A Letter to my Daughter

My Dear Sweet Ava,

I wasn’t there the moment your future arrival was announced.  I wasn’t there to feel those first little flutters, then first kicks.  I wasn’t there during labor, when you first entered the world, for your first breath, the first time you opened your eyes or first cry.  I wasn’t there those first few days when you cried out in pain as the drugs began leaving your system.  No, I didn’t know about you then.  Two days after you were born, I was called upon to come into your life and be your ‘temporary’ Mommy.  I was asked to care for you, love you like my own, dry your tears, hold you close, make you feel safe and help you learn to bond.  That’s what we do, we are foster parents.  When I first learned of you, I was so very scared.  I had never been asked to come to the hospital and love a brand new baby, all the while knowing I’d probably have to give you back.  I was scared of falling in love and then watching a piece of my heart walk away, knowing I’d never see it again.  I didn’t know if I was strong enough.  When I first saw you, my sweet Ava, something in my heart changed.  I was no longer scared; a calming peace flooded my soul.  I realized at that moment that this wasn’t about me and what I might have to face.  This moment was about making you feel safe, loved and happy.  To hold you through your withdrawals, the tremors and tears, and whisper that it would eventually stop hurting and assure you that you were safe in my arms.  To teach you that you could trust.  To teach you to love.  I needed to be your “Mommy”, while knowing that you might never be my daughter.  I also knew in that moment that I wasn’t strong enough.  I’d never be strong enough, but it’s what God had called me to do, and I trusted that when/if the time came, He would help me give you back.  My only care at that point was making you feel safe and loved.

While I might not have been there for those first kicks and your first breath, my love, I was there for many ‘firsts’.  I got to see your first real bath, your first smile, the first time you held your sweet little head up, your first tooth, your first laugh, your first word, your first crawl, your first bite of baby food, your first steps.  I remember the very first time when you were crying, but saw me and calmed down once in my arms.  OH!  You were learning to trust! You were learning to love.  I was doing what I had been called to do.  I was your “Mommy” and I was falling in love.  I then remember the phone ringing and hearing that they had found you a home with a friend of your biological family.  I remember thinking “Okay, this is it.  This is the moment I knew was coming.  Help me, Lord, I’m not strong enough, but you are”.  I remember packing up the things I had bought, thinking you’d look so adorable in them, but now knowing I’d never get to see you in them.  I remember planning out in my head just how I would hand you over to this stranger.  I remember knowing that I would need to hold it together, at least until I got to the car.  I wondered how I would drive home though the tears.  I knew you would never remember me, but I had hoped that at least you would remember feeling safe and loved.  

I then remember the phone call when I was told that you actually weren’t moving, you were going to stay a while longer.  I was SO happy, but knew in my heart that this would make ‘goodbye’ even harder.  But again, this wasn’t about me.  It was about loving you and keeping you safe for as long as I was called to do so.  We continued to love you, my sweet Ava, and fell more and more in love with you every day.  There were so many people who loved you.  You were teaching us all.  You were teaching us how to love so very completely, but not hold on too tightly.  You were teaching us to fulfill God’s calling, even when it would possibly be the hardest thing we had ever done.  You were our teacher.  Our little girl.  Your brothers loved you to bits too, but I know even they feared having to say ‘goodbye’.  You were their teacher, too.

Ava Jane, I will never forget the meeting with your case worker when she asked us to consider becoming an adoptive resource for you.  We were told that biological family could still step forward, but she wanted us to consider adoption if no one did.  I have never felt such complete joy and terror, all at once.  To say out loud that we loved you and wanted you to be our forever daughter, but still to know that even then, you might leave.  Yet, there was no hesitation.  We absolutely said “Yes” and trusted your future into God’s hands.  There were still big hurdles to cross, and wrapped in God’s grace, we were ready to face them.  Every day, Ava, I was anxious every time the phone rang, in case it was your case worker saying someone had stepped forward to adopt you.  But that phone call never came.  With each court date, we crossed hurdles and getting to keep you for ever and ever started to seem more and more likely.  I tried to guard my heart a little, but you managed to break through every shield and held it completely.  You were my little girl and I loved you so much.  

Then the big day came, the foster agency was going to make the decision about who was going to be able to adopt you.  We waited what seemed like an eternity after their meeting to hear the news.  It was a phone call that I will never forget.  We were chosen; you were staying!  I was so beyond happy that day and I cried for joy when I heard that you were going to officially and legally become my daughter.  But I knew a secret, deep down inside I knew we didn’t need a judge or a piece of paper to tell us about our love for each other.  A Mommy knows these things.  However, I was beyond excited to see it written down in black and white.  To see it permanent, to see you take our last name and make it legal.  

Oh my sweet Ava, your adoption day was a day I will never forget.  I was SO excited that I didn’t sleep one bit the night before.  There were so many people who came that day to celebrate you officially joining our family.  You see, we weren’t the only ones who loved you like crazy, you had grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, cousins, people from our church and family friends.  So many people loved you and wanted to share in our joy.  The courtroom had to be the happiest place on earth that day.  The best part of that day was when we heard the words spoken by the lawyer; that when the adoption was final, it would be no different than if you had been our birth child.  But Ava, that moment had already come for me.  There was no difference in the love I had for you than the love I had for your brothers.  The line from ‘foster daughter’ to ‘daughter’ had blurred and already disappeared. 

You are still like a dream to me, my precious daughter.  I never even thought to ask for you, and yet, here you are.  I know that someday you will have questions about your adoption.  I know you will have hurts. I know you will have to hear hard things.  But Ava, I hope you never question how much you have always been loved.  As you turn two this year, I know you don’t doubt our love for you. Your giant smile each morning as we walk in to get you out of your crib, or when you see us come get you from the church nursery tells me that we are still doing what God called us to do.  Making you feel safe and loved.  We will continue to do our best to raise you as God has called us to.  I can not wait to see what you will do over the next year.  No matter what, I will meet each morning with pure thankfulness that you came into our lives.

I love you forever,
Mommy