A special necklace

It's just a necklace.  I saw it at Helzberg one day and fell in love with the simple butterfly perched on the edge of a heart.  C and hubby gifted me with it several years ago on Mother's Day.  It was special to me before because the word Mom scrawled inside declared to anyone near enough to see it that I am a mother.  And when I put it on it served as a reminder of the little boy I was blessed to call my own.  But, now I am also his mother.  And since leaving the country of his birth, this simple necklace has carried with it much weightier reminders than before. 

It is customary for adoptive families to give gifts to their child's foster mother.  And while you wonder how you could ever express all your gratitude for what they have done for your baby in one simple gift, I knew from the very beginning what I wanted to give her.  A mother's necklace.  Something simple and beautiful.  Something she could wear each day as a reminder of the love the two of them had shared and the important role she played in his life.  I found it at Helzberg, not unlike the one I wear.  A heart with the silhouettes of a mother and child inside.

I gave it to her the day we met our son.  She wore it the next day.  The day she said goodbye to him.  As we stood around the agency waiting for the president's prayer, I watched them.  She held him close and he reached up and grabbed the heart she wore around her neck.  He turned it over in his little hands and she spoke to him softly, tears falling down her cheeks.

I remember that.  Every time he touches my own heart.  The image of the two of them, together for the last time, his little hands holding on tight...and her tears.  I wore my necklace on the plane ride home.  As I held him close to my chest and walked him up and down the aisles, he reached for my heart.  And turned it over in his hands.  And the sadness nearly took my breath away.  My heart broke for the both of them.  For all the losses our son had gone through to get to his forever family.  And for her, for all the losses she had endured over her time of serving as a foster mother.  Twelve.  That's how many times she has cared for, loved, and said goodbye to a child.  KeonWoo was her twelfth and most likely her hardest goodbye.  Over a year and half she changed his diapers, fed him, tucked him in at night, picked him up when he fell down, taught him, laughed with him, loved him.

It sounds a little silly, but in that moment on the airplane when he reached up and grabbed my necklace I felt like it was our connection.  Hers and mine.  Two women who have loved the same child.  One with her hands and words and actions.  One with gifts and thoughts and prayers.  Still, two months later, whenever he touches that heart I think of her.  The sadness is not as overwhelming as it was that first time.  It helps that instead of sadness in his eyes I see laughter.  His brown eyes shine with it as he stuffs the heart in my mouth and I spit it out.  He giggles and does it again.  And I think of her.  Of how she must miss his laugh.

I hope she still wears her necklace.  I hope that her grief has begun to subside and that her memories bring her joy.  I hope that she knows I still think of her.  I think of her often.  Every day really.  Always when I clasp my own mother's necklace around my neck.  And also when I brush his hair from his face while he drinks his bottle or when I tickle him until he squeals with laughter.  When I rub his back at night or when I kiss his ouchies...I wonder how many times she must have done these very same things.  I hope that she knows I still think of her.  That I will always think of her.  I don't need a necklace to remind me that I was not the first to love this boy.  I am grateful to be the one who gets to love him with my hands and words and actions now.  I am humbled to be his forever mama...and I will be forever grateful for his foster mama.