You Are Here

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My husband and I started our adoption journey in August 2015. At the time, l didn’t completely understand that it would take almost two years to become a mother. I also had no real knowledge of how emotional the adoption process can be. As the long days of waiting turned into months, there were countless times when my patience was repeatedly tested and moments where I felt incredible disappointment and profound sadness. And then there were those exceptional days where I was filled with overwhelming hope and joy at the small thought of knowing that my son would one day join my family. Now as I pack for my final trip to reunite with my son and anticipate the next phase of this journey; I am certain that motherhood will begin again a new kind of joy-carry a different set of hopes.

The children’s book Wish by Matthew Cordell so beautifully and honestly captures how I’ve felt these past two years during this incredible journey.

At first, there is us. There is only us. But even then, even before we can know to know it, we wish you were here. We make plans for us. We learn. We build. We journey. But more and more and more, we think of you. Until one day we are ready. Ready for change, ready for surprise. Ready for you. We wish you were here. So we make plans for you. We learn. We build. We journey. And then we wait. We listen. So quiet, so patient, so still. And we wait…but you never come. And everything stops. This is not what we planned. We wish you were here. Time passes. We carry on. We live. We hope. We do not make plans. And one day, from out of the blue, there is a sound. We listen, we hold on, we stay still…as that sound becomes a rumble, becomes a rhythm, becomes a roar. And with every feeling that was ever felt, everything happens. That everything is you. That everything is us. You are here. You are here. You are here.

**Thank you to everyone who has wished, waited, and celebrated with me. I am deeply grateful.

 

Gains and Losses

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When we initially started the adoption process, my assumption was that we would adopt an infant close to the age of six months similar in age as when I was adopted. I clearly recall the adoption meeting when the presenter confidently explained, “Most children will be the ages of two and a half by the time the adoption is finalized.” I turned to my husband and barely managed to stutter, “But wait. Isn’t that a todd-ddd-ler?!”

Although I’m completely humbled and beyond grateful to become a parent, I can’t help but fantasize about the missed baby moments. I wonder what he sounds like when he cries. How does he prefer to be comforted? What was his wobbly first steps like? Now he’s beginning the toddler stage where he’s walking, saying omma (mommy) and becoming more independent. It’s been incredibly difficult not to be there to share in these huge moments of his young life. As I patiently wait to meet my son, I realize adoption is an inevitable and complex series of gains and losses.

This week my son celebrated his first birthday (called Dol) which is a significant milestone in Korea. The children wear a traditional Hanbok and a hat. The highlight of the celebration is where the child is placed in front of a table with objects. It is believed that whatever object is chosen, this will signify his future occupation. Then there’s the usual eating and celebrating. Although I enjoyed looking at the wonderful pictures, I still felt an overwhelming sadness because I wasn’t able to be there to share in his excitement and happiness.

My son will also experience loss. Even though he will gain a family who loves and adores him, he will lose his connection to his birth mother, his Korean culture, and race through adoption. He will wonder why his birth mother gave him up for adoption, question his identity, and more than likely internalize a number of different emotions that comes with grief and loss.

Maybe life is a continuous ebb and flow of gains and losses. It’s easy to be present when there are joyful and happy moments. But it’s when the losses are big and chaotic and the spaces feel too loud is when I want to run. I don’t know the losses that my son will experience, but what is certain is that I will be present for it all.