Every now and then I come across a new (to-me) adoption blog and it's as though the author reached in my head and heart and put words to the emotions I'm unable to describe or explain.
In the 14 - almost 15! - months that we've had C, adoption is something I think about every day. Not because I feel any less toward C, as if giving birth to him would have made him more special. He is my son. It's that I remember that there is another woman to whom I owe everything. Every joy that I have experienced as a mother has come at a great cost to her. My joy came through her pain. I know she doesn't regret her decision - she has told me as much. In a beautiful way, she told me that my husband and I deserved the blessing - the gift that is a child. But she has also shared that there are those times when she is sad; when she misses him. How could she not??
The best is often brought about at the cost of great pain. As a child, it was hard for me to understand why Good Friday was called "Good." God was crucified. It's good because through that pain, through His Cross, Christ redeemed us.
Adoption comes from a loss - a loss of C's first family, of his first mother. Sometimes it just breaks my heart that he will know that pain someday. Now he is too young, completely unaware of his story. But someday, that pain will be there. I hope the love he feels from me and my husband, as well as his birth family, will help ease that pain.
C has been saying "mama" and "dada" for a while now. He tries to repeat words back to us when we ask him to - sometimes what comes out is pretty funny. :) Last week my husband and I realized that he is very clearly saying one word. He says it over and over again. "E-sus." Jesus. He recognizes Jesus in the Sacred Heart statue on the way into a church that we frequent for daily Mass. He recognizes Jesus on the Cross in our own parish. He recognizes him in the Stations of the Cross. He recognizes Him on the Cross outside the church where the scene is displayed from his Crucifixion with Mary and John at his feet. He recognizes him when we go to a church he hasn't been in before - he just knows. He raises his arms every time and says "E-sus!" Sometimes, like yesterday, he blows him a kiss without prompting. Each time it gives me chills.
His life is a gift. It doesn't belong to me. I'm only blessed - very blessed - to be his mother and to teach him about the One who made him, who designed him for His purpose.
My prayer for him is that someday he comes to realize the same thing I'm only beginning to understand.
It's not about me. It never was. It's about Him.