Adopting a child is one thing. When a child adopts you, the real magic begins. Sometimes it’s a big in your face thing that cannot be ignored. Other times it’s a bunch of small things that weave themselves together. No matter, how it occurs, the realization cannot be illustrated in words. Instead it is a sensation that swallows you. You find yourself somewhere between fireworks and soft fuzziness.
My middle son, and first of my adoptions, adopted us right away. He became a Sartor at our first “date”. After unwrapping fortune cookies that incredibly suggested a new family and new begging, he was ours. More importantly, though, we were his. He came home, blended in and fell in step. I was his mom and my husband was his dad. He declared us his family. Yes, there are struggles but I have never doubted his devotion to us. He is a Sartor. Period.
My oldest daughter took a bit longer. O.K., a lot longer. It has been a series of things that lead up to her adopting us. It started with discussions of her future that begin to include us in the picture. Would she come back on weekends and holidays while away at college? Would I babysit her kids when she works? Then it began with the way she talked about “her family” (meaning us) with her friends. I overheard (alright, I eavesdropped) and heard how she is just like me because we both like the same books. She talked about how she takes after my husband because they both are sarcastic. In these conversations the famous “may adoptive parents” slowly turned to “my irritating, dorky, stupid parents”. (Yes, this melts my heart). Finally, last night I saw a visual declaration of her acceptance of us. After swim practice the coach handed out their team sweatshirts. She was dancing all over the place and beamed with pride. Why? It was because the shirt had “SARTOR” printed across the back in bold letters. Her name. Her new name. Her new identity….and she was thrilled. Yep, we belong to her.
My middle daughter wanted to be adopted. That didn’t mean that she didn’t struggle with the emotions and life challenges and loss that occurred. She still had to trust us to accept us. Trust is a hard thing for her as it would be being as every other adult let her down in the worst ways possible. Well, I was wondering if I would ever have that awe-ha moment with her. Would she ever really adopt me back? Then today it happened. While in the kitchen, she asked me, “Mamma, will you teach me the family cookie recipes? I want to teach them to my children and be a good mom like you”. I agreed immediately and wrapped my arms around her. This is big for her. You see, she is a tom boy, so baking really isn’t her thing. She wasn’t asking because she wanted to bake like my other daughters, she was asking because she wanted to pass on our family tradition. Her family tradition. We are her family.
Merry Christmas.
