My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

Archives for March 2016

Dear friend… {to my child’s birthmother on her birthday}

Lydia 7 birthday - 1You’ve been on my heart today.

Our girl is 7 today. I wonder if you remembered. I wonder if as you woke up this morning, you paused to consider what that morning was like for you 7 years ago. You could no longer will your child to stay where she was, the closest she’d ever physically be to you. On that day, your body brought forth this child, a tiny squirmy little girl. I wonder what your heart felt and how you coped or justified what happened soon thereafter.

I wish I knew you. I wish I could hear about what it was like to carry her in your womb. I wish we could sit down as sisters and you’d tell me what you did to manage the nausea and how you saw your belly move as she tossed and turned inside you. You endured great pain for her sake; I know the pain myself. You heard her gasp for her first breath; you heard her first cry. Did she change your life? Was every day after that day different for you?

It’s the middle of the night where I’m sure you are right now. Before your body surrendered to sleep tonight, did you wonder about where she might be? Maybe quiet tears no longer fall; maybe they never did; maybe your eyes swelled up and your head ached as much as your heart did. There’s no way we can know; we don’t even know your name.

Words in a language that is not your own that you likely will never read are all I get to share. I knew that would be the case when your child became my child. But, that doesn’t make it easy. In fact, I think it has been getting harder as she grows. She calls me Mama, she’s so fully mine. And, yet, I know she’s also yours, and I wish you could admire her with me—her dimples, her determination, her love for her big sister, her belly laugh when she plays with her daddy.

I’m sorry that you’ve missed the last 7 years with her. It grieves me when I pause to consider how you’ll miss the next 7 and the next 7 after that. The finality of that makes my chest hurt for you. She’s amazing, this girl. Your daughter is truly amazing, and you don’t even know her name. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that’s the case. I’m sorry for her even more as she feels that loss; you have to know that it is a real loss for her. And, when I see her hurt over her story, right now in seemingly small fleeting ways, I feel a righteous anger. She did nothing to deserve that hurt.

I love this child. I love your child. She has changed my life, and every day since the day she became mine has been different. The anger I feel over what she has endured is balanced by an overwhelming gratitude and joy that I have the honor endure it with her.

On this day, as we celebrate over her favorite meal and an ice cream cake, as we see her face light up as she opens her gifts, as I have the joy of kissing her goodnight and teasing her about how she better stop growing and stay my baby forever, I want to say something to you but I’m not sure what. I don’t want to thank you—that seems so trivial and doesn’t seem fair. I don’t want to apologize—I didn’t wrong you. Wherever you are, even as you dream, I’ll pray you hear my heart and all the mixed up things within it. You are a part of something amazing, something world changing by being a part of this girl. And, I’ll always make sure she knows that even though she’ll never know you and as she processes all the mixed up things within her own heart.

Happy birthday to all of us.

Kelly

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Snapshot of provision and teamwork that looked awesomer in my head but is still awesome in theory

donated camera and supplies - 1

This picture looked more awesome in my head. But, it’s still cool. The red card in the first picture says thank you in Mandarin. Like I said, it was more awesome in my head. 

 

There’s a lot we do when we’re not in China. One of those things is think about our next trip to China. It’s true. It’s how we roll when we’re making a handful of China trips a year. As soon as we get home from one, it’s time to start planning the next one which in this case is in May and then October after that.

Sometimes that’s hard, the constant planning and team recruiting and training and ticket purchasing. Other times, it’s awesome as He keeps us forward thinking and dreaming about what could be next.

That’s where I was last week. I was dreaming. I was in the this-would-be-so-helpful and wouldn’t-they-just-love-if phase which resulted in me putting a number of things into an Amazon registry: (1) an instant camera that spits out the cutest little pictures that develop before your very eyes like magic (I know, I know, Polaroids aren’t new. I promise you I thought these were just as magical when my grandfather brought his fancy gadget over to our house 30 years ago), (2) a little portable printer to print 4×6 pictures wirelessly from a phone or camera or computer (instant gratification for kids and lots of gratification for me since it would save me about 5 hours of time I typically spend at a local copy shop struggling to get photos printed), and (3) lots of film and cases for both said magical devices. They would be so great in China, so so great.

With the hope that someone might enter into the this-would-be-so-helpful and wouldn’t-they-just-love-if… phase with me, I shared the link to the registry on Facebook.

They did.

That instant camera and that teeny little printer and paper for the printer and film for the camera and cases and other little goodies are all sitting beside my desk now ready to head to China in May, ready to be tools in our backpacks to make people gather close together and laugh, to build friendships and connections. I can already imagine a big crowd around one of those tiny little 2″ pictures watching it change from white to a color image all ooo-ing and ahhh-ing as they do.

The picture above—the one that looked a bit more awesome in my head—is a snapshot of provision, a snapshot of teamwork. My friend “P” can’t go in May, but she made sure the instant camera would. Our friends “B and J” have gone before and heard the stories of me spending my afternoon using my translator app to try to get pictures printed from my flash drive. They ordered the printer to help the kids and to help me. “J” made sure I’d have the cases I wanted to protect it all as we travel in planes, trains, automobiles, jump jumps, taxis, and e-bikes. “N” made sure I’d have paper and ink. “S” got other fun supplies as did “B and R.” In one day, every item on that “baby registry” had been ordered.

I’m in a different phase today. I’m still dreaming about how great these things will be in country and how that instant camera will make me some fast friends. But, maybe I’ve moved into a phase you could call the We-aren’t-working-alone phase. I look at all these things neatly stacked by my desk and am reminded that there are so many people standing with us to make all this happen and make it happen well. There are so many people who believe it’s important and worth an investment. There are so many people who He’s given us to listen to my crazy ramblings when I’m in those wouldn’t-they-just-love-if… phases and agree and urge us on.

 

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