As I sit here late at night and stare at my little boy’s angelic face, I can’t help but have some fear for the future. There is already so much to fear as a parent; will I raise them to be kind, loving, successful, giving, smart, selfless, Christ-like, independent, and the list goes on and on. There is a whole other set of fears as well when you have adopted.
I fear that when he wonders about his birthmother that his only thought is, that he was once loved before. I pray that he knows that she loved him enough to give him to me; just like Our Father in Heaven loved us enough to allow us to leave His arms and come to Earth.
I hope and pray that if a child ever dares to judge him because he was “adopted” that he will be confident enough to stand up for himself and tell him that he has another mother who also loves him. I pray that he doesn’t crumble but is able to stand tall.
I fear he will feel ‘different’. I pray he knows each one of my family members will be ‘perfectly’ different. Not one of us will be like the other. I fear he will think that because he is ‘genetically’ different, that is all that matters. To me and his father, ‘genetically’ means nothing.
I fear he will never feel as though any of my family judges his birth mother, but loves her, for she gave me the greatest gift I couldn’t give myself. I pray he knows, that I know, in the pre-existence that his birthmother and I were very good friends and had a pact that I would help raise her children here on Earth. I pray that he will pray for her every day.
I fear that he could one day choose her. Oh, how I hope he does not leave me for his ‘real’ family. I hope he always knows we are his ‘real’ family.
I fear he will feel that he wasn’t wanted. He was wanted by so many. She wanted him but wasn’t in the state to protect him or raise him. I pray he knows that she has had many sleepless nights before and after his birth worried about him. I wanted him and had been praying for him for over 2 years. And then prayed even harder, actually the hardest I have ever prayed after we brought him home, in hopes he would be mine forever. I will continue praying for him.
I fear he will hear the word ‘foster’ and feel as though he was damaged goods. I fear that the world will make him feel that way, yet a foster child is no different than any other child. Heavenly Father loves each one of us the same, we are all children of God.
I fear when to tell him all of his history. When is the perfect time? Is there ever a perfect time? I fear he won’t come to me if he ever has a question.
-‘He is mine in a way that he will never be hers, yet he is hers in a way that he will never be mine…and so together, we are motherhood.’ Desha Wood