November is the month we celebrate National Memoir Month along with National Adoption Month. This post is a story of both memoir and adoption. Come along as this “slice of my life” memoir gives you a glimpse into when my husband and I embarked on our journey to parenthood over three decades ago.
As a little girl, I changed my doll, Baby Tears, diapers and dreamed of having a real baby of my own some day. I could never have imagined how our quest to have a family led to so many unanswered questions.
The why (unexplained infertility) became how (adoption interviews and reams of paperwork). Next, the waiting game. I chose to spend the time getting my college degree during that almost four-year period. Finally, our who, a 6-week-old bundle of joy with sparkling blue eyes and blond fuzz the same year I graduated from college.
“Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone,
But still miraculously my own.
Never forget for a single minute,
You didn’t grow under my heart – but in it.”
— Fleur Conkling Heylinger
I believe parents and children are divinely matched heart-to-heart. As a result, they become a family. True, social workers had more to do with our “match” than DNA when it came to the agency’s process of creating our family. My daughter and I have a mole in the same spot on our left arms, a fact that I regard as Spirit’s kiss and proof to me of our special bond. Spooky coincidence? No, synchronicity at work I assure you.
Whether you argue Nature vs. Nurture or grace, gratitude and gumption in generous proportions determine the love, compassion, and empathy necessary to create a strong family bond, I’m forever grateful that we are a family.
Family holds our hearts and helps us cope with whatever comes tomorrow.
I invite to use everything you’ve got to connect with those who are waiting to hear your story. You never know what part of your story is exactly what they need to hear to know that YOU are the solution to their dilemma.