Sweet baby J, it’s been a month since you left our home. The time has moved too quickly. I had to return some of the clothes you wore and so I was forced to wash and sort through your wardrobe. Your scent is no longer here and it makes my heart sad. Terence is sad, I am sad. We miss you more than you’ll ever understand. Some may wonder why I write to you here on this blog. I do so for a few reasons. Firstly, because I believe my words to you are echoed in the hearts of many women experiencing loss; secondly, because I believe your story can teach us things I don’t yet fully understand, and thirdly, because I serve an awesome God who can perform miracles if He chooses and I pray that somehow when you’re older you will stumble across this blog and know in your heart that I’m talking about you. Children who are adopted often wonder about their early days. Were they loved? Were they cuddled? Did they like to sleep on their side or on your chest? Were they sung to? Baby J, I want you to know that you were loved and cherished and that your space in my heart will always be there. Eventually the hurt may pass, but you will never be forgotten.
Today I want to honour the first woman who truly loved you. I have never met her and yet I know me previous sentence is true. Here is my letter to her.
To Baby J’s mother
We have never met. I am not even sure if you were ever told my name. When your daughter left the hospital she came to stay with me. It was the biggest privilege of my life.
Since the moment I found out about her, I thought about you. I have never given birth and I have never had to make the sacrifice you made, so I won’t pretend to know what you went through. However,there are some common threads in our stories and so I feel a strange connection to you.
I wish I could invite you over for tea.
Experience has taught me that tea is a powerful thing. We would sit on my couch and I would let you talk.
I would listen to you, because I wonder how many times someone has just listened without judging you first. I would probably struggle not to ask you a million questions and if I got ahead of myself, I would pray that you knew it was coming from a caring place.
I would tell you about your daughter and ask you if you wanted to see photographs of her first weeks. I would tell you the story of how your daughter gave me a mother’s heart and showed me things women aren’t supposed to be privy to before they become mothers. I would tell you that your daughter made me love my husband even more than I already did, and that looking into her eyes each day filled my heart with praise for God and His creation of her beautiful little life. I would tell you that I knew you were beautiful even though I hadn’t seen you, because only a beautiful woman could have brought such a lovely daughter into this world.
Perhaps we would share our dreams for ‘J’. Perhaps we would cry together. Perhaps I would muster the courage to tell you that my hearts’ desire was, and still is, to mother your daughter and that when she left I experienced my darkest day. How does one ask to parent another’s child? Sometimes I wish I had the opportunity to meet you in those early weeks of ‘J’s life, when Terence and I dreamed of our family with her and thought it might be possible. Would I have had the nerve to ask you if we could keep her? Would you have deemed us good enough to be your daughter’s parents? Would you even like me?
I know you requested photographs of your daughter. All I have now are photos too, and I wonder if we are ever both looking down at that beautiful face at the same time and wondering what could have been.
I know you love your daughter. My heart broke when I saw the special clothes you had chosen for her and the beautiful name you had given her. I really love her name. It suits her very well. I want you to know that you have broken my heart for birth mothers and that because of you, I will do my best to never allow judgement to pass my lips or my heart, no matter what stories I hear.
I want you to know that we pray for your daughter every day and that our experience with her has made us rely on our heavenly father to protect her and show her His character and His love and His plan for her life. I pray the same things for you.
I want you to know that I miss her everyday and I can only imagine that you miss her too. Missing her is something that connects me to you. I want to assure you that my experience with her hasn’t made me bitter, despite the flaws in the ‘system’. She has reminded me why we do what we do, and what a privilege it is to have share any part of a child’s life.
Your daughter has already touched so many peoples lives.
I pray that your heart will be soothed and that you know you are loved and thought of often.
And if we ever meet in person, I’d be happy to tell you all these things again.
All my love,