Adoption at any age can be beautiful, scary, intimidating and intriguing. But, when you adopt older children, it can be messy. When you adopt an older child, you have to be willing to adopt all the baggage that comes with their past. You must be willing to love them in spite of the anger and the damage that has been done. Sometimes the damage can be undone, but many times it is only masked by pretty clothes, clean hair, and a new mom and dad to stand beside. Sometimes the hole is so deep that not even the greatest of loves can repair the damage. But, that doesn’t mean these children don’t deserve a family, it doesn’t mean we don’t try.
There are many things in this life that I am physically unable to give to my adopted children. Because of this fact, I am writing them this letter to tell them of the things I can give them.
My Dearest Children,
You have come to me unlike your brothers and sister did. You come to me with memories of another woman, whom you called Mother. You come to me with memories I am not apart of, with fears I know nothing about and will probably never fully understand. You have come to me scared, hurt and broken. Damaged by monsters and scarred deeply. You have come to me with an inability to accept my love, with walls erected years ago, and with your dukes up ready to fight.
There is little I wouldn’t do to put a smile on your face. I could promise you the moon and stars but I won’t, because you and I both know it’s an empty promise. There are so many things I’ll never be able to give you. You’ll never have my eyes, my smile or my hands. You do not have my blood running through your veins nor do we share a past. I can’t give you the most expensive toys or clothes. We’ll probably never go on exotic vacations. With all the things that I can’t give you, there are a few very important things I can.
You’ve had my heart from the first hello. You have my present and my future. You have my joy, heartache, excitement and fears. You have my love now and forever. I can’t give you yesterday, but by the grace of God, I can promise you tomorrow. I can give you a family to call your own, forever. I can give you warmth, food, clothes and a home to call yours. I can give you birthdays, Christmas’ and Thanksgivings. We can bake cookies and make memories. I can give you brothers and a sister to make you laugh until you cry and frustrate you to no end. I can give you curfews and rules to protect you and a slew of family to interrogate any one of your dates. I can promise you a father to walk you down the aisle at your wedding and for my son, a mother to dance with. I’ll give you a grandma and a grandpa for when you have children. With God’s help your Dad and I will give you hope and a future.
You did not grow within my womb, but nonetheless you grew in my heart. I can see now that God has been preparing me my whole life to be your mom. Every step of the way, he had a plan. Every day he has given me has been in preparation for you. Not only has he prepared my heart, but he has been at work on your Dad’s, your brothers’ and your sister. He has created our family to be a family of open hearts, minds and doors. He has given us the ability to love another as our own and through it all know not a difference. From now on our hearts will beat as one.
I know it will be sometime before you can fully trust me as your mom. It will be awhile before the words I love you, actually mean something. It will take time for the joy to color your eyes and replace the jaded glaze. I want you to know that I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait and I will slowly work at taking down the bricks of the wall that guard your heart. I’ll wait for you to accept me and trust me as your mama. I’ll wait patiently for the day that I hear you utter the words I love you with tears flooding your joy-filled eyes. I’ll wait for you. And, while I wait, I will love and accept you. Because you are my own.