In August 2015, my husband told me he wasn’t happy. Instead of working things out, he walked away. By February 2016, our divorce was final. He had already been gone for six months, so I’d had time to process it. Still, it hurt. At my age, I figured having children was likely out of reach.
I let go of that dream. I filled my time with painting classes, spent time with a friend going through her own divorce, and volunteered as a reading buddy for second graders. I was searching for a sense of who I had become.
About six weeks after the divorce, my cousin texted me. She asked if I wanted to adopt. She had one son living with our aunt, one in foster care, and was pregnant again. My aunt, who was in her late 60s, couldn’t handle two more kids. She was already raising one great-grandchild who needed therapy.
I thought about it. The timing wasn’t great, but I couldn’t let my baby cousins end up with strangers. Family is family. I spoke with my parents and aunt. My dad worried my cousin might change her mind. She told me I should live just across the road from her house. My aunt cried and thanked me. It wasn’t ideal, but I knew it was the right thing to do.
My mom supported me 100%. She had just bought the house across the street from hers and asked me to live there. She said she’d help any way she could.
By Christmas 2016, I had almost lost hope. The foster license and paperwork were taking forever. But I still decorated, put up a tree, and wrapped gifts, just in case. Two days before Christmas Eve, I got a call. “Everything is approved. When can you come get them?” I froze for a moment, then said, “I’ll grab my bag and pick up my aunt. We’ll be there tonight.” Ten hours later, I was driving home with a 7-month-old and a wild 2-year-old. It was after midnight on Christmas Eve. The best gift I’ve ever gotten.
Those first days were hard. Isaak had food hoarding issues and barely spoke. Kaylee was a calm baby, but it was still like having two babies in diapers. Isaak didn’t even know how to sit still for a story or a cuddle. I struggled. I lost patience more than once. One night, after a two-hour bedtime fight, I sat on my bed crying, wondering if I had made a mistake.
But things got better. Isaak is now my sweet cuddler, and Kaylee is full of sass. My mom loved Isaak right away. “He needs to be someone’s favorite,” she said. My aunt claimed Kaylee. We were figuring it out.
Then the hard part came. We found out my mom had been diagnosed with cancer in her brain and lungs.
My aunt’s liver failed. I had to care for my mom with hospice at home. The kids would pick her flowers and push her in her wheelchair. She passed within a month. My aunt died ten days later. I held myself together because they depended on me.
In early 2020, I signed the adoption papers. I cried with relief. No more fear of losing them. I changed their last name to mine. They’re my children. Always have been, always will be.Courtesy of MelissaIn early 2020, I signed the adoption papers. I cried with relief. No more fear of losing them. I changed their last name to mine. They’re my children. Always have been, always will be.
Now they’re 5 and 6. We read books, build Lego, and explore outside. One day, Isaak looked at our house and said, “Home.” I smiled, “Yes, buddy. Your home. Forever.”
