It’s been one year since Josiah’s adoption was finalized—one year since the moment the judge looked up, smiled gently, and said the words that felt like a sunrise: “He is officially yours.” Even now, remembering that moment makes my throat tighten. There was something sacred in that single sentence, something that shifted the ground beneath us. For the first time, everything felt still. Certain. Possible.
Before that day, everything in our lives had been marked by hesitation. Paperwork. Waiting. Fear tucked into the corners of every routine. Each time Josiah laughed, each time he wrapped his little arms around my neck, a small part of me whispered, What if he gets taken away? What if this isn’t forever? That whisper followed me like a shadow through the entire journey. And yet, so did the hope.
But adoption… adoption is never simple. I’ve been on both sides of this story, and that changes you. It softens some places and hardens others. You learn that adoption isn’t just sunshine and new beginnings; it’s stitched with joy and heartache, love and pain, brokenness and healing. There are moments where you grieve for what your child has lost, even as you celebrate the family you’re gaining. There are nights you stay awake wondering if you’re doing enough to honor both.
I remember the first week Josiah came to us. He was quiet, watchful, testing the edges of this new world he’d been placed into. One night he climbed onto my lap without a word, just rested his head on my chest. I didn’t move for the longest time. I barely breathed. Eventually he whispered, “Am I staying?” I wrapped my arms around him and said, “I want you to stay forever.” But back then, wanting wasn’t enough. Not legally. Not yet.
The path to his adoption was the toughest journey of my life—months of meetings, tears, uncertainty, and holding onto faith that felt paper-thin some days. Some moments broke me, others rebuilt me. I learned courage in ways I didn’t know I needed. I learned patience in ways I never wanted. And I learned that love, real love, is choosing someone again and again, even when the outcome is unclear.
And then came the day we finally got to choose him forever. The day we were allowed to say yes in a way that could never be undone.
Life feels different now. I can sign school forms without a knot in my stomach. I can make decisions for his well-being without someone questioning my right to care for the child who had already become my son long before any paperwork said so. I can let myself imagine his future—birthdays, friendships, first heartbreaks, graduations—without fear flickering through the picture.
My heart is so full when I look at Josiah now. He’s grown taller, braver, sillier. He trusts more easily. He laughs from somewhere deeper. Sometimes I catch him watching us with this quiet contentment, like he’s still testing the edges of his place in our family but finding every one of them solid.
The truth is, he is the son God meant for us. I believe that with every part of me. The path was painful. There were moments I wanted to give up, moments I didn’t think I had the strength to keep walking. But he was worth it all—every meeting, every prayer, every tear, every inch of uncertainty.
One year later, our home feels exactly the way a home should: lived in, a little loud, full of love, and stitched together by grace. When I kiss the top of Josiah’s head before bed, I feel nothing but gratitude—gratitude that we both survived the journey, gratitude that it brought us to each other, and gratitude that forever finally found us.
Credit: Ellen Chan
