The girls pray for sweet dreams and thank god for the good day they had. I pray with gratitude, about healing, about their past, about their future, and I always thank god for the privilege of being their mom. I speak words of faith and joy and blessings over them. They flow out of me with power. And I sense, in that peaceful dark room, lit only by the far away city stars and the moon in the sky, the impact my words have on the girls.
- would you have adopted us if you had biological kids?
- No. Probably not, I say. We wouldn’t have moved back to romania if we had kids in America, I don’t think.
(Conrad said this morning that he believes our souls were meant to be together. So maybe they would have been the souls born to us if that had been the course of our lives. But maybe, even though we all have to carry a certain amount of pain and blessing through adoption, maybe we were meant to show to way to many others by our example)
We talk about safety, and the natural reaction to fear, and their first year of life different experiences. They ask questions, they tell me it makes them tearful, and I tell them it’s ok to let the tears flow as they might, to purge the knot in their throat, to mourn the loss of the primal feelings of complete safety and joy.
We exchange ideas, talk about the past and the future, I feel their heart expand and their mind explode with hope and dreams. They could go on forever talking like this. Half an hour, sometimes an hour. I eventually get up and say we need to learn to use periods in our sentences. I am one leg our the door and ivy’s head hags off the bed to keep talking. And then, and then… ok girls. It’s time to end this conversation and for you to close and eyes and go to sleep.
- Ok, they say. Good night.
No follow up calling, no last thoughts or bathroom breaks, or dropping toys. Smooth bedtime.