Love

Tuesday, May 18th, 2010 was the single greatest day of my life.

After 22 months and 3 weeks of waiting, hoping, pining and complaining we got the call. A little girl. A perfect little girl. My Mary.

I was at work, minding my own business and, well, working when my cell phone started buzzing. I glanced at it, didn’t recognize the number and didn’t answer it. But then that same nagging, hopeful thought popped into my head. What if it’s THE CALL? Unfortunately, I’ve had that thought dozens and dozens of times before and it had lost much of its potency, its promise. Nonetheless, I couldn’t stop myself from just checking out the number really quick. I did a little reverse look-up on line and discovered that it was a Eugene number. The adoption agency is in Eugene. Holy crap.

By the time I’d done my sleuth work, there was a voice message on my phone. It was the head of the Philippines program. He had good news. We had a match. It was a little girl. I started choking up when he said his name, weeping when he said we had a match, and shaking when he said it was a little girl. A little girl! We’d wanted a little girl so badly!

I immediately called the number back and got the receptionist. I choked out something like this:

“Hi (sob) can I (sob) please talk to M_____? I’m (sob) crying ‘cuz I’m happy (sob). We just got matched (double sob).”

She transfered me and it went straight to his voicemail. Unacceptable. I just knew he was going to reach Kevin before I did and I simply would not allow such a thing to be taken away from me. I had to be the one to tell Kev. I hung up and immediately  called back, this time explaining that I really needed to be sure to talk to a real person. This time the director answered. He told me about Mary. He told me about her history, that she was a tiny little thing when she was born, that she was at a sweet little orphanage outside Manila.

After a few minutes of collecting information, I called Kevin. He hadn’t heard the voicemail and I got to tell him. He was all whispers, repeating “A little girl? A little girl? Wow?” in the smallest voice. Then the email came in with her picture and report. We stared. We said “wow” a lot. We whispered. We felt ourselves turn into different people entirely. We’re parents. We have a daughter. Her name is Mary.

After a long, quiet, beautiful phone call with Mary’s dad, I ran out of my office to inform my boss that I would be underperforming for the rest of the morning. He cheered. I ran inside to call family.

By the end of the day, I had cried so much I could barely keep my eyes open. And the people I love–friends, family, coworkers, nice acquaintances, students, pleasant looking people on the street–had cried, too, when I told them the news. I received close to a hundred text messages, tons of emails, phone calls and hugs. I felt loved. I felt LOVE.

I have been staring almost constantly at Mary’s picture ever since. On Tuesday I had to drive across town to meet up with our community group at our garden but I started to have a little panic attack from not seeing Mary’s picture for a few minutes. I opened my laptop and left it sitting in the passenger’s seat so I could glance at Mary on my desktop every few seconds.

There is still so much to do. We can’t go get Mary for at least three months, even up to six months, because of immigration requirements. We have a large pack of paperwork heading our way. We’re working on a photobook to send her at her orphanage so she can learn our faces and so her caregivers can get comfortable with these strangers who are coming to take away their sunshine. I’m glad there are things to do. When they’re done and I have to just sit and wait, things might get ugly. But for now, I float everywhere.

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