Family is such a loaded word. For some it conjures up feelings of joy, memory making trips, intimate moments of quiet, a sense of belonging, and a current of unconditional love; for others, the mere mention of family brings one to a place of great turmoil, unspoken shame, indescribable grief, and an endless reaping of pain. For me, it is the latter.
When we set out on our journey to meet the donor family, my heart and spirit felt at peace, a peace only of God. The pain that defines “my” family (that is, my biological family before Silas) is decades long and generations deep. And so, to feel this utter and complete peace in my soul as we drove the 6 hours west to New York was to feel as though we were traveling home. Home where family is defined by safety, selflessness, acceptance, respect, love, joy, faith and trust.
We arrived by cover of darkness to find Nate standing in the pouring rain holding out a beacon of light to guide us “home.” Nate helped Jeremy navigate our camper into its spot for the weekend, a camp site next to a small pond shaded by willow trees that rivaled many sites we had camped at through the summer.
Meeting the family was nothing short of feeling like we belonged. What could have felt awkward and strained, felt instead like reconnecting with people we had known for a life time. It was beautiful, and cherished, and a visit I didn’t want to end.
Silas was embraced by all of the children as though he, too, was a brother. He often has a period of acclimation when he meets new people where he stands back, observes and decides on whether to engage with new friends, or stay close to his Mumma. There was no sizing up needed in this meeting; no sooner was his raincoat hung up, and his sneakers off, than he was off to explore, wrestle and play with his growing “family.”
The weekend went by far too quickly filled with treasured memories made; from four-wheeling, sharing meals together, a hearty game of spoons!, worship at church, it was without doubt that God was surely in every detail.
(The two images on this page I captured at an artisan shop that Shelly’s mother took us to during our visit.)
