I donât know your name, where you live or even what you look like. I donât know what your voice sounds like or how tall you are and I donât know what your favorite food is. You and I are, however, as intimately connected as any two women can be. I donât know those things about you, but I do know that our son has your infectious laugh and killer smile. I suspect he inherited his adorable cheeks from you, too. Maybe his incredible sense of curiosity came from you, and his bravery from his other father. His spark of intelligence and stubborn streak, although mirrored perfectly in both his Daddy AND me, came from you too.
Iâve been thinking about you a lot this week as my precious boy approaches his second birthday, especially since itâs quite possible that in truth that milestone has already passed. The orphanage assigned his birthday as the 26th, but only you know the exact minute that this little miracle came into the world. I know there is so much you want to know about your baby, and I would give everything to be able to tell you all about what a special boy he is. I know your heart is breaking right now on these days surrounding the memories you have of his birth and your decision to give him a chance at something different. My heart is breaking because he will never get a chance to know who he got his âlucky earlobesâ from, or who the first person to cuddle and soothe him was.
If I could talk to you, I would tell you that he always chooses the orange circle first when sorting shapes, and he leaves the red heart for last, that he canât make it through a meal without at least three kisses on the head, that he canât get enough tomatoes or guacamole but doesnât like spinach, that heâs learning to count on his fingers, that he loves his dog, heâs learning to sing, heâs ticklish behind his knees, that heâs already worn out one copy of âGoodnight Moonâ because we read it every night, and his favorite place on earth is a toss-up between the beach and Mommy and Daddyâs great big bed. He is loved with not only your whole heart, but mine as well.
I can almost see it shining in waves every time I look at our son. I desperately want you to know that he is safe and healthy and happy. It is not the life you hoped for or imagined for him (of that Iâm certain), but my promise to you is that I am doing the very best I can to give him the best opportunities for happiness and success. I promise, too, to honor your memory every chance I get. One day in the not-too-distant future heâll ask about you, and while I wonât be able to tell him anything of significance, I do know that thereâs not a day that goes by that you donât think about him.
You and I will always be connected: the mother that carried him and gave him life and loves him from so far away, and the mother that has been blessed with the unimaginable gift of being called âMommyâ and being here to kiss the boo-boos and chase away the bad dreams. You are my sister, and although I will never meet you, I have more love for you than you will ever know.
On Saturday when we light the candles on his cake, weâll light one for you, too, sending up a prayer as we blow it out and send the smoke sailing across the seas. I hope with everything in me that you hear it when the wind whispers past bringing my good wishes and a gratitude so huge that I feel like I could collapse under the weight of the joy it brings. I hope the wind carries away some of your grief and leaves you with a bit of peace.