One year ago, we waited. The midsummer’s heat hung heavily in the air, its blanket of humidity a promise of rain to come. The sun was sinking below the tips of the mountains as we stood together in our small front yard, holding hands and watching the street.
One year ago, a white Nissan SUV pulled up in front of our
house for the first time and parked on the curb. Two handsome young men
gathered a bag of carefully packaged ice creams in containers and lifted a bucket-style
carseat out of the vehicle. Our eyes met as they walked up the flat stones that
lead to our front porch, where we had a small table for the kids to sit and eat
ice cream and chairs for the adults.
One year ago, we saw your face for the first time. With
questioning brown eyes and apple cheeks, you watched us crowd around you. There
were many introductions made that July evening, as we were all strangers to one
another.
Amidst a global pandemic, carrying both the grief and joy
that can come from joining families via adoption, our hearts grew.
Last summer, while we got to know you and your uncles, I
sometimes wondered if it was going to work. I wondered if I could do it; if I
could be your Mama when you had these men already who cherished you so deeply.
I’d never parented in this slow, transitionary way and I worried that I would
not be able to be enough for you.
Today, we celebrate that we’ve known each other one year.
Today, I am a better human and a better mama than I’ve ever been before. Today,
you are legally our son and we have two more brothers and one more sister than
we did a year ago. We have joined all our lives in this inextricably magical
way, and the path forward is clear to me.
Together.
Always together.
