Why I Am Thankful Every Day

Tis the season for giving thanks. Thanksgiving has come and gone, and even the leftovers are just a (delicious) memory. The holiday season is upon us, and I have less than two weeks till we light the first candle on the menorah. 

So before the first snowflake begins to fall and before the wrapping paper gets dug out of the closet, here is what I am most thankful for this year:

1. Miranda. I know, you all saw this one coming a mile away. The thing is, though, she is a living, breathing gift. She brings out the best parts of me and makes me slow down, take it all in, appreciate the moments that I would have previously rushed by, and makes my heart so so full.
2. Allie. This will be our sixth holiday season without her physically here. The lessons she taught us, though, about love and survival and hope are with us each and every day.
3. My husband. Man, I hit the mother lode with him. He is a true partner and the lid to my pot, and I still can't believe that he's mine.
4. My family. My mom who is by my side through thick and thin. My brothers who have shown me what unconditional love really is. My sisters-in-law who are really like my sisters. And to the family that I married into, my cup runneth over with the love you have for all of us. Not to mention that I have the best, cutest, spunkiest, most hilarious nieces and nephews in the multiverse. (We watch a lot of CW superhero shows here.)
5. My friends. From high school, youth group, college, first job, second job, third job (Ok, fine. I have had a bunch of jobs!), support groups, fellow loss moms, fellow adoptive moms and dads and now preschool mom friends and more. I am blessed to always have a sounding board, a drinking partner, a listening ear, and more than one friend to lend me a book, suggest a good movie, meet me to shop or just have me over to let me chat for hours on end.
6. My health. It's no secret that this body of mine drives me nuts. From thin to not-so-thin and every weight in between, I struggle daily with how I look and how I feel. But I am fortunate to be able to exercise a few days a week and eat healthy when I can and know that this body that I do not always treat like a temple has gotten me through some tough times. I can no longer blame the skin I am in for the way that I am, but I can accept that this is the body that I have and try to respect it. I am lucky to be alive and not a day goes by that I do not know that.
7. Our home. I love our little house. I love that every night before I go to bed, I sneak into Miranda's room to check on her and she is safely ensconced in a beautiful room with toys and books and clothes galore. She wants for nothing (although she will adamantly disagree) and I love that we provide for her in the best way that we can.
8.  All the material goods that are out there. Hey, I like nice stuff. I am admitting it. And I am thankful that I can still purchase some of it. Wait till you see my new Coach sneakers!
9. Words. Writing has become therapy to me. I am grateful for the words that let me express myself and for the audience of you all that take the time to read them.

I could go on and on and on. My heart is overflowing with gratitude and appreciation. I have been dealt a lot in my 43 years, and I have not always known how to best handle it. Yet here I am, living my life the best way I know how. Sleep comes easily for me at night and not just because I spend many of my days chasing my daughter. I got to bed each night knowing that I am trying my best to be a good mom, wife, friend, daughter, and more and I feel good about most of the choices I make.

So that's my list. Not bad if you ask me. Not bad at all.

What National Adoption Month Means to Me

For over two decades, National Adoption Month has been celebrated every November in communities across the country. Many national, state and local agencies will help spread the word through programs, events, and activities that help raise awareness for thousands of children and youth in foster care who are waiting for permanent, loving families.

For us, it’s just another month in which we are so grateful that adoption exists because it was the perfect way for us to grow our family.

After Allie died, we were searching for answers and clinging to hope that we would be able to honor her and have another child. Nothing worked, and for a time, it seemed like nothing would. When we were ready, adoption was there for us. We turned to it not as a final straw, but as another avenue.

Our second daughter is now four and a half years old. She is a happy, carefree spirit that has dramatically changed the course of our lives. I barely remember a time without her, and I know my life is better having her in it.

This past Halloween, after we went trick or treating and the rest of my family was sound asleep in a sweets induced coma, I settled in to watch “This Is Us.” I enjoy the show very much and often find parallels to my life in it. 

One of the main characters in the show was adopted. His adoptive parents had triplets, and one of the babies was born still. So they adopted a third baby who happened to be born on the same day and needed a home. They brought them all home from the hospital together. When the child (Randall) grew old enough to ask, he wondered to his mother what happened to the third baby. Did that baby get lost and then Randall somehow got found?  

His mother replied, "We didn’t lose him. Not like that. He didn’t live. Sometimes that can happen. Sometimes a baby dies right at the beginning. But your dad and I had all this love in our hearts…and we saw you and met you. So yeah, you are a miracle. But you’re not instead of anything.  You are the way it was always supposed to be.”
 
My daughter knows the word adoption, and we have visits with her birth mother twice a year. She knows she has a sister who lives in heaven, too. She has not yet put together that her sister’s death is what lead us to know without a doubt that we wanted to be parents and ultimately led us to adoption and to her. She will learn it all soon enough. The few times we have tried to explain it to her so far, it’s just been too overwhelming.

In this same television show, same episode, in fact, they talk about the child that died, and that his name was Kyle. That is virtually unheard of, even now. To name a baby that has died makes that child live on and I think you can ask any loss parent and they will agree. It's so beautiful to see these nuances played out on the screen. 

I was meant to be a mom to my two girls. To the one who shares my DNA and only lives in my heart as well as to the one who looks nothing like me but shares my love of life.

I am glad months like this one exist to spread awareness, and I am glad that TV shows like this one also exist to share their messages. Most of all, I am glad adoption exists because I love my family so very much and can’t imagine us any other way.

Learning How to Share At Any Age

I understand how important it is to share. "Sharing is caring!" I often remind my daughter when she has cousins or friends over and "forgets" to let them play with her toys. 

Before I was a mom, sharing was not very easy for me. I was never one to want to order two dishes at a restaurant and share my plate with someone else - not even my husband or my best friend. I was always worried there would not be enough for me.  

Now when I have something particularly yummy on my plate, and my daughter inevitably wants it, I share it with her without even thinking about it. Often, I anticipate her wanting what I have and automatically slice her off a piece or set aside something of mine for her.

I grew up in a relatively big family. We all had to share. There was no way around it. And yet, if I am honest, sharing sometimes makes me want to pout.

Let me give you a recent example. This past weekend, we had a visit with Miranda's birth mother. It was a nice visit overall, and Miranda soaked in all the extra attention that she was given. I, meanwhile, was a giant bundle of nerves, hovering in the corner, feeling inadequate and out of place.

I know this is ridiculous. I know it makes no sense. I know I drive Gary nuts during these visits. I can't help it, though. I hate sharing the single best thing in my life. My daugther.

I can share her with Gary. No problem. I can share her with our friends and family. Duh. I struggle, though, with sharing her with the woman who gave her something I could never have given her - the gift of life.

Instead of being grateful and feeling blessed that this woman chose Gary and me to raise our daughter, I feel insignificant and alone and afraid. 

I think we have maybe one more visit before Miranda asks who M is to us. There are no other kids at our visits, and she is always the center of attention. When we see M in October, she showers her with holiday gifts. When we see M in March, she showers her with birthday presents. Sooner or later, Miranda is going to want to know why we see this woman at all. 

We talk about adoption a fair amount. We have yet to connect the dots, though, and explain that Miranda is in fact adopted. It's hard to understand at any age, let alone four. We are on borrowed time, though. Miranda is becoming more and more inquisitive and we owe it to her to share her truth with her.

Upon leaving our visit, I remarked to Gary that I dreaded having 14 more years of these visits. To which Gary replied, "It's 56 hours. Total. Our visits are 2-3 hours each, twice a year. That means it's about 56 hours that M gets with Miranda. We will have that by Tuesday."

Then I felt foolish. He was right, of course. We get EVERYTHING. She gets a few hours a year. 

It's not a competition. I am her mother. M is the woman who gave her life. Miranda will be able to have room for us both one day. Of this I am sure.

I wish I was better at sharing. In time, perhaps I will be...

At our visit this past weekend