Today I watched my daughter put her bear to bed and arrange herself comfortably in a nest of blankets and pillows, and it hit me, hard, again, how far she’s come. I can’t get away from simply feeling floored by how much she has taken in and adapted to in so short a time. I feel like many people expect a lot of her, and I still stand amazed that she does what she does and accepts what she accepts. I am humbled by how she loves Jarod and me, how she has embraced us as her parents. There was a moment in Ethiopia, when she was looking through the photo album we brought for her, that she pointed at the photo of Jarod and me and said, “Enat,” while pointing at me and, “Abat” while pointing at Jarod. She named us as her parents, solemnly, as if she were crossing some great divide. And she was. I don’t have words for how incredibly brave she is, how utterly extraordinary I find her to be. I know that it happens all the time, that parents bring home the children they have adopted, and the children become a part of the family, and that is that. But to lose everything and just walk into the arms of people who say they are your parents and say, “Okay,” well, I just can’t grasp that.
So instead I just sit in front of my computer and cry.