To his birth mom:
I haven't taken the time to write here in a very long time, but there are things in my heart that I just need to get out. Since I don't know you and don't have the opportunity to ask you these things myself, this appears to be my release. I know I've written something similar in the past but...well...the feelings remain the same.
I thought of you last night as I was laying in bed, trying to fall asleep. I wondered if you were doing the same thing - laying in your bed and remembering what I was remembering...but from a different point of view. Four years ago last night, my husband and I went to dinner at Macaroni Grill to distract ourselves and to celebrate a major life change. Our last night as "two" before we became "three". Four years ago, we knew that two women from the adoption agency were bringing him to you for one last visit at that exact moment and that you would be signing your "TPR" (termination of parental rights) papers. We ate dinner and tried to enjoy our night...but my cell phone was on the table, waiting for a call that you had signed the papers. I remember the relief we felt when she called to say you went through with it. Do you remember what you were feeling? I can't even fathom.
The next day was a whirlwind and I wonder if you knew he was leaving his foster family to come home to be ours forever. What were you doing that day? Did you think of him, of us, and the family we were about to become? Did you try to distract yourself the entire day or did you let yourself dwell on the moments you had with him during those two weeks after he was born? Did you stop and remember the kicks and punches you used to feel while you were carrying him? Or the labor pains that told you it was time? Did you stare at his photograph like we did, looking deep into those eyes that seem to just look straight into your heart?
It's hard to believe that was
four years ago already. Every year, I spend this day thinking about myself. About our son. About my husband, the Daddy. About the family we have become. Our memories. But what about you? My heart hurts a little more with each passing year that we don't hear from you because I
know what you're missing. He's incredible. He's smart. He's adorable. He's hilarious. He's strong, both physically and in his will. He's sweet and loving. He's four. He's so many things I've dreamed of and so much more that I never even considered dreaming.
I often wonder why this makes me so sad, but I know it's a genuine feeling because it only intensifies with each year. No, I don't need you to come and move next door to us or hang out at our house every weekend. But I would like for you to meet him sometime. I would like to be able to let him ask you the questions he might have about himself. But -- I also understand. If I had to make the decision that you had to make, I'm not sure I could handle the contact. You know the opportunity to communicate with us is always there. The door is always open. It's not one we will ever shut to keep you away. In time, I hope you decide to knock.
Forever grateful for your gift,
- Sarah
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| I loved him already. |
