Today is the 11th anniversary of an event that, though I’ve tried all morning to do so, can’t be put into words. Today, at 6:37 a.m., 11 years ago, I was introduced to this absolutely amazing human being, and asked to give her a name.
It’s also another anniversary… the anniversary of the day I truly met the man that would become her father. Well, her dad. Father and dad are two different terms in our family, and used often in their distinct meanings. Her father left her life on her 2nd birthday. And her dad had known us for a couple of weeks by that time but had not yet met her. He had been careful not to become too close to her as is smart to do in these situations. But on that day, the day that her father advised me that he no longer was interested in being part of his daughter’s life, it happened that her dad had plans to come for dinner party to meet her that day with a smile, a tweety bird, and an introduction that led to such a beautiful love.
Two years later, her adoption was recorded and today, she forgets from time to time that she knows anything about that story – because he does an amazing job every day of making sure she knows what a loved daughter she is.
Every birthday is special – every birthday I’m reminded of the terror, the fear, the panic of my impending single motherhood, and how that was wiped out in a matter of moments when I met my daughter. But this year, as the daddy daughter dance was held the day before her birthday, and I watched a daddy and daughter excitedly talking about their beautiful night together, I’m reminded of something else too. The wonder of time, and what love can do for a child.
