It's been 15 years since I tearfully pulled out those blue snowflake stockings and wished I'd never seen or gotten them earlier that summer in preparation for my first Christmas with my little girl. The daughter of my heart that never came home. While managing an online failed adoption grief support group now, I'm reminded every year of how heart-wrenching that first Christmas without her was.
But God.
Ever since reconnecting with her and visiting her in Spain back in 2017, not a birthday or Christmas goes by without the chance to communicate with her and tell her I love her.
So I make it a point yesterday to savor my communication with her, to cherish the Christmas conversation that she herself initiated, wishing me a Merry Christmas. When I said I loved her, she said, "I love you more." When I told her I always carry her in my heart and pray for her every day, she said she does the same.
The love I poured into that 7 year old girl mattered, even if she never became the daughter I hoped for. It wasn't in vain. It had purpose. It filled her up when she needed it, and it still lives on today with the love she continues to pour back into me. Reading her Christmas message to me yesterday was like unwrapping a priceless gift. So grateful.
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