Once upon a time I started a blog to document my adoption journey. I wrote about the process; the good, the bad, the hard, the setbacks and the triumphs. I wrote it as a journal for me, for him and as a way of letting the people who I loved across the globe know what was happening. I continued to write when he came home telling our story. A story that was similar and yet so very different from my friends with biological children. A story that was different and yet eerily similar to those who traveled the road of adoption with me. I shared his homecoming, his growth, the funny things he did. And then I shared the hard; the endless doctors appointments, the tests, the hospitalizations, the unknowns. I shared because one day I wanted him to see how strong he had been, what a fighter he was even as a toddler. I shared because I wanted him to see how strong I was, how much I would fight for him. I wanted him know that no matter how much we lost materially I had gained so MUCH more because of him and this is still true today January 13, 2018.
I stopped writing because the fight for him took a legal turn. An indictment was handed down, the fight became more private, more personal and the support I had always so strongly felt from the online community changed. The tone changed, the comments became accusations and so I went underground. I had to honor that this was HIS story and NOT mine. I have tried a few times to get back to blogging. A couple of years ago I tried to do a daily blog in honor of Adoption Awareness month. I didn't do bad at blogging then, but pretty quickly the simple Facebook status became quicker and easier.
Then this last week happened. There has been personal hard in our house, there has been physical pain for me, there has been professional drama, there has been professional joy and blessings and there has been anger and pure sadness for the comments that have come from the President's mouth this week. Today, I held his hand as we walked and listened, really listened to the words he said and the words he didn't say. Today I felt the things he couldn't say as he hugged me as he squeezed his feelings into me, leaning into my embrace. I caught the joy in his laugh as we played sweep tag and I heard the words in my head that I had not heard in so long. In the distance of my brain I could hear Glennon Doyle's voice as she told her story in Love Warrior and I heard Jen Hatmaker's voice as I read Of Mess and Moxie. These women ( and many others) have shown me the strength I have inside me, the power I have and that every voice is important as we walk this journey.
So tonight I put fingers to a keyboard and start to write again. I will try to write regularly but I have decided that I won't pressure myself, that I want my writing to be genuine and from my heart. I want to journal the story for him.
I will address the fact that my child comes from a country that is lumped in the President's sh**hole countries comment, but I can't yet because it is not processed for me yet. I do know that the USA would not be what it is today if it were not for so many of those who came and fought for , fought along side us. Immigrants made this country. For now I am too sad, too angry and too confused to adequately blog. It will come and I will post.
For now I invite you join us on this journey of life. Please come laugh with us, love with us, giggle and tickle with us and come cry with us. Thanks!
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