A Letter for My Indian-Born Daughter

Sweet Jillienne,

As we approach your one-year-home mark, my mind is drawn back to our time in India. The fear I felt in traveling so far. The worry I had for your  health. The anxiety in my heart, wondering if you would bond with me.

I remember landing in Bangalore, where your orphanage was located, and as we walked out of the airport, I was struck with the beauty of my surroundings.

This place you called home.

Outside the airport, pink and green lights lit up the sky, a delicious aroma of Indian cuisine filled the air, festive Indian music was playing, and a cool breeze was blowing through the palm trees.

As I stepped into the warm air, I felt it. The earth shook just a little as I realized: This is your home.

I was determined to soak it all in.

We arrived at our hotel after midnight on October 23, 2019. We quickly showered and tried to sleep, anticipating meeting you in just a few hours. Later that morning as we journeyed an hour to your orphanage, we noticed cows and goats sitting and standing along roadsides, scooters and motorcycles zipping through traffic, and the blare of horns  – it was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed.

We were greeted at your orphanage by the director who took us to a small room, gave us your paperwork, and answered some of our questions. She then ushered us into the chapel, and suddenly there you were. You looked so very sad, tiny and trembling, terrified. Your entire body shook with the intensity of your sobs  as you reached for one of the nuns. She must have been your favorite because they made her leave in order to calm you down. My heart broke (it breaks even now as I relive that moment) as I was confronted with this reality of loss in your life. We were taking away everything you’d ever known and your sacrifice did not go unnoticed.

The sisters sang a song and prayed a blessing over our family before placing you into my arms. Your cries shook me to my very core so I whispered words of love and comfort to you. Your despair was soon replaced by exhaustion as you fell asleep in my arms. On the long ride home, I prayed silently that you would find comfort with us.

 

 

I look at you now. Almost exactly a year later. And I see the wonder in your eyes. The mischief. The contentment and joy. The complete trust as you reach your hands toward me, waiting to be picked up. Held. Snuggled.

I wonder what you remember, if anything, about your life in India. About those who cared for you for the first nineteen months of your life. Sometimes we look at their pictures, and I wonder what you are thinking.

How will that loss so early in life affect you as you grow? Will you always feel safe and secure with me, with our family, or will you have doubts? Questions are bound to come, yet I have so few answers to offer.

My heart breaks sometimes as I think about your little life. How we took you from all you’d ever known. Even though we know God led us to you, it is still painful to think about the life you might’ve lived yet will never know.

But I do know this: God is good. He put our family together just the way He wanted. Adoption isn’t His first choice for families, but sometimes it is the only choice.

And I’m so glad He chose you for me. I’m so glad He chose me to be your mom.

As I sit here typing, I watch you on the baby monitor. Playing with your elephant blanket and whimpering for “mommy.” I will sneak into your room soon and snuggle with you as you fall asleep on my shoulder. Nap time has been a struggle recently and although there are a myriad of things to accomplish around the house, rocking you gives me time to cuddle and breathe in your scent as you rest. Your tiny body fits comfortably onto mine, almost as if we were made for each other.

India is just a distant memory now, a year later, but I never want to forget the journey that brought us to you. We love you, sweet Jillienne.