There was one last smile and unknowing giggle from her perfect lips, one last peaceful drifting to sleep in the safety she knows as my arms, and one last reach to her daddy’s cheeks to wipe away his tears. And then she was gone.
In a world where these things aren’t suppose to happen, where birth fathers don’t appear, seemingly from the ethers, linger for three months while leaving their child to be cared for and to bond with others, only to appear a week after signing a consent to adoption to take her from the only home she has ever known, how can anything make sense again? Because these things don’t happen.
Good people who hold on to every drop of hope for four years, grasping at faith like straws in a haystack, who open their hearts and trust with the naivety of belief in the goodness of others, can’t possibly wake up six months later to an empty home, to empty hearts. Because these things don’t happen.
Oh but they do. Unfortunately they do. And when they do the world never turns on the same axis again, and life never makes the same sense again. Yet, if asked to do it all over again, knowing that in so doing our hearts would be ripped to shreds by lies, manipulation, and deception, I would say yes without a moments hesitation.
Loving our daughter for four months was the greatest honor and privilege of my life. And though the hole in my heart that was made the day we lost our daughter will forever remain for all of the days thereafter, I would not give back one second of loving her for its wholeness.
The day after she was taken from our home, taken from our arms, the spring blooming plant in her room burst open in bright red flowers. In the middle of winter life bloomed. So too I know that Mea will bloom, in the middle of the storm, she will bloom. Because although she could be taken from her home, from our arms, the seeds we planted and watered while we loved her never can be killed, even in the middle of the coldest winter.
Burn brightly little ray of sunshine and know we love you always and ever.