Perhaps this mystery will never be solved. At this point I don't care. I just want Daniel to bring me a healthy baby boy at some point.
For now, the three kids left in my care have been tucked in, I have shed so many tears my eyes are dry and burning, and the house needs desperate attention. I think I'll go wash my dishes, since my dishwasher is not electric, but has two lovely brown hands, and those hands are still wringing with grief in a faraway village.
But before I put on the JJ Heller music and fill the sink with hot soapy water, I will leave you with this happy little story. Let me first tell you that bonding between a mother and an adopted toddler daughter is...delicate, at best, and bumpy at worst. We've had our struggles. Tonight, however, I realized something brand new: Jubilee is, among many other things, a little gift just for me. As I sat on the edge of my bed after dinner, unloading tears to my precious L0RD, I heard the pit pat of little feet behind me. I knew they weren't Bright's or Zion's, for I could hear their voices playing pretend in the living room, resilient amidst the pain and confusion going on in their world. Such is the way with boys and men. Resilient. No, the little feet belonged to a future woman, one with silky black bangs and a soft voice. She stopped at the edge of the bed.
"Mommy sad?" she asked lightly.
I nodded my head and opened an arm to her. She crawled in, and laid her head against my sweatshirt.
"I uv oo Mommy," she said.
"Oh darlin," I said, and kissed her hair, "Mommy loves Jubilee."
She snuggled closer. The boys continued to whir and crash and laugh in the other room. In that moment, I realized that I have been given a forever hug, a forever listening ear, and forever warmth in my coldest hours. My little gift.
