Imagine for a second that you were happily married and truly in love with your partner, but one day, he announces that sometime in the near future, you’ll be living with a new partner. You stare at him blankly, not sure exactly what he means by that and continue on with your day. He keeps bringing this up now and then and you nod like you understand, but are still not really sure what he means.

Then, one morning, he brings you to a familiar place and introduces you to someone new. This, he explains, is the new partner he’s been telling you about. You stare, afraid and anxious, and hide behind your partner, even though he reassures you that this new person is safe and nice and that you’ll be happy together. Soon, your meeting is over and you head back home with your partner, shaken and concerned, but you take heart in the fact that you are still with your partner. You spend the next few weeks together and try not to leave your partner’s side, unsure of if and when he might actually leave.

A month after that first meeting, you suddenly find that your things are packed and your partner tells you sadly that today is the day and that you must prepare to say goodbye and live your new life. You reluctantly follow your partner back to that familiar place and when you arrive, you see that new person with a huge smile on his face, eagerly waiting for you. Your partner, however, is sad and hugs you goodbye, wishing you a good life and telling you that he he will miss you and always love you.

Suddenly, you are placed into a car and in the arms of this new person and taken away. You watch through the window as your partner weeps and sadly waves a final goodbye. This new person attempts to comfort you in a language that sounds like your own, but not quite. He smells different, feels different, and you’re not quite sure you want to be near him, but because your partner seemed to trust him, you hesitantly let him comfort you. You follow him as he brings you to an unfamiliar place and reluctantly stay close to his side because you know no one else around you.

Bedtime is the hardest as you find yourself sharing a bed with someone who is essentially a stranger. And waking up in the morning next to him makes your realize that this is, in fact, permanent. Each day after that feels confusing and you find yourself in a haze, going along with the motions, following this new person.

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A few days later, you board a strange contraption that the new person tells you is an airplane. You ride, scared and confused for what seems like an eternity, begging to get off. After some time, you finally do get off, and are greeted by hordes of people that look excited to see you, even though you are not, in the least bit, excited to see them. You sit and stare while your new person is congratulated on your arrival.

Then you are, again, taken away in a car and when you are told to get out, the new person looks at you warmly and says, “Finally. Here we are. Welcome home,” Except it doesn’t feel like home. Not to you.

And that, my friends, while it might seem a little melodramatic, is a little bit of what international adoption feels like for the children who are adopted. While adoption is, in many ways, a beautiful thing, many forget that it always begins with loss. Though it is an incredibly happy time for the family that has brought this amazing and brave child home, it is an incredibly sad and difficult time for the child. It is no wonder that moments of sorrow and confusion that follow are called grieving. Because that is what the child is doing — grieving over a life and love lost.

Our sweet Lil’ CG misses her foster family so much and frequently cries out for her umma, her mom, and I know that at those times, she does not mean me. While we have been background-checked and vetted during our adoption process, to her, we are pretty much strangers that have taken her away from the only family she has known and loved.

Lil’ CG’s foster mom did her best to prepare her, showing her pictures we had sent and teaching her that we were her new family. Thankfully, because of this, Lil’ CG did recognize us, especially her big brother, but there is only so much a 2 year old can understand about adoption and about receiving a new family.

We have been together for a week now, and each day is better than the last. Bedtimes and wake ups have been the hardest, because, if you think about it, they are such intimate moments between a caregiver and child. There are sad, sorrowful tears and cries during those times, but the encouraging part is that she has let us, particularly me, comfort her during those moments and does not push us away. We have seen smiles and laughter, but the grieving is still present, still just under the surface, and we don’t know when it will show up.

But, here’s the thing. As difficult as it is to watch and endure, grieving is a good thing. It means that our little girl was truly connected to her foster family and that she knows how to form a strong bond with a primary caregiver. While she is grieving over the loss of her foster mother right now, her grief shows that she will eventually be able to transfer this trust and love towards us.

We are taking it one day at a time and comforting our Lil’ CG any and every time she needs it. Everyday is a fresh one with more smiles and laughter, but we aren’t letting our guard down yet. We know this grieving process will take time and that it will come and go with some regression likely here and there. But, we’re holding out hope in knowing that each day that she is in our care, she is learning to trust us more and more and that some day, in the near future, we won’t just be the new people in her life anymore. To her, one day soon, we’ll truly be her family.

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*Thank you so much for all of your incredibly sweet and thoughtful words on my last two posts. I apologize for not being able to respond individually to all of you. Please know that your kind words have encouraged us so, so much!