Passion

I was recently asked what I was passionate about. I did not even have to think about it. I am passionate about my family.

My first daughter died at 37 weeks, a mere three weeks before she was due to be born. I did not know that could happen in this day and age and I was devastated.

My second daughter was adopted two days after she was born. Originally, I did not know if adoption was the right path for us and I was scared and anxious and afraid.

Both of these girls, the one I dream about when I close my eyes and the one I hold in my arms when I am awake, have made me a mom and have helped me come alive.

A mother, to me, does everything she can to make sure her child is safe. She loves unconditionally and gives completely.

I missed out on being a mom to my first daughter.  Although she made me a mother, I feel like I never got to be her mom.  With my second daughter, I had to learn how to do everything as if it was my first time around because it was. There was nothing easy about any of it and yet I enjoyed it (and still do!) more than I ever thought possible.

Maybe it has nothing to do with death and loss and grief. Maybe I just see this amazing child and know that she deserves it all.

I want my living child to grow up strong and loved and confident and fierce. I want that with my whole heart. 

Yesterday, we took advantage of the unseasonably warm temperatures and went to the local zoo. My sister-in-law and nieces joined us there. I could not stop smiling. Despite all that we have been through, we were just a couple of moms, taking our kids on a little adventure, passing the time with laughter and love and memory making. It was nothing and everything at the same time.

There was a time that I did not think we were going to be able to raise our children together. I worried that I would never parent a living child. I thought I would be lonely forever.

I am so happy that I was wrong.

My passion is my family. Those of my blood and those of my heart. To me, they are one and the same.