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An Open Letter To My Daughter

9/21/2013

9 Comments

 
My dearest Noemi,

I think about it a lot. 

I wonder who gave you that round forehead or the kissable dimple on your
left cheek.  I wonder whose laugh has that same joyfully bumpy rhythm.
Surely there must be someone in your lineage with a scream that reaches a glass-shattering pitch. 
 I assume there is someone who can run like a gazelle and is a natural narrator, just like you. These characteristics—your physical and temperamental characteristics—were born of someone.  
 
And it wasn’t me.

It’s not to say that I don’t think you mirror me.  You know how to give a good stink eye when annoyed and you prefer music with a leading beat.  You have mushy nails that peel off like mine, so I have already begun the task of teaching you the essential life-skill of knowing how to sandblast and paint those suckers so that you have a chance of getting asked to the prom someday.  You have a fierce BS radar and an equally sharp tongue that occasionally needs to be tamed.  Just like your mamma.  
 
But one thing is for sure: your newly formed body did not float inside mine.  My womb did not house your little beauty of a person and gift you to the world with a mighty push.  I grew and birthed you in other ways, but not with my body. 
 
I’ve struggled with what to call her, your first mother.  Some feel that “birth mother” is too clinical and that it infers she was simply a machine that spit you out for my benefit.  In one foul swoop it can negate that there was any emotional connection and grief involved with the loss of you.  But I do refer to her as your birth mother, in part, because she bore you. 
She is also known as “Enat” in our house, the Amharic word for “mother.”  She is a woman of many names because she served many roles before I entered your life. Not knowing all of the details of your early story, I do not wish to romanticize things.  It can be harmful and misleading to fill in empty spaces with wishful fantasies.  But I cannot deny that, even if you
spent no more than 9 months in utero with Enat, you are forever bonded to her.  
 
The thing about adoption is this:  I will always share you. 

I will never be your only mother. 
 
You will always have a connection to a family beyond ours.  

I could be threatened by this (and no, I have never, ever, had puffy mascara face as a result of ugly crying over this one before) or:  I could embrace the complexity of our coming together, say a Hail Mary as I beg for grace and get working on an emotional merger.  This does not mean that I will co-parent you.  But you will forever have two mothers.  I am your forever mommy, but Enat is your first mother.  
 
Your soon-coming baby brother or sister will also have a birth mother with whom we may or may not have an open relationship.  But whatever the external relationship, your birth families will be honored. It is our responsibility to give them a face so that others stop making assumptions about their character or pretending that they don’t exist. Their struggles will not be made public, only to be debated and smeared in casual conversation around the punch bowl. I will strive to respectfully navigate
questions about your birth family (especially in the Costco check-out line with nosy strangers—believe me, I wish this wasn’t true) and I will not tolerate anyone speaking about them as if Daddy and me did them a favor, or as if your life is better with us. Life is more complicated than that. How dare I simplify your multi-layered story for my own comfort.  
 
You were given to us for reasons far more complicated than I have ever experienced. Without them, there would be no us.  We have been entrusted with each other as a result of great sacrifice.  Period. 
And for this reason, your birth mother must always remain present in our
hearts and words as an immediate extension of you.  After all, she may be smiling somewhere with that same dimple. 
 
I will always wonder. I will always look to the heavens and ask God “who” and “how” and “why.”  But just as my questions bring me closer to my first father—the father of the mysterious heavens, I trust that your questions will bring you closer. Closer to your maker. Closer to Enat. Closer to me. Closer to yourself.  We’re in this together, baby—let us wonder on our knees.  
 
Now let me kiss that sweet little dimple of yours.
I love you forever, 
Mommy

 
Julie Roberts Witmer lives in Lancaster with her husband, Donovan, and their stinkin’ adorable nearing 5-year-old daughter, Noemi Sosina, who was born in Ethiopia. They are currently in-process of a domestic newborn adoption.
9 Comments
Terri
9/21/2013 12:25:49 am

Julie, I'm so glad you joined us this week! As one who often sees the other side of adoption...the side of young girls who've unexpectedly become moms-who painfully struggle to do what is right or best for their baby...I LOVE the healthy way in which you honor Noemi's first mom. She likely still dreams of her, too...and aches for what might have been. I pray she also blesses you for what you are doing for her little girl, too. Your love for Noemi AND her first mom are what every young birth mom needs to hear. Thanks for sharing your story with us!

Reply
Julie
9/21/2013 10:00:45 am

Thank you, Terri. That was the best compliment I could have received. sigh.

Reply
Carla
9/21/2013 06:13:54 am

Beautifully written, Julie! What a treasured gift this letter is for your sweet daughter---she is blessed, as are you.

Reply
Julie
9/21/2013 10:02:16 am

Thank you so much, Carla. And yes--we are a blessing to each other. I'm not sure what I'd do without the gift that is my spunky girlie!

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Kristi
9/21/2013 08:25:40 am

So beautifully written... I love your description of the multi layered story that comes along with these precious ones who's journey we are blessed to be a part of. I found a quote recently that described it in words I couldn't find on my own: "Children born to another woman call me 'mom'. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me." The quote is by Jody Landers.
Blessings to you as you start the next part of your adventure!

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Julie
9/21/2013 10:04:26 am

Oh wow, Kristi, I love that quote. Tragedy and privilege rolled into one, indeed. Thanks for leaving that thought with me!

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Anna link
9/21/2013 01:12:55 pm

As an adoptive mom of two (both domestic open adoptions) I can immediately relate to your feelings here, especially from the perspective of waiting and thinking about the child you are waiting for. Our children's birthmothers have a unique, special place in our family. We talk about them often. Though that is a choice we make that some don't understand, I believe it offers security and comfort. Sure, it's an effort. But it's a way I can honor God with the incredible job I have as their mom. I will never be able to fully identify with my children's feelings because I, myself, am not adopted, but if/when they bring up the subject on their own, they already know (hopefully) that it's a welcomed topic. One time my daughter told me in a shoe store that she misses her birth mom. She already knows she can bring it up and it's not a big deal. I love what you said at the end - "we're in this together - let us wonder on our knees." Beautiful.

Found your blog via Laurel on FB, by the way. :) Best wishes to you and your desire to adopt again!

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Julie
9/22/2013 11:31:04 am

Thanks, Anna! I am right there with you...we talk about it often with the hope that the normalcy of the topic opens lines of communication for us in the future!

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Linda Dwight
9/27/2013 10:16:36 pm

Julie,
How beautiful!! I am still crying from reading it. Our children struggle with so much to untangle their own emotions. Just the other night, J said "Will you have to give us up if you don't have enough money?" I spent time reassuring him. Oh the heartache of bedtime honesty. Keep up the heartfelt writing. You have a unique gift.
Linda

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