Dear Reese,
In August 2019, I went to happy hour with my now boss, Jenny, and she told me the story of her adopting her twin girls at birth.
I wrote it down here, and came across it again today. Here’s an excerpt:
Jenny, who adopted with her then-wife, told me something about that fear. She said that when she asked the birth mother why she picked them, she said that she recognized herself in her story. A part of Jenny’s story that she was most afraid would turn someone away was what led her to become a mother to children who were so clearly meant to be hers.
That could happen to me too, she said. In whatever way, a birth mother will resonate with my story. Or maybe she’ll see my choice, how badly and wholly I choose adoption and parenthood that I go through this process, that I pursue in without the tradition of a partner. That I want this not as a Plan B because life didn’t work out, but as a Plan A.
This is about where some tears were shed.
I don’t have this all figured out yet. The financial reality, the decisions about where I’m adopting and where I’m living when I do, the timing when I truly start . . . Jenny’s process, top to bottom, took two years.
But the more I learn, the more I see where my heart lives.
I guess I wanted you to hear that again, darling — the echoes of how much my heart yearned for you years before you were born.
Love,
Mama
The Castle in the Pond, Part 15
You hear a low moan coming from below the surface and at the same time feel that pulse within you again. Badum. Badum. The chipper otter led you to this part of the river to speak with the blue manatee, and when you hear that moan you don’t hesitate to jump from the back of The Fierce Croc and dive into the water below.
You swim down, feeling the duck and The Fierce Croc following you, and find a large creature lying on the bottom of the pond floor. The light from the sun shines in just so that he looks like he’s glowing blue. Badum. Badum.
You swim right up to it’s giant, mushy face and instinctively put a hand on its nose.
The manatee opens his eyes!
“Ah,” he says, and you’re surprised that the voice is directly in your mind. “A little green knight. I’ve never met one before.”
”Green knight?” you think back at him.
“You have the green light in you.”
You don’t quite know what that means. “And you . . . you have the blue light? We’re looking for the blue light to restore to The Great Bullfrog. A black swan stole it from her and has taken over her pond.” You think all this very fast.
“Bullfrog,” the manatee responds slowly. “I knew a Bullfrog. I traveled from a place far away and he helped me when I first came to this river, so I gave him something in return.”
“Yes,” you say. “His daughter had the light passed onto her, but her power is gone now. Can you help?”
"Hmm, I can’t while I’m in such pain. If you can help fix the pain in my back, I will try to help.”
His back? You don’t know if you can, but you will try! You decide to search the area for a smooth stone — light enough for you to carry but heavy enough to create some pressure for the manatee. You find one that will work and swim over the manatee’s back and start to press the stone over his body.
“What is this?” he asks.
“A tradition from my homeland,” you say. “A massage!”
You work for an hour, occasionally having the duck and The Firece Croc help, but they don't have the same technique you do. When you’re done, the manatee stretches and rises off the riverbed.
“I feel half my age!” he says. “Thank you, green knight. Now I have the strength to share what light I can. Do you have a vessel?”
You search your pack and pull out your trowel. He touches his snout to it, and it glows blue for a moment.
“Take this back to your bullfrog,” the manatee says.
To be continued.