The hospital room was so quiet it felt like the world had stopped. Her arms and mine both held the tiny baby between us. We hugged, and I promised to send photos, to let her know when we got home, to see her again at Christmas. Then the door closed behind us, and our lives shifted forever.
Our caseworker had warned us about the emotions that would hit once we stepped out of that room. I’m glad she did, because I barely made it down the hallway before the tears came. Gratitude and grief hit all at once, gratitude that she had trusted us with her son, and grief because, in that same moment, she was saying goodbye.
I wanted so badly to be the mother this little boy needed, but I also knew I had so much to learn.
Looking back, I can see how every decision led to that moment the move from North Carolina to Colorado, my choice to stay home and homeschool our daughter, the long talks about adoption. Each small step added up to the day we stood in that hospital room and became a family of four.
Life didn’t slow down after that. While we waited for placement, we adopted a puppy, bought a house, started new jobs, and I began writing homeschool curriculum for Nora. What started as lessons for her turned into Little World Wanderers, a project built around her curiosity about different cultures. I still remember finishing the first unit with our newborn tucked against me in a sling, typing about Norway while he snored softly against my chest.
After two and a half years of waiting, he was finally home. As white adoptive parents, my husband and I knew we had a responsibility to honor his birth culture and keep him connected to his heritage. That responsibility became our passion, helping other families teach their children about the world through compassion and curiosity.
We also chose an open adoption. It was never a question for us. We’d promised his birth mother we’d stay in touch, and that promise mattered deeply. I remember the drive home from the hospital checking his car seat again and again, worrying if he was breathing okay. My thoughts kept going back to her. While we celebrated, she was grieving. That awareness changed me. It reminded me that adoption always holds both joy and loss.
Later, I wanted to give something back, to support other women facing the same hard decisions. Through the Growing Kindness Project, my children and I began planting flowers to give to expectant mothers considering adoption. Some chose to parent, others chose to place, but all were met with love.
Last week, the day before our son’s second birthday, he picked flowers from our garden and handed them to his birth mom. Watching them together, I felt grateful beyond words.
Adoption has touched every part of our lives, the way we parent, the way we teach, and the way we see the world. It’s taught me that family isn’t just about biology. It’s about love, grace, and the courage to hold both joy and sorrow at the same time.
