You are deserving. You were never made for a life of bouncing around, from home to home, without a basic understanding of the world around you. You were not created to feel hurt. You were not made for the life you have lived. You were made for so much more. You are so much more than the titles the state gives you, or the story of your past, or the choices that have been made for you. You are not just a foster child. You are not just a victim. You are not just the sum of your choices, or your behaviors, or your file. You are value. You are hope. You are worthy.
You are so beautifully you.
I’ve been sitting here for several weeks trying to form a single sentence that will somehow summarize the last 12 months with you. I have always come up short. As I start to write and reflect on the last year, tears well up in my eyes and all the words in my soul just creep up my throat, but die on my tongue. I have never known hope like I know now. I have never seen life like I see through your eyes.
You are magic, baby. You are the light. You are the sweetest sounds, the best part of wonder, the laughter in every story, the hope, the strength, the fight. You are perspective and theory and opinion and facts, all beautifully wrapped into one. You are the story. You are the equation. You are life; the most beautiful example of resiliency, and perseverance, and determination. You are fire and ice and storms, but most importantly, you are the rain that falls after months of drought.
You are you & I am so proud to be your mommy, even if only for a moment.
You came into my life as quickly as I said yes. You brought laughter and life into my home and into my world, walked right up into my heart the moment you reached for my hand. Loving you was never a choice. It has always been the greatest privilege, the greatest love I have ever known, there is no stopping, no turning back, no changing my mind. You will always have my love for as long as you live. You couldn’t possibly have been more mine had I given birth to you myself. I couldn’t love you more or love you less even if I gave it everything I had. You are and will always be loved by me. Nothing you do, or no where you go, will ever change the depth of the love that I have for you.
That first night as you held onto me, screaming and grasping for something you knew, I held onto the only one I knew who could rescue us both. Jesus. The only hope I had that we would be okay. The only one I still cling to, even a year later, as I hold onto you and try my hardest to wrangle your fire. You had to learn to be YOU, but I had to learn to live within the walls of my role that I couldn’t even begin to understand on that first night together. As you whispered, “mommy” in this mumble foreign toddler language that I barely could figure out, we both know you phrased that more as a question than as a loving name. You needed a mommy. But what you don’t know is that I needed you, more, than you needed me.
Twelve months flew by as I blinked.
In the first 30 days, you worked and fought and loved with all you had. Each new person and place was overwhelming. You started school. You went to church. You met my family that so quickly became yours. You started speech. You learned sign language. You learned to count to five. We celebrated Valentine’s Day with little heart chocolates and juice boxes. You visited your mom who gave you life, for the last time, the reality of a child in a world too big. You still looked for normalcy, searched for my face when I left the room, and cried every day I dropped you off at school— leaving my heart shattering and left me questioning if homeschool was an option.
With new seasons came new struggles. We learned how to live amongst social workers and therapists and within the walls of courthouses. You grew to talk and have your own personality. You grew to question the world around you, the world that mistreated you, and the things that never made sense to you. You grasped at the life you knew. You cried yourself to sleep, tirelessly hanging on to the life you could remember, hoping and praying that someone you knew would walk back into our home and scoop you up back to the life you came from. Me, I prayed, for you. I cried out to God every night. I pleaded with him, I wanted to carry your pains and hurts and grief myself. I begged him to take away the weight of the choices of those who were supposed to protect you off your shoulders. These hurts were always too big for your tiny body. I held onto God every month that came and went, praying I would always do right by you. I pleaded for you, on behalf of you, that no matter what happens, it will be what is best for you. I wanted my shoulders to bare the weight of your trauma; within our life together, a love inside me was created with such depth and width that nothing would stop me from being your biggest warrior for peace.
With summer and warmer weather came bigger problems, more sleepless nights, and even more laughter. You grew into your heart, understood for the first time right from wrong, and how awful those were who mistreated you. I struggled to know what was best, to know what worked for you, what made you click, and what you needed. You sang silly made up songs, created your own language, named all your dolls, found a love for dress up, all things princess, and how to turn your lip up to get whatever you wanted. You bravely got your ears pierced, cut your own hair, and took dance lessons. You found a love for running, for jumping on the trampoline, for making friends at school, and for playing fetch with your puppies. I learned that simple things like “I’m so proud of you!” and “You are my favorite!” brought life to your eyes. You sought my love as if it wasn’t already yours. You looked for approval, validation, and love from every person in your path.
By six months, our lives were intertwined and I couldn’t even remember a time when you weren’t here. My carseats were filled with discarded goldfish and empty juice boxes, my phones memory much more fuller, and my heart so big that most nights it emptied itself out by crying tears for you. I dreamed new dreams, I believed in the future, in hope, in You, in our life together. I wanted You to become everything You dreamed of and was determined to fight every battle for you, making sure you were given the justice you deserved. I so badly wanted to protect every hair on your head, keep you small and innocent, and happy.
By fall, we were tired. We had spent all summer enjoying the sun and the warmth, of the hope that comes from healing. We took vacations. We slept in. We watched cartoons. We played with the dogs out back. We found someone who loved us, who truly loved us, and who loved YOU just as much as I did. We learned to make s’mores and hot dogs over a campfire, snuggled under blankets, and told spooky stories with a flash light. You had your first sleepover. Your first black eye, your first bee sting, your first busted lip, your first dog bite. Your head always hit the ground or the car or the bike handles much before your body. You always got back up though and no bruise or scar ever made you stand down to fear. You always gave life your all, and this entire last year, I’ve stood in awe of you. You have faced battles bigger than you and walked out with a smile.
You are magic, tiny girl.
I watched as you remembered the horrible hurts that others did to you. I watched, terrified, unsure of how to undo all the trauma. I watched as you became braver, stronger, smarter. I watched as you became You. I watched with tears flowing down my face as you said “Peoples hurt me and peoples break my heart,” but then smiled as you said, “but not no more!” You have learned safety, and security, and most importantly, you have trusted in love again. In twelve months, you have transformed before me, and in many ways, I believe I have transformed from who I was, the selfish woman who lived for herself and trusted in her own ways, to a woman of God, who loves You more than I can ever say and who trusts in God's plan for YOU even when it hurts.
You turned four years old this year. You went from this little tiny girl who wasn’t even on the charts medically with the darkest, most guarded eyes I’d ever seen in a child, to this girl who is fearless, smiles as if she has never known anything other than silliness, who is the definition of hope and magic, to You. You. You have gained 13 pounds, and grown 7 inches, putting you exactly average on the charts. You went from talking at an 18 month old level to graduating speech above your age expectation. You know your ABCs, can count to 25, and can write your name complete with all the accents. You have grown, tiny girl, and as I write this, and reflect on all the photos of our year together, I want to slow down time. Life with you is the fastest chapter I’ve ever lived. The best chapters always are.
Life with you has given me purpose.
The you that I know today is my favorite version of you. And by loving you for the last twelve months, I have found that my most favorite role, my most loved job, the only thing that matters most, my most favorite version of me will always be life as your mommy... if even if it’s only for now.
You have taught me the value of the present, of living every single day to the cheesiest fullest, and thanking God for the good, the tears, and the accomplishments. Baby, tiny girl, love of my life, you are and will always be my most favorite adventure and there’s not a thing I would have changed about the last year. Except how fast it went.
You have taught me the value of the present, of living every single day to the cheesiest fullest, and thanking God for the good, the tears, and the accomplishments. Baby, tiny girl, love of my life, you are and will always be my most favorite adventure and there’s not a thing I would have changed about the last year. Except how fast it went.
Today, we are one. It is our first birthday, mine as a mother, and yours as a child who will be protected, and loved, celebrated and nurtured, and cared for, lovingly taught to live life without fear of being hurt. You are always safe in my arms and as cheesy and silly as that sounds, I hope you know that I’ll always be here for you, ready to hug you, no matter how big you get.
I was born the day I answered the door last year and saw you. You. The tiny girl who became my world. You made me a mother. There was never anything temporary about the love I had for you. You are so much more than a foster child. You are you. And I will always be your mommy.
I hope one day I give this to you as I stand at your high school graduation, or on the day you become a mother, but until then, I just hope and pray that you will hold onto the one who has held onto us this last year through whatever is to come. And I pray and plead that you are here forever, that the day you walked into our home last year will be the last time you carried a trash bag of trauma, and instead your bed will always be yours, the safety net holding the knowledge of love and hope and healing.
Happy 1st birthday to you, to us! You are the most precious gift life has given me and there's no greater privilege to sit here on the sidelines with a front row seat to You. I will always be your biggest fan, your faithful friend, your protecter, your safety, your advocate, your mommy. You are home, tiny girl. You are loved.
You are my favorite.
Love,
Mommy
