Never ever doubt that you are loved
Well, you hear it from us often enough. We are the affectionate variety of parents.
But in your case, there's more to it than that.
This afternoon I was gathering your paperwork for our important meeting next week to finally wrangle you official citizenship papers from the U.S. government. This is not an easy task, I can assure you. Nor is it fast. I sent the forms in nine months ago! So we'll probably need to go out for a celebratory dinner afterward. A toast with milk and water to ending all of this blasted paperwork. Sound good?
As I was rifling through the documents, my fingertips touched the orange envelope. The one with the Korean writing that contains four heartfelt letters written by your birthmom: three to you, one to us. Every time I see that envelope, my heart breaks open again. Because I've read the words inside over and over again with tears streaming down my cheeks.
Devin, it's so important -- SO important -- for you to know how much your Korean mommy loves you. It was such a difficult decision she made to send you on your journey to us. She didn't do it because she didn't want you. She did it solely because she wanted you to have a good life. A life she didn't think she could provide for you.
Adoption is a beautiful way to make a family, but it's also riddled with tragedy. Your Korean mommy had to make a huge sacrifice for us to become your parents. If her circumstances had been different, you would be living with her in Korea.
If things had happened differently, you wouldn't be standing in front of me with that impish smile, or saying to me, "Guess what, Mommy? I love you!", or asking me to take a picture of you with Lucy. You wouldn't argue with me over making ornaments for Grandma, or get frustrated when I tell you that you can't watch "The Magic School Bus" video for a second time, or complain about the shirt I picked out for you because you wanted to pick one yourself.
I wouldn't change a single thing about this whole experience, Dev. Not at all. But it's heartbreaking sometimes when I think about her. About what she had to go through. And also to think about how to communicate all of this to you when you get older. I don't even know how I'll find the words. I know we will. Daddy and I will find the right way to talk to you about it. To assure you that you are loved by us and by a beautiful woman half a world away.
I'll give you that orange envelope some day. It's yours. And you'll be able to read her words and touch the pages that she wrote on. If that's all I can give to you of her, at least you'll have that much to hold on to.
