Sunday, January 23, 2011
“Spell it for me again Mommy,” I said. “A-D-O-P-T-E-D,” my Mom spelled out for about the hundredth time. I loved hearing that word. We had a book in my parent’s room about being adopted and it was one of my favorites.
My brother, sister and I were all adopted as infants. My parents said as soon as they adopted us, they would hold us, cuddle us, and say, “You are adopted, we love you, and you are special.” They wanted us to grow and flourish as adoptees feeling loved, cherished and wanted. We certainly have.
We were lavished with physical affection. The physical bonds they created allowed us to know we always had open arms and laps available to us. We still do. Even when my Dad was sick, I would still climb onto his lap, or tuck in next to him on his hospital bed. When I’ve been sick, my Mom has always been there 24/7, to comfort me, care for me, or just to rub my forehead. She knows just the right way.
Years ago I was at a Dr.’s appointment and he asked me about my family history. I said I didn’t have any available as I was adopted. He stopped, looked up at me and said, “Wow, who’d ever give you away?”
I’d never heard that before. My parents, in all their wisdom had raised the three of us to feel so cherished. No one had given me away, I’d been chosen.
Happy Birthday Mother. I love you and cherish you more deeply than simple words could ever begin to convey.