You were always my son

Dear Gav,

I can’t believe I am writing these words: Today your mom and I adopted you. We imagined this day before we even met you. And today it finally happened.

Over the past few weeks I have been thinking about this day constantly. I still don’t understand how we got here. It doesn’t quite make sense, and something still doesn’t compute.

Last summer your mom and I packed up your books, clothes, and toys as we prepared to return you to your biological mother. We tried to fit in as many “lasts” as we could–one last time camping, one last trip to California to meet your baby cousin, one last visit to our favorite restaurants.

In late July we dropped you off, congratulated your bio mom on everything she had accomplished, walked back to our car, and wept. We thought that was it.

But somehow you were returned to us. Your legal case continued for several more months. And now–25 months after we brought you home–you are officially ours.

My sweet boy: one of my deepest wishes is you never learn how tumultuous the first two years of your life were. How hard it was for you even before you were born. I want all your early memories to be of love and happiness, and I never want you to dwell on why you became a foster child.

I hope that today–as much as it means to your mom and me–never really means anything to you.

Because more than anything else, I want you to believe something that has been true the day I picked you up from the hospital: I was always your father, and you were always my son.



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