From their arms to mine, our children came. Once nestled in someone’s womb, now resting in our home and safely in our hearts. How I wish I could read their minds, these women who gave us their children. I wish I knew their thoughts.

As each day draws to an end, do their arms ache to hold their children

Or do they look forward to a hopeful future? Do they toss and turn, wondering about what could have been, or do they comfort themselves with what is? Do they cry, or do they think of them only with a smile? Do they think about their being birth moms every day, or can weeks go by without it being thought of? Do they wish it had never happened and is there someone to hold them when they break down?

If I could say something today to the parents of our children, I’d tell them, “I don’t understand what you’re feeling but I wish I could carry any potential pain like I carry your child. I didn’t want your child, I just wanted to be a family for a child who needed me. And so I’m sad that I had to be a family for your child because it means you had to make an unnatural decision. Your arms are empty while mine are full. And, I hate that. If you ever spend nights wishing it wasn’t like this, know that I would understand if you told me so. If the pictures of your child in my arms, if the thought of your child calling me, ‘mama’, hurts, I hear you. I wish I didn’t exist in your world, because my existence in it means you lost something. Something precious. Someone precious. But also know that I love them like they are mine. After all, the day I heard about them, they became mine. They crawled into my heart, never to leave. I love them and will give my life for them. Thank you for allowing my arms to hold them. They’re in my heart, not only my home. And so are you. Invisible, but not forgotten. I will raise them to respect and honour you.”

My arms are full because their arms are empty

My house is full of laughter, squeals and awe at their development. My heart is full of love. But also a pang of sorrow. Adoption is beautiful but adoption is predicated on loss. I am thankful that your choice was to put them in my arms and not where others are put. In my arms, and not left out in the cold. They could have gone anywhere, but they came to me and for this, I am grateful. Put in my arms. Crawled into my heart. Forever cherished.

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