Child of My Heart

Content warning: child loss.

I had already raised two children by the time my third child came into my life. Kimberlie Dawn was born on August 26, 1996. As I stood in the delivery room, awaiting the birth of my youngest daughter, through adoption, I was shaking with awesome emotion. As the nurse handed the beautiful, tiny infant to me, tears welled up as I realized the awakening I was experiencing of once again feeling truly absolute joy.

This might not seem so unusual to others. The birth of a baby usually does bring joy beyond comparison. However, five years before, my teenage son, Brian, was robbed and shot to death.  The horror of that event left me with a hole in my heart that I knew would never heal, and often during the years since his death and the struggle to survive, I thought I would never be able to feel any real joy again.

So, it was to my surprise to hold this baby and have my heart soar with a joy that washed over me in waves. I knew then I had healed enough from my son’s death, that I could separate that grief from this wonderful event in my life, thus allowing me to truly experience the joy.

Kimberlie Dawn has brought so much to this family once torn apart by unspeakable horror.   

The surprise to me was not in learning I could love her it was in learning I could love her the same as if I had given birth to this child of my heart but not my womb.  I often forget she was adopted and since I see her birth mother often struggle with the issue of admitting she is adopted.

Her sister, Christie, is nineteen-years older than Kimberlie. Christie also has two children of her own, my grandsons.  It makes for an unusual mix in our family and identity crisis’s abound with the little ones that keep us laughing, not thinking of their aunt who is only 17-months-older than the firstborn grandson, as anything but a sibling. Both my daughters are forever a piece of my heart and the bond we share, though different with each, is the bond of a mother and daughter forever strengthened by love.

I thank God for allowing me to know two sides of motherhood – a womb child and a heart child – but my heart knows no distinction. 

I struggle against the current social beliefs that I should tell her about her adoption up front and early on. I have always mentioned the fact she was adopted and not kept it a secret from her, but as time passes, I find it more and more difficult to say the word that my heart does not feel.  I have however, often said the word to others around her, so one day she will ask.  I have also written her a short book explaining the events surrounding her birth for when she is ready.  I, however, will never be ready.

Yes, I have been blessed to know two kinds of a mother’s love, but they are both the same.