Confession #124: Blood is Blood
This is something I frequently hear from my six-year-old daughter. Considering Dalencia was only a few months old when her mother passed away, her cry often catches me off guard. She has no real memories of her mother, not even a picture. Yet she misses her.
My two oldest children are biological brother and sister, but their stories are very different. One was a sick little baby who grew up in an orphanage, never getting the chance to know her family. And one lived near his father until he was almost six.
Tying to make sense of their first family vs. their “forever family” (common adoption term) has been tricky for my little ones, especially since Baby Jake entered the scene. Dalencia has now created all sorts of fantasy memories of being a baby with her first mommy. Listening to her stories breaks my heart.
If only she had a picture…
Recently we have been working on some paperwork in preparation for our adoption. In doing so we had to meet with our kids’ biological father last week. We do this at least twice a year. He lives pretty far away and we try to be strategic with the timing for our kids. Nalandson, who lived in close proximity to his father until he was five, has had a difficult time with these visits. They bring up a lot of feelings and memories that are sometimes difficult for his little heart to process. Dalencia, on the other hand, has no recollection of her father and simply follows Nalandson’s lead on being excited for their biannual reunions.
No matter how difficult the visits can be, however, we want our kids to remain connected to their first family. We want Nalandson to have some sort of relationship with the man who he will grow up to look exactly like. And we want Dalencia to remember her story and where she came from.
This past visit went pretty well. I think they enjoyed their time. Communication is becoming more difficult as they are slowly losing their Creole- something I am not proud to admit. But still I think the visit was good for their souls.
Adoption is beautiful, but it is also hard. As Nalandson and Dalencia’s father said last week, “Blood is blood”. His blood runs through our children’s veins. They will always be connected. Always. And I am glad for that. I pray for that. But it is still hard.
Dalencia often tells me that if God told her she could pick any white mommy in the world then she would always pick me. I put the emphasis on white because so does she. I used to correct her. Dalencia, you mean if God said you could have any mommy, right? She nods, but I know what she means. She loves me and she knows I love her, but she misses her first mommy- the mommy who carried her in her belly, the mommy who gave her her big, brown eyes, and the mommy she will never know…