“One day, this will all make sense.”
Someone whispered these words to us during one of the most emotional and unsettling moments of our lives. At that instant, I clung to them like a lifeline, as if I were stranded in the middle of an ocean with no land in sight. We had just received the devastating news that we lost the referral for a beautiful baby girl—only days after our beloved pup, Stormy, my soul dog, had lost his battle with kidney disease and Cushing’s Syndrome.
The heartbreak felt almost surreal. In the same breath that we were mourning the loss of our loyal companion, we had been given the hope of bringing home a daughter—only to have that hope ripped away. Rationally, I knew other families had happy endings with their children, but grief and loss are anything but rational. I was overwhelmed.
It was the first time in the program’s nearly ten-year history that a referral had been withdrawn, and I was utterly devastated. My husband, Vince, felt powerless as he watched me mourn both Stormy and the child we thought would be ours. I know it may sound selfish, but grief can transform even the most rational person into a mess. Looking back, I am profoundly grateful that this sweet girl’s mother chose to raise her. As an adoption advocate, I know this is the ideal outcome—yet at the time, my emotions had complete control over me.
The Spark of Adoption
To truly understand our journey, I need to start at the beginning. Vince and I were high school sweethearts who also attended the same university, both majoring in education. After graduating, we found fulfilling teaching careers, married a few years later, and began dreaming about starting a family. I felt an inexplicable pull toward adoption—a calling I didn’t fully understand but knew I could not ignore.
In May 2012, life presented an unexpected opportunity. My brother and mother were traveling to Japan for a week, and my father couldn’t go. Despite my anxiety, I took the chance and flew in his place. Japan captivated me in a way I could not explain. By the time I was on my flight home on May 11, 2012, I felt as if I had left a piece of my heart behind. I promised myself I would return; my soul insisted it was not a fleeting feeling.
Back home, I dove into researching adoption from Japan, only to face disappointment. Most programs were closed to new families. Over the next four years, I kept in touch with the incredible woman who ran the program, hoping for a chance. Finally, in April 2016, we reached out to express interest in her China program—only to learn the Japan program was reopening in May, exactly four years after my first visit. It felt like a sign.
We applied, were accepted, and by June, we were preparing for our home study—a comprehensive evaluation of our home, family life, and values. Over the next year, we filled out mountains of paperwork, set up fundraisers, blogged our journey, and endured the anxiety-filled wait. Stormy, our loyal pup, came along for the ride, and I prayed he would one day meet his sibling. But, as we already know, that wasn’t meant to be.
Waiting, Grieving, Hoping
After losing our referral in May, other babies became possibilities, but for various reasons, none were ours. Some remained with their biological families, and others were matched with different waiting families. As an advocate, I understood the beauty of this—yet my heart still ached. I wanted to be the “last resort,” the family chosen when all else had been considered, and sometimes, that meant waiting and grieving for children who weren’t ours to hold.
By July 2017, emotionally drained, I asked our agency not to send any updates until a referral was ready. It was difficult living in the unknown, wrestling with feelings of unworthiness and fear. Grief, as I now know, can cloud judgment and distort reality. I mourned Stormy, our lost referral, and the dream of a daughter we hadn’t yet met.
Meeting Our Daughter
Then, on the night of July 27, 2017, a late-night email arrived. A mother in Japan had a 2 ½-month-old daughter seeking an adoption plan. Could we accept a baby slightly older than usual? Absolutely!
The next two weeks were a whirlwind. Paperwork was completed quickly, and on August 9, we saw her—our daughter—through photos and a social report. Tears streamed down our faces as we read her story and marveled at the selflessness of her first mom, who had chosen us to love her while she made the hardest decision of her life.
Three days after our girl turned three months old, she was placed in our arms in a small Tokyo hotel. The joy that radiated from her smile is etched in my memory forever. We were overjoyed, yet heartbroken for her mom. Our daughter would always have two moms, a bond that fills me with gratitude and love.
A Journey of Faith and Timing
Reflecting now, we see the timing of this journey as nothing short of miraculous. From Japan in 2012 to the day our daughter was born in 2017, and even the timing of Stormy’s passing in May 2017, everything seems orchestrated by fate, God, or the universe. Each moment, each heartache, prepared us for the arrival of our daughter.
Adoption taught us patience, trust, faith, and unconditional love. I often hear the question, “Don’t you want a child of your own?” Now, without hesitation, I can answer: I do. She is our child in every sense of the word, our daughter who has taught us the meaning of resilience, joy, and love.
Today
Our daughter is adored by everyone she meets, a strong, confident, and sassy little soul. She has inspired me to chase my dreams—I even published a memoir sharing our adoption journey and my struggles with anxiety and grief. It is a love letter to her and to her first family, a testament to the unbreakable bonds that adoption can create.
We will never take our family for granted. Our journey, though filled with grief, patience, and uncertainty, led us to her. She is, and always will be, our little girl.
