Thursday, May 31, 2012

Not the blood we carry in our body but the love we carry in our hearts.

Twenty-three years ago today my brother came in my room in the morning and said "Mom is at the hospital. Dad is in surgery. They have been there all night. Things don't look great. I have to go to work and grandma is on her way here." I was 13, had been home sick with the chicken pox for about a week and was trying to process everything my brother had just said. He left and went to work and I got up and tried to figure out what to do. I paced, tried to watch tv and waited for the phone to ring or my mom to get home.

Twenty-three years ago today, I lost my dad. I miss him. Not everyday like I use to, but a lot.

For 8 years he was my dad, the most important man in my life. He sat across from me at the dinner table, making sure I ate everything on my plate, asking me about my day, talking to me, my brother and my mom. For 8 years he raised us, loved us and became my dad. During those years he showed me that family is not the blood you carry in your body but the love you carry in your heart. For 8 years he gave me that lesson, a lesson I have spent twenty-three more years living, learning and practicing.

I sit today with my son, born from the love of my heart not the blood of my body wishing he could have met my dad. Wondering what my dad thinks of me....of him.....

Little man has a grandpa that loves him and that he loves. I have a wonderful step-father that demonstrates everyday that lesson my dad gave me when I was young, reinforcing that love is thicker than blood. I am forever grateful for the man that is my father today. But I still wonder what Vern Hewitt, my dad, would say to my son if he could today. The memory of him still makes me smile, laugh and get teary all at once.

I miss you dad and I hope you are proud of me.

Ahh the 80's 

We are inside a tree

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Balancing two hearts

   It is Mother's Day today and I am sitting next to a napping little boy that has given me the greatest gift, that of being his mother. He sang me a cute song this morning as he gave me the gift he made me in preschool. We went and had breakfast together and went to church. It has been a perfect day. And yet there is a sadness in my heart. Last night it brought me to tears and today it sits like a lump in my throat.

  Half a world away there is a mother who is not holding her child today because I am. In the adoption world many families honor the Saturday before Mother's Day as BirthMother's Day. This may not make sense to some, but for me I never want to forget the courage and sacrifice of a woman I have never met, that allowed me to be a mother. Little Man is young still, so we don't do much to honor her right now, as he gets older we will do more.

  I wrote this shortly after holding my son for the first time:

Two women- two worlds- one child, two lives forever connected in the beating of that child’s heart. 

A woman living in a land that is beautiful beyond measure, but hard beyond definition. She is brave. She is struggling. She is full of love and full of sadness. The life she carries within her, that grows in her belly is one she knows she can not care for. 
A woman living in a land of opportunity with possibilities beyond measure. She is brave. She is struggling. She is full of love and full of sadness. The child she longs to give life to, is growing within her heart

The child is born and the mother grieves. She knows what she must do, she must ask someone to find him a home. Kissing him she leaves him to another’s care with the hopes that soon, he will have arms to cradle him, hands to wipe away his tears and lips to offer words of love and comfort. 
Half a world a way a woman searches her heart for the child that is growing there. A single glimpse of him, his hands, his eyes and the woman knows her child was born. Born to woman brave enough to carry him and strong enough to let him go, a woman with a love and courage that will connect these lives forever. He is theirs, flesh and blood of one, hopes and dreams of the other. 

So one woman’s journey to her child begins with the heartbreak of a mother and the cries of a baby who does not understand. He is placed in the arms of the nanny and his story begins, a story of heartache and of love surpassing understanding, a love that oddly, starts with letting go.  - Jenn Kramer

I think of his mother often, wonder how she is, what she is doing and wish that she could see how he is doing. I pray that there is a peace in her heart, that some how she knows that our son is doing great. That she knows he came home to a loving family. 

So today while I celebrate the light and joy he brings to my life, I smile toward the east and whisper a silent thank you to a woman I have never seen or met.