Today you turned 8! Kills me how old you're getting. I remember you as that teeny, tiny, undernourished, Krio-speaking, ball of fire who could out-eat all of your brothers and hit back just as hard. I remember the first time I saw you. You were the little girl from The Raining Season blog. Almost a celebrity after an entire community of people read about your plight. That little tiny girl plucked from an ugly situation. And there you were beaming, clean, wearing a little green khaki skirt and just wanting to hold our hands (and hearts.)
Today is your birthday but also another day I've let you down. Sometimes I feel like that's the only thing the adults in your lives have ever done for you, and I am just another. I've been planning a trip to see you next week for over six months, and I made the heart-wrenching decision to postpone that trip because of the Ebola outbreak. Some of our team has made the same decision, but some are still traveling. I know I've made the safest decision overall for me and my loved ones, but it's not the best decision because it breaks your heart and it breaks mine. And you are one of my loved ones. We had the surprise pleasure of Skyping with you this morning for a few minutes to wish you a Happy Birthday. You giggled my favorite giggle and soon began asking if I was coming on Sunday. I asked a caregiver to explain to you that I couldn't come. I gave her all the gentle reasons that I'd planned out as an explanation, but your little heart only heard that I wasn't coming. I've disappointed you again. I've abandoned you again. I've hurt your heart again.
I was telling Dad this morning while I was sobbing in our bedroom (it's a bit uncomfortable to sob in front of your brothers!), that our entire relationship with you has been tumultuous. Every single step of it has been hard, disruptive, uncomfortable, painful. The most uncomfortable thing I've ever experienced in my life. I don't know that I've ever cried so much over a single human being or situation as I have over you and yours. From the day we asked you into our Forever Family, to the times we've been denied permission by your birth family for adoption, to the day I left you in Sierra Leone and brought your brothers home, to this day when I told you I wouldn't be coming to visit. There has not been a single crossroad we've come upon that has gone the easy way. Every single path we've taken has been full of overgrowth, thorns, and sharp rocks that hurt like crazy. And yet, as I told Dad, I feel with all my heart and soul that we are fighting the good fight. Instead of feeling like these are signs that our love for you is not meant to be, I feel fully and wholly that we are pursuing what we are supposed to. We are meant to be in your life. We are meant to fight for you. We are destined to interfere with the dark future that you were once headed for and turn you toward the hopeful one that we dream you'll have.
I don't know if we can ever adopt you legally. I don't know if you can ever come be with us in America. I'm learning, though, that it won't affect my commitment to you if you can't. I will always love you. I will always fight for you. I will always come visit you. I will make it my life's work to make sure you have a hopeful, happy, healthy, joyful, and meaningful life. I will not leave you. I will not forget you.
I believe with all my heart and soul that God has something spectacular planned for you, and I am just blessed to be a spectator, cheerleader, and vehicle for that plan.
The words cannot express how much, but I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Mom
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