I sank into the hot, bubble-filled bath, a place where I usually cleared my mind. But that night, my thoughts weren’t wandering they were pleading. The image of two red lines on a pregnancy test flashed in my head over and over. Positive. Positive. At 19, alone, and residing independently, that little plastic stick appeared to shape my destiny.
I knew nothing about adoption, yet I was certain that’s where my path led. I chose a couple from a page of facts and a few pictures, never expecting they’d also be welcoming another baby just six weeks after mine. In the fall of 2000, I gave birth to a perfect little girl I called my “butterfly.” For four days, I held her, memorizing every detail, whispering promises of love. Then, with every ounce of strength I could gather, I placed her into her adoptive father’s arms and left the hospital next to an empty car seat.
Life moved quickly. Within a year, I was married and expecting again. I had three children over the next two decades, but my butterfly’s absence never left me. Adoption had been semi-open, with letters and photos at first, then yearly updates. I poured my energy into helping other birth mothers, creating care packages and sharing my story. Still, there was always a hollow place in my heart.
Seventeen years later, that changed in a moment. At a mall during my daughter’s rehearsal, I turned to see my butterfly’s adoptive father. Seconds later, I was face-to-face with her. We embraced tightly, my hands on her hair and waist, her BYU sweatshirt brushing against me. For the first time in years, I felt whole.
Over the next year, we exchanged messages, letting her set the pace. Then came a text: she was coming to visit. Two days before Thanksgiving, she stepped into my home, meeting my husband, children, and extended family. The room buzzed with anticipation and joy. I hugged her again, this time in my own living room, seeing my eyes in hers and hearing my laugh in hers.
That night, surrounded by the sound of all my children laughing together, I felt an unmatched completeness. I don’t know where our relationship will go from here, but I know this: without the darkness I once endured, I would never have appreciated this light. My heart is finally whole.
