Seven Small Heroes.

With the talk of the school shooting that occurred yesterday, there are many heart warming stories of heroes.  Kindergarteners who worried about their friends, teachers who shielded students, the police officers who entered the building to secure the scene, so many people who are all heroes.  You can find heroic acts when you most need them, in planes on 9/11, in movie theaters, in schools.  These people are extraordinary.  Amazing.

You can find heroes in everyday places as well, some of them are even pint-sized.

I have seven people in my home who are standing up and facing incredible change.  I have seven people in my home whose lives have changed, some of them multiple times, overnight.  I have seven people in my home who are banding together and doing what needs to be done.

In my home, I have seven little heroes.

In September, about two months before I laid eyes on Dolly, I wrote this letter to my kids.  It’s a letter about why we had chosen to say yes to adopting our baby.

Kids, 

I never lie to you, and I won’t start now.  The decision to adopt your sister will hurt.  There will be times, as we watch God heal her very broken heart, that we will all wonder if we made the right choice.  We will look at the pain she has to endure, and we will all wonder if we’re brave enough.  We’ll wonder if some other family shouldn’t have stepped up, a family with less people to be hurt if we should lose our baby, a family where she is the one and only, with no other children that will be shattered, or a family with a mom and dad with less commitments and more time.  

There was no family like that, guys.  

She has no one.  

We’re it.  

While that plays a large part in the decision, that isn’t all that factored into it though.  You all factored into it.  Everyday I watch the people you are, what you have become because of the family God built you, because of each other, and I KNOW.  I know we can do this.  I know that we can take this risk, that this is part of THE plan for us.  I KNOW in my own heart that should the worst case scenario happen, should we lose our daughter, your sister, that we’ll be okay.  We’ll be broken for a long time, but we have each other to lean on.  And that even if we aren’t together on Earth, that we all have enough faith to know that we’ll be together again in eternity.  

She will have us.  Forever.  

And on Earth, she will have someone to hold her, to love her, to comfort her, for as long as God allows.  

And you know me now.  You know me well enough to know that I never go down without a fight.  I fought for all of you.  

I promise to fight just as hard for your baby sister.  I promise to be strong for all of us.

I know you will learn from her too, just the way we all will.  Just like I learned from all of you.  I learned how to really love from the four that came first.  From our first baby from Ghana, I learned how to love even when you’re broken, even when the people you trusted the most have hurt you unimaginably.  From the next two, I learned how to love even when you’ve lost everything you once knew.  From all of you, I’ve learned how to love fearlessly, even when you’re so scared of what is to come that you can barely think.  I’ve learned that you love because it’s worth it.  

Your sister is worth it.

I firmly believe that there are moments in life that will shape who you will become.  

This is one of them.      

If I had one wish for you in adulthood, it would be that you walk away from our family, and into your own, with the ability to love fearlessly, to look at the world around you and not be afraid to put your heart on the line, to risk it all, because you know that no matter what we’re here for you.  

You have us.  

And that will make it alright, because I love you all so much. 

It’s time to be brave together.

–Mom

I called it.  It hurts.  It hurts so much more than I ever could have imagined.  Not living, wallowing in that hurt, would only make it worse though.  It is time to be brave, so that’s what we’re doing.  Together.   We have told the kids that Dolly’s heart is a lot worse then we anticipated, that it will mean a longer road to healing then we could have imagined.  We had that talk with them yesterday, the talk that told them how hard this was going to be for Dolly.  

They asked if she could die.  

I told them she might, but that if she does, there is no baby in this world that is loved more then she is.  There is no baby in the world that is more cherished, more doted on, more adored.  They agreed.  Not one of them has complained about how much time I now spend away from them all the sudden, how much time FPD and I spend researching, discussing, searching for ways to help a sister that wasn’t theirs two months ago.  

I have eight amazing children.  The seven that came first make it possible to find the cure that may save the eighth.  They have done exactly what I hoped they would.  I thought it would take an entire childhood to get them there.  I wanted them to leave my home, to go into their own, with the ability to love someone completely fearlessly.  

They’ve already done it.  

–FullPlateMom,
who couldn’t be more proud.  Her children are her heroes.  

One Comment Add yours

  1. Jennifer P says:

    They will rise up and call her blessed. Her is you defining what a family really is.

    Like

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