. Both my mom and I, declared dead by the attending because of 'complications', then revived by an intern who performed an emergency c-section and managed to get us both running again.
I wish I knew more about what happened, could talk to the attending or the intern, but they're both dead now. At that time, nurses weren't considered important enough to document their attendance, so I can't track down anyone directly associated with the occurrence.
My father's dementia and religious leanings leave the story skewed and fractured, at best. In some (many, possibly most) ways, it doesn't matter. It's past, and I am who I am. But knowing more about my beginnings... I doubt it would shed any light on things now, but it would be interesting.
I miss you mom. You taught me to love and respect every living thing around me. You were a pagan priestess, without ever knowing it. I miss you, I love you, I hope I will see you again sometime, somehow. And that you will be proud of what I've done. Rest in peace.