Thursday is Lina’s Birthday
In the days and weeks before Lina’s birthday, my thoughts always turn more intensely to her birthmother. I imagine her, belly huge with her girl, my girl. I know that I cannot imagine her thoughts, but I try to anyway.
I’d like to think that she was wondering about me. What was I like? Would I be loving? I think about this as I rock Lina in the quiet afternoon, stroking her hair, gazing into her eyes. I try to send her birthmother a message: this child is loved. Do not spend one second of your life worrying about that. This child is the light of our lives.
And in my mind I thank her for having the faith that we would come. Maybe she had seen the buses of white folks that come to her town about once a month to receive their children. Maybe she wanted a family like that for her baby-to-be. As she walked away, maybe her pain was assuaged just a little bit by the knowledge that I was walking toward the baby that she couldn’t take care of. This is what I tell myself.
Our dossier was sent to China in February 2005, just weeks before Lina’s birth. I remember the moment that the paperwork was out of my hands. I tried to believe that it would really happen. That one day, someone would place a baby in my arms.
But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that child to be as magical as Lina. As complicated. As loving. As beautiful. As determined.
Just look at her, I whisper across the oceans.
And somewhere, far away, a woman smiles.