One Year


One year ago today, I woke up in the morning and had breakfast for the first time with a little boy who now calls me “Momma”.  I don’t remember what we talked about or what feelings I had, other than a weird lack of anxiety.  I know we ate cereal and yogurt {because I kept a meds/food journal for the first few days}, and I know we sat at the table for a very long time, like a good first date.

The night before, around 7pm, I had received a text message in the checkout line at the grocery store from one of our agency workers.  “Hi, Anna.  We have an emergency placement.  A 5-year-old boy who needs to be moved tonight.  Are you interested?”

I pulled a 9/11 George Bush, appearing to ignore the situation and continuing to go about my business for a few minutes while I wrapped my mind around the idea that this was actually happening.  When I got home, I told Rod.  We prayed for a minute to give God one last chance to tell us, “No.”  And then I called her back and said we would take him.  She said they would be at our home in an hour.

I remember feeling dazed but fighting it, wanting to remember each moment and each feeling.  I wrote this in my journal…


Just received our placement call.  Rod is out to get a present for him, and I’m realizing that all of my pre-scripted, pre-fantasized moments need to fly away now.  Because the last thing I want is to argue with Rod over which book we read him before bed on his first night.  A wave of thrill and imagination followed by a wave of sadness for this boy.  He’s 5 years old and he’s white and she told me his last name, but I can’t remember it right now.

We gave it to Jesus.  Hoping that Beau will be a comfort.  Now it’s time to change the sheets on his bed, because my parents slept there this weekend.  And it’s time to call for some dinner and to put the groceries away.

It still feels surreal and unknown…just like it felt when I imagined it this morning.  Except slowly, slowly, the cloudy images that have been floating in the sky are landing in the concrete as sure things.

Here we go.

I wonder, can he read?  What color is his hair?  Will he like our home?

Dori is bringing toys.


He was {is} adorable.  Heartbreakingly adorable.  Showing his sense of humor right away.  Walking through the door and into our living room, calling “Com’ere buddy!” to our dog.

And today, he calls us his parents.

We are nearing the end of this adoption process, just waiting on a few more pieces of paper to come through.  And then I can take his new birth certificate around to his school and his doctor and his dentist, and they will change his last name in their databases, and officially he will be ours.

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