In the fall of 2011, my wife and I had three beautiful children that we had been parenting for just about 2 years. There had been talk of adoption and it was so close I could taste it. Brown skin, curly hair, and the most adorable button noses – they weren’t of my flesh or blood, but they were surely of my sweat and tears and they were mine.
Not just mine, though. They will never be just mine. They belong to her as well – their birth mom…their first mom. We had corresponded via notes in backpacks back and forth when the children would go for their weekly visits with her, but I had never actually spoken to her. A woman, with whom I shared one of the most challenging, yet powerful bonds, and I had never talked to her. It’s crazy to think back on now, but not unusual in the foster world.