“One day this will all make sense.”
Someone said this to us during one of the most emotional and overwhelming periods of our lives. At that moment, I clung to those words as if they were a life raft and I was adrift in a stormy sea with no shore in sight. Just days before, we had lost the referral of a beautiful baby girl, only to be reminded of grief we had already endured—the loss of our pup, my soul dog, Stormy, to kidney disease and Cushing’s Syndrome. In the span of just a few days, we went from receiving the hope of a new life to facing heartbreak beyond words. The feeling was irrational, but grief has a way of turning logic upside down, and I was drowning in it.
It was the first time a referral had ever been rescinded in our adoption program’s nearly ten-year history. I was devastated. My husband, Vince, watched helplessly as I mourned Stormy, the pup who first made me a mom in every sense of the word, only to then face the loss of the little girl we thought would be our daughter. Looking back, I realize how selfish I might have sounded in those moments, yet I also understand the depth of my emotions. Today, I am so grateful that our little girl’s mother was able to keep her and raise her—a true blessing in the world of adoption. Her choice is exactly what advocates hope for. But at the time, my grief and anxiety held me captive, leaving me a mess of emotions. Even in that pain, I feel honored to have lived this journey, to have witnessed our story unfold firsthand.
Interest in Adoption
To understand our ending, you must know our beginning. Vince and I were high school sweethearts who later attended the same university, both studying education. After graduation, we found fulfilling jobs teaching what we loved and eventually married. When we started talking about growing our family, I felt a strong, inexplicable pull toward adoption. It had always called to me, though I didn’t understand why. After long conversations, we researched both domestic and international adoption programs, curious and hopeful.
In May 2012, an unexpected opportunity took me to Japan for a week, filling in for my father on a family trip. Anxiety tried to hold me back, but I went anyway—and immediately, Japan captured my heart. I left a piece of myself there, and on the plane home on May 11, 2012, I promised myself I would return. Something deep inside told me it wasn’t just travel; it was destiny calling. Back home, I researched adoption from Japan, but opportunities were scarce. Two agencies had programs, but both were closed to new families. One expected to reopen in 5–6 years, the other 1–3 years. Knowing we wouldn’t be ready for at least 1–2 years, the shorter timeline gave us hope.
I stayed in touch with the program director for four years, never losing faith. In April 2016, we considered joining a China program instead, unsure if Japan would ever open—but then, in a sign we couldn’t ignore, the Japan program reopened in May 2016, exactly four years after my first visit. We applied, were accepted, and by June, our home study—the thorough screening process for prospective adoptive families—was underway. Over the next year, we completed mountains of paperwork, set up fundraisers, were fingerprinted multiple times, and prayed every day for the day the phone would ring. And we prayed alongside Stormy, hoping he would meet his future sibling someday, though that was not meant to be.
Waiting for Our Daughter
After losing our referral in May, we were informed of other little ones who might be placed with us, but for one reason or another, none were ours. Some stayed with their biological families—a reality that, as an adoption advocate, I deeply appreciate. My hope was always to be the “last resort,” the family a birth mother could trust when all else failed. Domestic and international adoption is often a balancing act, and our Japan program gave first mothers unprecedented choice, allowing them to select the right family and culture for their child. This unique approach is now inspiring changes in adoption practices in Japan, emphasizing domestic adoption and family preservation—a bittersweet but beautiful development.
On July 24, 2017, feeling raw from grief and loss, I asked our agency for no updates until a referral was ready. The uncertainty was hard, but the fear of being unchosen was even harder. I mourned Stormy, our lost referral, and my own feelings of unworthiness. Grief and anxiety make logic impossible, and in those moments, I had to surrender control, even if it felt impossible.
Meeting Our Daughter
Then, on the night of July 27, 2017, we received an unexpected email: a mother was seeking an adoption plan for her 2½-month-old baby girl. Was it okay if she was slightly older than usual? Absolutely. The next two weeks flew by in a whirlwind of paperwork, anticipation, and prayer. On August 9, 2017, we saw her photos and read her story, crying as we felt the profound honor of being chosen by her first mom—whose heart, I know, was breaking as she made the most selfless decision of her life.
Just three days after our daughter turned three months old, she was placed in our arms in a small Tokyo hotel room. Her smile—the purest expression of joy—etched itself permanently into our hearts. That day, our emotions collided: boundless love for our daughter, heartbreak for her first mom, gratitude for Stormy’s life, and awe at the serendipity of it all. She would always have two moms, and that truth fills me with warmth.
Reflections on the Journey
Now, more than four years later, our hearts are full. That inexplicable feeling I had in May 2012—the one that drew me back to Japan—now makes perfect sense. Our daughter was always meant to be our little girl, and every moment of waiting, loss, and grief led us straight to her. Adoption is never simple; it begins with loss, and she, like all children, endured unimaginable changes in her first months. But through this, she found a family ready to love her unconditionally.
Today, our daughter thrives with confidence, kindness, and joy. She inspires us every day to dream bigger, love deeper, and embrace life fully. I recently published a memoir of our adoption journey, a love letter to her and her first family, celebrating the resilience, patience, and hope that brought us together. Adoption was not a last resort—it was our first choice. And in choosing it, we found our hearts, our family, and our forever home.
