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On October 7, 2004, I became a mother. It wasn't in a hospital bed after long hours of labor (although some might consider that plane ride from Chicago to Hong Kong 15 hours worth of labor), but in a stranger's hotel room that had a queen-size bed (funny what you remember). A small quiet woman from the orphanage smiled at me as she stepped forward and handed me our daughter, then stepped back and wiped away her own tears. I took in every detail of Elizabeth's face and noticed that she seemed to be summing me up as well. She never shed a tear. She just put her head down on my shoulder and let out a big sigh as if to say, "What took you so long?" And the love that had begun to shimmer when I first gazed at her referral picture took hold with such a visceral force, that it rocked my world. And I have never been the same.
Sometime this year, we will travel back to China for our other daughter. We know she's there waiting for us and hope she's warm and secure, well-loved and well-fed. We were very concerned about her this winter with so many of the orphanages in crisis due to the severe weather that seemed to pummel most of China, and the thought that she might be cold or hungry was extremely upsetting. We will be forever grateful to the Half The Sky Foundation (
http://www.halfthesky.org/), whose Little Mouse Emergency Fund provided monies for blankets, warm clothing, diapers, food, space heaters, generators, and so on. By contributing to their emergency fund, perhaps we were able to do something for our daughter, wherever she is.
In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I want to be
In my daughter's eyes
In my daughter's eyes
Everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light
And the world is at peace
This miracle God gave to me
Gives me strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe
In my daughter's eyes
And when she wraps her hand around my finger
How it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about
It’s hanging on when your heart has had enough
It’s giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
In my daughter's eyes
In my daughter's eyes
I can see the future
A reflection of who I am
And what will be
And though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone I hope you'll see
How happy she made me
And I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes
by Martina McBride
The best present my husband ever gave me was my step-daughter, Stacie. It wasn't always easy being a "blended" family, in fact, at times it was incredibly hard. (Just ask her Dad about the call we received from the Maury Povich show when she was a teenager - "Punkin, do we have a problem we need to talk about?" "No Dad, I just thought we could get a free trip to New York City.") But then there would be defining moments - the cross-country motorcycle trip, being there for the birth of her children and cutting an umbilical cord, watching her step forward to help someone in need - the moments when love, courage and honor shine so brightly that you can't help but see what an amazing person she truly is. I used to wish that she were mine, that I was more than just her step-monster, but then I realized that this little girl had more than enough love to go around. She taught me that I could love a child that's not biologically mine and opened my heart to the prospect of adoption. I love you, Baby Girl, and owe you more than I can ever say. 
Adoption is bittersweet. Being a Mom has been the most amazing experience of my life, but I'm very aware of what had to occur to make it so. My beautiful little girl had to lose everything - a birthmother, a family, a culture, a country - in order for me to become her Mom. Would we have chosen that for her? No, not a chance. Will we be forever grateful to her Chinese mother who chose to give birth to her and to the one(s) who wrapped her in warm blankets and left her near a hospital so that she would be found quickly? Yes, absolutely. Inexplicable tragedy, unimaginable loss and profound grief -- not the most auspicious way to start a family. Adoption is not for sissies.
I always knew my mother loved me, but never fully appreciated or even really understood the incredible depth of that love, until I became a mother myself. It was also when I became a mother, that I realized I wanted to be a better daughter. Unfortunately, I had less than 2 years of shared motherhood with Mom before she passed away from a rare and untreatable form of cancer. This picture was taken a month before she died and it was the last time she held her grandaughter. It still hurts to think that she won't be at the airport to greet us when we return from China with our new daughter, as she was when we returned with Elizabeth..jpg)
On October 7, 2004, I became a mother. It wasn't in a hospital bed after long hours of labor (although some might consider that plane ride from Chicago to Hong Kong 15 hours worth of labor), but in a stranger's hotel room that had a queen-size bed (funny what you remember). A small quiet woman from the orphanage smiled at me as she stepped forward and handed me our daughter, then stepped back and wiped away her own tears. I took in every detail of Elizabeth's face and noticed that she seemed to be summing me up as well. She never shed a tear. She just put her head down on my shoulder and let out a big sigh as if to say, "What took you so long?" And the love that had begun to shimmer when I first gazed at her referral picture took hold with such a visceral force, that it rocked my world. And I have never been the same.
