It was today, 2 years ago, that I started packing my suitcase. Mine and the baby’s. Installed a car seat in the car. Grabbed a tiny size insulated romper with me. And I went to the child welfare office to pick up my permission to be appointed guardian.
A couple of hours later, I was on my way to my son’s room. It was the day of our reunion. A whole week I drove 60 kilometers each way to see him and back home. A whole long week.
He was really tiny back then. Tiny in fact. Just like that. I used to put Eric on my stomach and dream about him lying inside me. As if he were my own. He must have been thinking the same way. In those moments, he was quiet, peaceful, and sniffling.
Those who have adopted children call it Stork Day. When their family had a new long-awaited resident. Everyone became happy. The parents now had a meaning to life, and the baby had parents. He had hope for a normal life. And it was no longer necessary to hope that his birth mother would come to him…
It took me a few months to feel my daughter as my own, to accept her. In my son’s case, it was much quicker. There was originally a place in my heart for him. And so was my home. I still can’t understand how his mother could have made that decision, how she gave up on him? And she didn’t even look at her son. If she had just looked once, it might have been different. It was impossible not to love him. He was probably destined for me. He was meant for me.
I call him a miracle wonder. He has charisma. Let him grow up happy. My Eric. I have had the great privilege of being your mother.
