Picture That Fire

There’s this funny little thing about getting a little glimpse into the world of The Kiddo.

It makes me want more.

I mean, I don’t get much. Pictures once a year, the occasional picture or video on Facebook, and even the latter was a just a recent addition.

But I want more.

As he grows, I feel anxious, and worried about the time I am missing. Time that is slipping away, and time that I want to share with him. It’s not that I want to replace his family, I could never. I just want to be apart of his life. To watch him real time. To get to know him as he is, not as his parents describe him. I want to know him as my son, and as a friend. The same way I know my parented kids, but different, it would be.

These pictures, while I greatly appreciate them, they fuel this burning desire to have more of him. The fire that began when I realized, shortly after I relinquished him, that I would never hear him laugh, or hear his first words. I was shocked at how deeply this idea resonated within me, and how it never left. It was something I had never considered, something I was never told that I would wish for, or even regret not hearing, seeing or being an actual live participant. For many years I ignored my desire to want to be near him, to want to know him, and see him in real time. How do you verbalize that in a situation where you have very voice?

Along with these pictures comes the slamming reality of everything adoption isn’t. I roll my eyes now when I see people speaking of the miracle or gift of adoption. I wonder how long it will take some women to come out of their own fog, and realize that there is a greater loss involved in this process. Really, I’m completely jaded. Perhaps this would be much different if I had more access to him, but for some reason, I don’t think it would.

My adoption is not unicorns, and rainbows, smiling faces- I’ve said this plenty of times, right? It’s silence, awkward, and unsure. It’s isolating, worrisome, and tough. It’s a lot of tears, a lot of wondering, and mind-numbing blindness. Sometimes, those pictures the ones I get sporadically, only just shove that reality in my face. And the dream of having more, sometimes feels like it’s as silly as wanting to win the lottery.

His smiling face, his warm eyes, similar glasses to mine, his reddish blonde hair. All of it. I wish it was closer within my grasp. More of him. Instead of an apparition that appears on my Facebook from time to time.

Is that a lot to ask?

More importantly, will it ever be enough?


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