We watched out the window as a maroon Jeep pulled into our driveway. He had arrived right on time. It was such a cold day. The ground was covered with snow that crunched under foot. The sun shone brightly and reflected off the snow, the sky was a perfect clear blue. My husband’s sisters had threatened to hide in the bushes that morning as they desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of the nephew they had never met, the nephew, that for many years, they didn’t even know existed. 

We watched as our firstborn got out of the vehicle and walked toward the house through the open garage door. We looked at each other and laughed out loud as we both commented on how tall he was. Tall and slim, just like his younger brother. He also had the same deep brown eyes his siblings and I had. And thick wavy hair like the rest of us. We greeted him at the door. We hugged. We invited him to sit at the kitchen table with us. After some small talk we asked if he had any questions that he wanted to ask. He did. He wanted to know if we had stayed together. We did. Then we tried, as best we could, to explain the reasons we let him be adopted. We were different then. We were young and naive. We weren’t married and didn’t know what our future held. We had no support. Never before had those reasons seemed so ludicrous, wrong, and impossible to make sense of. Except for a few years earlier when we shared with our three kept children that they had an older brother. At first they were thrilled with the news and wanted to look him up immediately. I regretfully explained that we knew nothing about him or his whereabouts. Their happiness quickly turned to sadness and then anger as the reality of what they had lost by not knowing or growing up with their older brother began to sink in.

I sat there looking intently at my son across the table. I could not take my eyes off him. This was so surreal. I was trying to reconcile in my mind that this young man was once MY newborn baby. The baby I had held lovingly and tenderly in my arms. My mind could hardly comprehend this truth, this strange reality. In the coming months I would learn that the loss I had deeply buried and the denial I lived in for nearly 25 years, much to my dismay, would rise to the surface. I would no longer be able to control my emotions or contain my grief. The numbness I had forced upon myself in order to cope all those years ago would no longer hold me together. 

Our son shared with us a photo book with pictures of him from his childhood. This was such a special gift for us to see him growing up throughout the years. The family resemblance we shared was strong and you could definitely see where he belonged! 

After a couple of hours I sent a text to his siblings that they could come home now. They were already back in town and didn’t really even shop at the mall because they were too excited and anxious to get home and meet their brother. I still remember the look on each of their faces as these four full-blooded siblings laid eyes on each other for the first time. There were huge smiles and hugs all around. This would be the first of many precious moments that I would cherish and hold close to my heart.

We sat in the dining room and enjoyed lunch together, played some games and then took lots of photos. The conversation that day was easy and comfortable. We enthusiastically discovered shared characteristics. Being together just felt right and natural, no doubt because we shared blood and genetic stamping.

Eventually, our oldest son announced that he should be going. The other kids protested, they didn’t want him to leave. We were all having such an incredible time together! I longed for him to stay too. Forever.

At last my family was together. Until now this was something I had only dreamed about, earnestly prayed for, actually begged God for. That day was the first of many spent with my precious four children and husband creating new shared memories. I am so thankful for second chances and grateful for the unbreakable bond between mother and child.