I sat down to write and really just didn’t know where to
start. So I began just by taking a
breath. A big long deep breath. And I
reminded myself where I am now and what I had just been through – where WE are
and what we have been through. It’s a
miracle really. This time last year we
were driving our boys to their first days of American school. I was way more scared than they were (I
think). After one year, I’m pretty sure
I still don’t know what I’m doing and more scared than they are, but I find comfort
in hearing almost every other parent say that back to me.
Recently I posted this picture of our boys after taking them to
the Parthenon replica here in Nashville and said “…we took an unexpected exit
to see the Parthenon and get snow cones. And that’s exactly what this journey
feels like – surprise turns and treats.
Most days this is really hard.
Every day it’s really worth it.”
And their heartbreaking questions and comments are beginning…
“Mom, did you and Dad buy us?”
“Mom, tell me the story about when my mom Haitian said you
could have me.”
Their curious hearts and minds can’t wrap around this, and I
get it. Their stories rest so heavy on my heart. I do not know what their little diaper
bottoms looked like. I do not know their
first word spoken. I do not have a baby
book with recorded memories for them. I
grieve those moments I did not share.
And what I now understand is that those were not mine to share. These
moments – days at the Parthenon eating snow cones – are mine to share. And I grieve
in a whole other way that their Haitian mamas don’t have those.
A lot of adopted parents get pretty defensive about the
“real mom and dad” language. For
example, if someone asks who is the “real” mom and dad, it’s hurtful. But I
don’t want to shame or judge anyone about that – most people mean no harm. What I do want to acknowledge and honor is
that my boys have 2 moms and 2 dads.
Real ones. We all play a really
important part of their lives. When I
answered my boy's second question above, I said, “your mom Haitian told me she
wanted you to have an opportunity to grow and learn. She loved you so much that
she and I became a mom team. She gave
you life, and I help you grow and live your life. She is always in your heart
loving and believing in you, and so am I.
I will never take her place. She
is special in her way, and I am special in mine.” And then we hung their Haitian mothers’ pictures in our kitchen. And
then I went to my bedroom and cried for hours.
I wonder if their Haitian mamas would be proud of me. This is so freaking hard.
I found two crumbled packets of crackers in our pantry a few
days ago and just wept. It is what the
twins’ Haitian mom gave them on the day they last saw her. She said she wanted
to make sure they had a snack for the plane to America. They would not eat them. They wanted to save
them. Can you imagine what that must have been like for her to offer what she
could give them one last time – and for them to save it so sweetly? I have them tucked away in a special place. We are all just carrying the grief and
tucking it away.
I also realize that some people don’t feel like they can
relate to our story or don’t understand adoption and why we chose this path. But I’m a big believer we can all connect in
our stories – no matter how different.
For example, a new family moved in our neighborhood - two women and
their daughters - and one of the little girls excitedly told me “Guess what? I
have TWO mommies!” I said, “I think
that’s really special. My boys have 2 mommies too!”
I am so thankful for all real mamas and daddies. We are in this together.
