"I'm sorry but you will never conceive without me" were the words that seemingly came so easy for this doctor to tell us. Prior to the flooding emotion of devastation my thought bubble filled with "so awkward!". Long story short, there was no viable fallopian tubes in this mama, I was broken, a baby maker I would not be.
Since I was small girl I dreamed of having babies and being a mommy. I even picked out names for these future children. How could this dream really be crushed? How could I not be what I knew in my heart I was made to be?
It must be my husbands fault I secretly thought. His initial lack of desire for children must have been some crazy sort of curse on my fallopian tubes. Yes, I am aware of the ridiculousness of this thought now but at the time it made perfect sense and gave me someone to blame. I wanted a baby, lots of babies and now I couldn't have any?! My heart was aching in a way I had never felt and I had no clue how to deal with this pain.
We left his office with utter hopelessness and seething anger at everything and everyone and sadly each other. As much as I wanted those babies so did my husband. His heart was shattered in a million pieces yet I blamed him and had little compassion for his pain. My selfish desire and anger was all I could see. Eventually he too became angry with me thus forming a great divide between our once knit hearts.
We had prayed to be parents and faithfully believed that God would answer our prayers our way. When He didn't we quit on Him and quit on each other. Our pain turned to anger then turned to callousness and we separated. Less than a year into our blissful matrimony and our world collapsed.
Although the sun shone the darkness of those days only darkened.
That same God who had chosen him for me and me for him with a mighty love for us brought us back together. Our fragmented hearts began to heal and once again intertwine.
Then one day I fell ill. Symptoms plagued me that I had never before felt and I was terrified. Calling my friend for advice she suggested a pregnancy test. Certain that I was dying and not pregnant (as we hadn't involved the doctor in any way) I went to the drug store and bought a pregnancy test and Immodium AD. The cashier looked at me funny as if she needed my verbal justification for my issues and/or purchases so I gave it to her, saying "it's one or the other" and walked out.
Two lines meant..... WHAT THE?!?!?! It had to be a mistake right? I called my husband and he being the wise man that he is told me to call the doctor, you know, the awkward one. Doing so immediately he responded with orders to go straight to the ER as "it" had to be an ectopic pregnancy and I needed an emergency procedure.
My husband and I waited in the cold and sterile smelling room for the doctor to bring in the ultrasound machine. She was the sweetest resident with a tiny voice. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she turned to us and told us to look at our baby that was in just the right place, my womb. Our miracle! Her little blinking light of a heart was by far the most beautiful thing we had ever seen. We  were in love wit hour little miracle.

She wrote with practiced precision each name we had given her and with a wink and a half smile wrote the last two. Our 2015 Neal family ornament was complete. This is one of my favorite traditions that my husband I do together. The kids start asking for the new ornament by Thanksgiving time with great anticipation.
When I met my husband I knew I wanted twelve children. He on the other hand wanted none. Thankfully his heart changed and his desire grew along with mine for a large family and a house filled with children. Today our house is filled with the noise and laughter of children and our life is more blessed by the day. Nine kiddos in America, one amazingly beautiful girl in Liberia we love and adore, and well that leaves the two we have yet to meet.
Adoption is a very personal decision however often viewed as a topic that others feel free to open the floodgates of their opinions. I cherish the hearts behind the well meaning insight. Our family's unique design can stir up a plethora of emotions for people. I pray the emotions are ones of contagious compassion for others, acceptance of  individuality, deep sadness for those orphaned, and unconditional love.
The day was sunny and hot as we waited in line for the car wash. Our tear stained faces watched the world around us merely going through the motions without much awareness.  Several team meetings were had, stacks of forms and paperwork filled out, her room was painted and furnished. Just one last meeting and she would come home. Words are powerful and that day at that meeting the words spoken changed everything, "Its not if she will perpetrate, it is when". I am not sure what part was more devastating, knowing she couldn't be our daughter or having to tell the kids or hearing that this sweet girl at the young age of five had been through a hell so utterly painful she struggled to function.  It wasn't until this meeting that we (or our workers) were given any of this information and the decision albeit painful was an easy one as we thought of our kids at home and their safety.
All wounds heal in time and all we could do was pray that the little girl that we thought was coming home with us would find her forever family and our childrens and our hearts would mend.
We had seen photos, and heard lovely stories, knew a bit of her history, but had not met her or held her hand or heard he giggle. Being honest this was unsettling yet relieving.
I remember asking my husband why this little girl that I had never met yet loved so dearly was not to be our daughter as if he had the answer. He just held me and wept.
Our uniquely designed family is nothing less than a miracle. God is the artist in motion when we feel no movement. He never stops painting our story. We wait with anticipation watching the unveiling as our hearts are ready.

More thankfulness....

She wore a  black wig and was my worst nightmare. I feared Rabbi Black's wife with every inch of myself. I was the rebellious one, the one that may have been the cause of her stress lines. For the life of me I can't remember if she was my teacher or just the unlucky one assigned to tend to Tova  (my Hebrew name) aka Jessica.  My years at Talmud Torah taught me little of Hebrew as I payed little attention rather they were times of safety and feelings of love and security. I needed those folks and am so thankful for this part of my story.

Massive in size and sound he wordlessly imparted terror into me. Drill Sgt Sledge appeared to the meanest and scariest human ever created and he was all mine. Crap! With his every command my stupidity increased as I without fail replied with a question as to why he wished for me to do such pointless duties. His creative punishment and patience he had with me actually broke through my thick skull. I learned from this massive and mighty man about responsibility and perseverance. He added lessons of humor as he would would eat my Oreos sent from home while I did push ups in front of my entire platoon. Thankful for this man and his lessons. 

The procedures and surgeries went well into the double digits when I simply could't take it anymore. Dr P was a long shot at a second opinion but hey why not? Permanent marker was used to make the line above my wrist, the line marking where the amputation would go up to. Waking up fighting the fog I reached for my missing hand.  Thinking the drugs were playing a trick on my mind I let myself drift off to sleep. Again waking and feeling for the lack of my hand I still found something there. I had half of a hand! Dr P explained how and why but my joy filled ears only held onto the words "we were able to save half of your hand". Thank God!

Thanksgiving day is wrapping up around the Neal house but I plan to continue sharing my moments of gratitude and catching up on my overdue thank you's. 

  

There was far too much to get done as I plugged away at all the Thanksgiving Day meal prep but how could I say no as I looked into the eyes of my child as she asked "will you please come to church with us"?
Cliche as my next statement may be, it is ever so true. It was exactly where I needed to be and exactly the words I needed to hear, precisely what my eyes needed to see, and my heart needed to soak up.
I love painting word pictures for willing eyes to read but last night I sat and relished the work of an artist silently using only his hands to tell a story playing out in front of my eyes. All while a wise white haired man in a white robe used words to reveal a story of deep gratitude and impart his wisdom into hearts and minds.
Children were invited to come forward to hear their very own story and then share their hearts, their thankfulness was valued.  Josie stepped up to the microphone, her small voice speaking bravely her thankfulness for family and mommy. Tears welled but I did a good job holding them back until my husband holding our new son spoke. He spoke the words our son cannot while his eyes confirmed them to be true. Let the waterworks begin, yes I couldn't hold the tears back and they simply fell.
That white haired man clothed in a white robe speaking words of wisdom that I trust to speak into my life challenged me (really everyone) to show gratitude in the simplest and oldest way possible, thank you cards.
Now due to my being behind on getting my thank you cards out by about twenty nine years I will paint for you. Sadly I know that many will never hear or read my personal gratitude as our paths crossed but only for a moment. It still matters.
This painting if you will, will be long and portioned out in to digestible sections. My life is far too blessed to have this be short and to the point.

So it begins......
I was young and small and they adored and spoiled me. I still remember vividly the smell of Grandpa and Grandma Gold's house and can still taste the diet Sprite she would always give me. The parents of my mothers boyfriend, my brothers grandparents, my solace. They loved me well.

She pinched me so hard and so many times and we would fight some days on that recess playground until we were out of energy. She was my best friend. She saw me completely unguarded and vulnerable and still loved me. She knew me and I knew her. We fought what life threw our way like a two woman army and I think we won. She protected me all the way through high school in her crazy dysfunctional way. My gift from above, my friend, my sister, my maid of honor, my Nicky. Forever indebted and grateful.

He joined the air breathing world when I was only ten years old and he changed my life with his own first breath. He beat the odds of being born of an addict healthy and strong and even chubby. He was loud and perfect. He was my brother. He had it rough, much harder than I, but he not only made it, he barreled through barriers. I am so thankful to be his sister.

Jello was not my favorite because it tasted good but because of her silliness. My stepmom would put jello in the front pocket of my overalls and then make absolutely ridiculous noises while trying to distract me. Then... bam! She would smash my jello filled pocket spraying my face and the room with jello. The laughter we shared neared the point of needing oxygen. My father chose well, better than well, perfect. I adore my parents!

It hit me at 4:30 this morning that yet again we get to see one our son's "firsts". Several tears of joy trickled down my cheeks as this thought warmed my heart. He has these eyes that say so much and are filled with awestruck wonder at each new thing he sees and feels. I could live off a diet of simply taking it all in, watching him watch his new world.
Our Christmas tree is already up and was put up while he was napping one day. When I brought him downstairs he began to laugh from the depths of his soul and point to the tree then to the door. He was clearly stating that apparently during a momentary lapse of judgment we allowed a tree to be brought into the house. His laughter, as always was incurably contagious and we all laughed together. Things got serious though when we put lights on this outdoor object and began to treat it as if it were a dear friend as we fluffed, fixed, and made pretty this crazy tree. Emmanuel is laid back and goes with the flow, that's just the kind of kid he is. True to who he is he went with it and embraced the tradition albeit with hesitation and a clear wonder if we would be bringing any other outdoor objects indoors.
As I think about all that I have to be thankful for a lump forms in my throat and my heart swells. Surrounding me are children that I have prayed for that repeatedly call out the most beautiful word, "mom".
My husband without fail writes me a love letter every morning. This is what I wake up to. Words of encouragement, affirmation, peace, joy, and true love bless the start of my every day.
My friends and family enrich my life with unconditional love and laughter.
I hope and pray that the blessings I receive will be what pours forth from who I am. I desire to love as I am loved!

Naked in November.

He was only two years old and found wandering the streets in only his diaper in the middle of November. On call for emergency foster care we received the call to go and pick him up at the police department. I found it a bit odd that there was a tone of laughter in the officers voice but quickly brushed it off. Maybe he had just heard a funny joke.
My mind already forming a picture of this little boy naked and afraid needing to be scooped up and held. As I arrived and an officer walked me back to where the wee one was again I saw smiles. How could a small little boy naked in November have anything funny about him? Then I turned the corner and saw him. I too began to smile, a smile that still forms each time I think of him. He was HUGE! Not fat, just huge. He had been given a police t-shirt to wear that although was big still did the trick because he was huge. His size was shocking but it was his smile and the joy in his eyes that brought the smiles. He was a bundle of delight! This not so little boy joyfully ran up to me and my plan of scooping him up was so not happening. I sat down on the floor with him instead. Everything he did was big, he ate big, he played big, he laughed big. But, out of the blue he would take my hand and look up at me and say "I love you" in this tiny little soft voice. That boy will always bring a smile to my face.
Thankfully he was one of few feel-good endings. He was a wanderer and with his size was able to maneuver doorknobs and had simply decided that night he didn't want to sleep but rather he would take a little stroll.
He soon went home to a very worried and I might add, very tiny, mother.  

Wearing my Ralph Lauren white polo and cut off Guess jean shorts I shined like a glow worm amidst the all black leather and rock t-shirts. My first "out in the boonies" pig roast (lets be real here - party). Trying to fit in as best possible I was eager to oblige when someone told me to yell "hey Jay". What emerged was quite a sight! Read this slow then take a moment to close your eyes and feel my fear, please.
Black leather fringes hung from beneath the arms of his biker jacket that opened enough to proudly reveal his ACDC t-shirt. Levi's jeans painted on his body left little to the imagination, his ensemble complete with unlaced Nike high tops. Wait! That is only the attire, there is far more to this unforgettable eye candy. Seven earrings hung from each side of his face proudly framed by one of the best mullets ever known to man. In each hand of this man of unsurmountable studly-ness was a beer with one, of course holding a Marlboro.
Now that I have allowed you to enter into my fear/humor/what the?? moment feel free to die laughing or vomit, whatever you need to do.
This, the scene set before me was all mine and I was terrified. Good thing I can roll with the punches. His first words to me were "hey baby, I'm a rock star". My reply seemed logical with "okay, sing me something". Now this I didn't expect, and please make note that I was still Jewish at this point. My mullet man chucked his beers and cigarette, dropped to one knee, looked up at my eyes and with all his heart  began to sing "Jesus loves me this I know....". I was certain all the people at this party were nuts, all Christians were nuts, I was nuts for not running the other direction but oh was he cute in such a bad boy way.
That punk and I still share the love for craziness and passion for each other like we are newlyweds.
Confession???
I kinda wish he'd bring back that mullet. Shhh, don't tell.

I hesitantly write this post. Our world and the people I live in it with are in a bad place. I don't think this comes as a shock to anyone. My heart is hurt and my mind is reeling from all the devastation and hate surrounding us.
I have not known what to like, share, or post on social media about any of the atrocities throughout the world as of lately. So I haven't. However my silence (rare for me) is powerless, holding great and loud volume.
Last night I awoke with a fright. Was it a nightmare? No, it was a reality, one in which I so wish I could have called a nightmare.
Years ago I had felt strongly that I needed to see the other side of foster care, the side in which the kids came from. With a passion for volunteering and a great respect for our law enforcement I applied to be a police reserve officer. I could do all of this with a family of men and women who unbeknownst to me would teach me far more than I could have dreamed. Quickly I saw the other side as I wished, far faster than I had hoped and much too up close. As we would leave a call and get back in the squad I would look at the officer sitting next to me preparing for the next call. They did not even have time to feel the heaviness of what we just experienced. They placed that emotion safely away in an invisible holding cell only to be let out when the world didn't need them. My admiration for these men and women grew with each and every call. They went to school for law enforcement with the harsh reality that that is a far stretch from the ocean size job they have. I watched rape victims frozen in fear be calmed, family members of victims feel heard and given undivided attention, violent jerks treated with the utmost respect, and children removed from homes by loving arms. If you look closely in their eyes at these moments there are tears, the ones that refuse to fall for if they start they may never stop. These men and women counsel, referee, laugh, problem solve, teach, and so much more with every shift they work.
My fright that woke me was that these men and women are being broken down. What if we didn't have them? I fear that society is losing sight of this what if. They are the ones who run towards the gunfire, into buildings ablaze, after the killers, and refuse to give up until justice is served. We need them and yet take them for granted. Why? This question plagues me and before we go crazy with accusations based on something we hear or saw reported stop and think who are you going to trust if your child is kidnapped, or your house is  broken into? Sad as these thoughts are this is reality and we live in a broken world that is a better and safer place with our men and women of law enforcement. They would and do take bullets for you every day. They leave their homes and kiss there spouses and children goodbye not knowing if that is the last time - for us!

My life as an open book? Not by choice at first, but certainly now.

A child of an addict doesn't get to say who knows what goes on behind closed doors. For me this was a breath of fresh air, one I wouldn't admit at the time however the knowledge that others knew gave me an odd sense of security.
My mother was a beautiful woman with a deep laugh, one that came from her belly and filled the room. She was stunning and gentle and loving and yes she was an addict. Growing up I saw the woman behind the drugs and alcohol that painted an awful picture, I knew my moms heart. That woman would sit for hours and brush my hair and play games with me and watch movies. Those moments I hold so dear, those moments are the ones I chose to define my mom and still do.
Mine was not the house friends came to hang out or had the best birthday parties at. Mine was the house of an addict and her daughter desperately trying to make it through each and every day. Every day was a battle for survival for my mom. The dark pain that plagued her was her internal battle, one that she often lost.
The day I lost my father was a day that changed my forever. No he didn't die, I wished he had as I felt it would be easier to understand. Rather he too was stolen by my mother's addiction. An addicts choices soon become out of their control as the power of the drug takes over. Not to enable nor minimize the choice to use but rather make clear the understanding of the downward spiral in saying this. My mothers state of mind fueled by past personal wounds and buried hate fed continuously a diet of mood altering chemicals found a sure fire way to alienate me from my father.
That was the day I became a survivor. That was the day I stopped crying.

I write this to shed light on the child I was along with the children that have and are walking in my shoes. They need us, even though they push us away, even though they are unbearable. They hurt, a hurt they cannot put into words. Love them, and love them so well that they feel it forever. They need to know someone cares, someone sees through the outer junk and finds their hurting and fragile heart.

SEVEN

The door was cracked open to our apartment once again. I knew this meant she wasn’t sober but the mystery of her mood started the racing heart in my chest. School went well that day for once and I even had a skip in my step on the way home. That skip quickly went from my feet to my heart when I found her passed out and not moving on her bed. Was this the time she was not going to wake up? My seven year old self began the routine I was all too familiar with. I began to tap on her cheeks yelling her name. Nothing. I determined she must be hungry so I fed her some watermelon. Nothing. She never swallowed. Running down to the caretakers apartment I remember thinking this is the day that she won’t wake up again. The paramedics filled our small space adding great fear and a feeling of claustrophobia. Her body was jostled and shocked as I watched. Why was this happening? Did I not hide her liquor or flush her pills that morning? This had to be my fault I thought.  

After she was stabilized and admitted I was allowed to see her. The overwhelming emotions stuffed deep down and smile on I walked in her room knowing what to expect. The tears and the apologies and the promises flowing I smiled and forgave her. I was seven. I was in control. I was the parent.

The select and blurred memories began as I simply couldn’t take it all in any longer. Feelings I refused to feel through the prison wall I placed securely around my heart were kept at bay. This was my life and I was no weak victim, I was in charge and I would survive. 

Nearing Christmas the house was ablaze with lights and overkill on decor. Our festive environment encompassing us all with hints of holiday spirit. In our tiny little house lived our ever changing and ever growing family. Four kids and mom and pops crowed in yet there was and always will be a 'vacancy' sign up.
Our weekend on call proved to bring about blessing and excitement that night with a call from the social worker. Just a short stay was what we were told. Our very first teenager! To be honest here we had full intentions of not bonding with another child so as to never feel hurt again. Yeah, that was stupid! The delivery was made and we met her at the door with shining eyes and overly large smiles, ready to love all of the pain away. We were not met with the same enthusiasm to say the least.
Our festive home with all of its Christmas cheer and outstanding decorating (if I do say so myself) did not impress  her one lick of spit. So we tried the "we are here for you and love you" speech that produced flames from her ears. Okay, we need a different approach quick but uh oh there is a problem. We are clueless!! Good on our toes we promptly faked it and pretended to know exactly how to parent a teenager. Yep, she was on to us immediately. Whew, we were only an hour or so in and this was exhausting.
Then it happened, her eyes locked with mine and she was mad, really mad. I was the lucky one who got to be the target of her fear, anger, confusion, the whole ball of wax. What an honor!  I had nothing but raw truth and transparent me to offer. I told her my story and my lack of pity for the fit she was throwing yet understood her being upset while not knowing her exact feelings. This was followed by the Neal house rules of respect and then........
SILENCE.
Deafening silence with eyes locked. This was the excitement for the following four hours. We stood two feet apart with no words, eyes glued with some sort of invisible super glue for four hours for a reason. She wanted me to quit. She knew I would, or she thought I would. Not this mama! My heart said all it needed to say in that silence. You are worth it and I care. Finally she looked away and went to her room. Exhaustion set in as I sat down and I wept for this child whom I now loved. Darn it, we weren't going to bond!
Nearly a year of a magnificent roller coaster ride with her ended and she went back home.
There were food fights and laughter so hard we could barely breathe, screaming so loud our ears felt as if they would burst, silly faces every morning, running away, coffee always on for the officers that even fell in love with her, her practical jokes on dad, and endless more memories made. We missed our little ball of spunk.
I am happy to say that that little ball of spunk is now a grown up ball of spunk with determination and yes still spunk! She is a gem and we are so grateful that we got to fill in for a bit.

Neal's 'family meeting' time!
Fidgeting fingers and bouncy bodies and thought filled minds attempt to focus as our weekly family meeting, now long over due, begins. As Jason starts us off with a devotion of gratitude and hope, his words blanketing us all with love, I visually examine each one of my children. One is turned with one ear facing dad while building a castle out of blocks while one is hanging over the sofa fidgeting with the carpet. Another has their hood up and pulled tight and picks at fingers, another snuggles in as close as humanly possible to mom. While yet another desperately tries not to touch their phone, and another fights the boredom of the moments lacking play and begins to search for toe jam, lastly another attempts to understand the need for such a time as this.
The above word picture may make some cringe as you personally visualize the scene. Our society tells us that those children ought to be sitting still and focusing their attention on the adult speaking. Our society is in love with "normal" however that is a cuss word in our home. We don't do "normal" we do unique and personal and meaningful. Individualize your life - this is what we do at the Neal home. So as you envision the word picture I will unpack it a bit. Those children are feeling uneasy about what they may hear, what they may want to say, what emotions they will see and trying to remember the appropriate response to those emotions. They are secretly hoping that they do not need to unleash an uncomfortable emotion, yet also excited that we are spending this time together although it is tough it is cherished, and of course their internal battles with telling their bodies to sit still and their minds to focus yet only to have wandering thoughts of ponies and Minecraft. I applaud their ability to remain in the room!
We cherish our family meeting times in the Neal house. It is a time to "let it all out" and get updated as a team. The kids, even though they spend endless hours with one another often know little about what the others are thinking or going through. This is a time that opens that door to conversation and understanding.
This meeting had a focus of all things new in the Neal home. We have moved, we have new schools, and we have a new brother (that mom had to go away to get and now has been in the hospital too much). That is A LOT!
My heart feeling saturated in more love than humanly possible swelled as our meeting ensued. Little hearts and minds openly sharing their not so deep and some really deep thoughts and feelings. Our meeting ended with everyone on the same sheet of music, knowing what one another is thinking, going through, and rejoicing about in their lives. Did you know that Josie is proud of her ability to see sight words all over the world? She wants everyone to know that and now her siblings know and want to help point out sight words too.
When we sit and listen, really listen to each other we learn new things that deepen our love for who we are.
Family meetings are a great way to focus in on what matters in our lives, our families and it has no bearing on the size of the family.
Questions about how to make this work in your home? I am the self proclaimed "Come Hell or High Water I Will Make These Family Meetings Work Even Through All My Epic Fails" Queen. My failures eventually turned learned successes are not secret and I would love to share ideas with you.

"We lost the poop".
For many this may be the silliest or grossest thing you have heard, however let me share with you how devastating this was to our ears and why we heard these words.
Yesterday morning I received a call from our pediatrician informing me that our new son's lab work had come back with some significant concerns and we needed to be admitted that afternoon. The news hit hard, harder than I expected. Honestly, why I don't know but my ears and heart were prepared for multiple things, however it seems just not one I didn't know about. Syphilis from birth. What?!
Taken aback by this news and the urgency to get him to the hospital along with my lack of understanding of this diagnosis brought forth a raging river of uncontrollable tears.
Pulling myself together following calls to my family, I robotically packed a bag for my son and I and prepared to leave.
Upon arriving a feeling of unease consumed as far too many people knew his name, they were waiting for him and that brought no comfort. Admission was fast and friendly with tons of smiles. Then began the barrage of ologists and specialists and never heard before terminology. Plans were made, history was discussed, questions were asked, blood was drawn, ears were cleaned, potty was measured, and on and on. Whew it was like a friendly circus of new faces and friends. All of which Emmanuel loved, yes even the vampire. He found him quite funny actually.
And.... the most treasured gift Emmanuel can give the doctors had of course requested, the POOP! This gift my friends is given only every couple of days and takes a great deal of effort. Hence making this a treasure. Well, Emmanuel being the rock star that he is gifted the doctors along with the entire sixth floor with his odoriferous treasure last night. Then came the worst news; the wrong specimen container was used. We lost the poop!
So as we await our lumbar puncture and other tests that are stressful and no fun we are choosing to focus on Emmanuel's hidden treasure.
Please I beg you, dear friends, to join us in the poop prayer.

(Serious prayers coveted of course)

Her heart was pouring out through tear filled words as she asked us to take her child. Emotion had overtaken her. She was in a rough spot yet had the strength to do something even a harder for her child. I will never forget that call, that day, or the sound in her voice. Her pain, her selflessness, her love was evident.
Our daughter, her daughter, knows only this beauty about her and loves her dearly.
Months passed, endless paperwork was filled out, meetings were had, joy and laughter shared, and then came the long awaited gift of the call. Mom was in labor and wanted me to come. We left this up in the air so mom could sort through her emotions without pressure. So it was a delightful surprise to get this call. The room was filled with love and joyous hearts awaiting our princess. I was there when she was born! Grandma was there with her expertise and love and support. It was truly beautiful, magnificent really.
Mom did what most would say can't be (emotionally) done; she held her and breast fed her. They don't know the strength and depth of love of this woman!
Our sweet girl was tiny and a bit undercooked so she spent some time in the NICU, nineteen days to be exact. That was tough for all of us. Mom now had to prolong the pain of placing her child and we had to wait and wonder if she would change her mind. Instead of choosing to look at it negatively mom invited me to come into the NICU with her and together we loved on our sweet girl. Jason and I both spent every moment we could there but I can honestly say that my favorite moments were when mom and I would look down at this baby we both loved and stare in silence. Oh how I admire this woman.
The day came for Josie to go home. The plan mom had was her and Grandma would bring her to us at our house rather than us take her. Even that word "take" seems hard on the ears, let alone the heart doesn't it? Instead mom replaced that harsh word with one of love. Love that simply cannot be defined nor explained. She had planned to bring her child to us and we would all spend time together around our little blessing.
The moment we opened the door an odd mix of feelings arose. We were receiving a gift like no other, an unimaginably one of a kind breathtaking gift. The gift of a child. The arms that held that child also held eyes of the giver of this gift. This woman had carried, felt every kick, spent sleepless nights with nausea, wept for, and dreamt of a bright future for her child. Here she was in front of us with our Josie, our gift. Her grandmother next to her with silent tears streaming was radiant with love for her grandchild.
This moment was imprinted on our hearts as one never to be far from our minds. A true picture of love.
It has been several years since we have seen these women but have been in contact. What most people don't know is how painful it is to look back on this beautiful moment from their view. We have and hold Josie each and every day. They don't and that hurts. That hurt is one I have been close to and witnessed yet never felt. I cannot begin to imagine how it feels each mother's day, birthday, first day of school, and so on. I say this so you all can understand it is (at least in our case) not for a lack of desire or love but of great pain that few of us will ever understand that birth family - adoptive families connect.
Through that pain and loss Josie's grandmother pushed forward. She contacted me and asked for a get together. We were delighted! We didn't tell Josie until the morning of as we knew she would be too excited to sleep. We were right and she could barely focus on school that day and upon walking in the door exclaimed "hurry up we are going to be late to meet my tummy grandma"! We had the sweetest visit and Josie loves her 'tummy grandma' so much. She showed her photos of her life and of her tummy mommy as a child and told her all about herself. Josie already felt as though she knew her at least a little because grandma never misses a birthday or holiday with a special card and a coin or dollar in it. As our visit came to an end Josie asked her grandma of she would come to our house sometime. You should have seem her smile when she said yes!
I can't wait to watch this love continue to grow.