“Go get your son.”

I will never forget the day I heard those words in the deepest part of my spirit. My boss had forwarded me an email for an upcoming project at work, and the email included the profile of a child in need of a foster home. Before I finished reading the first paragraph, I knew he was my son.

It sounds crazy, I know.

I wouldn’t believe it myself, if my best friend hadn’t walked in mere minutes later.

She found me sitting in front of my computer with tears streaming down my face.

“I think this is my son,” I whispered.

It would be three months before that little boy walked through the front door of my home and an additional two years before he shared my last name, but that still, small voice was true – he is my son.

We’ve shared incredible highs and weathered indescribable lows. We’ve watched each other change and grow. We’ve laughed and celebrated miraculous milestones. We’ve cried and endured immeasurable losses. We’ve learned new things and made new memories. We’ve learned how to apologize and offer forgiveness. None of it has been perfect, and every single bit has been holy.

Adoption has been nothing like I imagined and more than I could have ever hoped. Words feel inadequate, and I find myself struggling to describe our story in a way that captures its true beauty.

What I know is this – if I could go back to that moment and read that email again for the first time, I would run even faster and fight even harder to bring my son home again. I am so grateful I get to be his mom, and it is a privilege I will never take for granted. 

I don’t know what the future holds for us. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together – mother and son, forever.