For some reason, driving seems to be the time for processing big adoption feelings. (See West Dodge Road post.) Today it was Highway 41 on the way to Beatrice to pick up the repaired oven door since I managed to shatter the glass on the door about ten days ago. (Oven door breakage=completely different post.)
Out of no where, a little voice starts asking about a Haiti mama. "Why did she leave me?' That word "leave" is a heart stopper for me. No grown up around here has ever used that word "leave" to describe adoption. But somehow a little heart has turned adoption into a leaving. And then "Is this mama going to leave too?" Oh, mylanta...I honestly thought we had been home long enough to not need the reassurance that this question begs for. Words about why a mama might go, words about how God did not design families to work that way but that if a mama has to go, then God has to make a new plan called adoption. Words about how most adoptive families never have to make new plans because that family is forever. And questions about why a mama couldn't just take care of her baby all by herself, even if there wasn't a papa, even if there wasn't a job, even if there wasn't money or food or a doctor to help. How deep a first Mama is set into a little one's heart. Yes, my kids feel safe and loved and accepted. But yet they still long for the mama who first knew them, who knew them before me.