Merely a thought, an escaped idea on adoption:
Adoption
the grafting on of a new branch
to an old tree.
A tired
Wounded
hurting branch...
desperately needing nourishment.
Starving for security, trust and unconditional love.
When finally
Hugs
Kisses
Love
Bring tiny hesitant buds
to the surface
ready to spring forth
with newfound joy
Making her tree and ours
Complete.
Can I make you mine by dreaming you?
I scrunch my eyes shut tight
I can see you clear enough
Can I wish you into existance?
I try.
Somewhere out there
you wait for me
Waiting for my wishes and dreams to bring you to life
springing up in joyous rapture into my waiting arms
Can I make you mine by dreaming you?
Yes.
It seems like I have been dreaming this forever. At least eleven years. During my first marriage eons ago, we went through the adoption process. I had three boys, whom I loved with all my heart, but I also longed for a little girl to complete our family. I poured my heart and soul into it. Had a beautiful room all ready; toys, clothes, books and anything a four year old might want and dream of. After taking all the necessary classes, I waited anxiously for the packets of prospective adoptees to begin arriving.
They did too. By the 5th one, I had found her. A darling little 4 year old, named Cheyenne. Eagerly, I sent the packet back with a resounding "Yes!"
It wasn't meant to be. My husband at the time decided he didn't want to go through with it, and I was devestated. It felt like she had died. My daughter died, before I could even meet her.
I didn't find out for many months the reason he had said "no." He had been seeing a woman, and planned on leaving us to be with her. A double whammy. Feeling crushed beyond anything I had ever felt before, I struggled to go on. We divorced. I told the agency I just didn't feel it was right to bring a child into that pain and loss. They said I still could adopt, I just couldn't do it.
So, that was it. The end of my dream and my life as I knew it. I fled to the beach for comfort, renting a quaint little cottage for the weekend and cried my heart out. The sea has a way of embracing your soul, it is timeless and vast. It wraps you in it's salty arms and hugs you, letting you spill all your pain out into the waves, smashing them against the rocks, making them an integral part of the seascape.
And then a message. To me. To my wounded heart. I was sitting on a driftwood log, the tears had run out for the moment. The only sounds were the squawking of seagulls and the waves crashing on the shoreline. Something made me look down.
A set of footprints, one seemingly a ladies...and one, a small child. I could tell that they were together, most likely holding hands, walking along the beach, going from one treasure to another, meandering along together on a fun filled afternoon.
The promise came from deep within.
I would have a daughter. Someday, I would make it through all of this mess and confusion and pain. Someday, I would rise up again and become a strong woman and I would be ready for her.
So, now, after all of these years. I am ready. Ready to find her...my daughter. She is out there, waiting for me. I have waited for her a long time. My heart is ready. My arms are ready.
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