A Bittersweet Dawn

My younger son's first birthday has dawned over him in Korea. Although it's not technically his birthday here, there, where HE is, it is very much his birthday. According to his report he is probably already up and accepting birthday well wishes from his adoring foster family.

I never expected to be with him on his birthday, so I don't feel a profound sense of heartbreak. I'm glad he is with a loving family. I'm glad he'll get a proper Tol as opposed to the bizarre one we threw for Little Bug. Am I sad to be missing this important milestone in his life...yes, but it's not because I feel like he is lacking in anything today.

Any sadness I feel is just for my own selfish wishes (and make no mistake, when the clock struck 12 am in Korea, I spontaneously cried, much to Appa's confusion). Even in my own selfishness, I know I am lucky. A friend is in Korea right now, and in a wonderful twist of fate/luck/generosity, she and her husband are going to meet Little Bro today...on his birthday. Tomorrow, when it is technically his birthday here, we'll have pictures of the birthday boy himself. It will be like we were there with him. Space and time is funny when it can bend like that.

But the soothing relief of the promise of new pictures reminded me of the one woman who is also crying today, and how she is not going to be comforted by new pictures or promises of birthdays to come.

It's hard to feel bad for myself when I think of Little Bro's birth mother. Even though I won't be with him, he'll be able to cuddle into my arms as I one day tell him about the Korean feast we had in his honor, about the birthday cake we ordered, the candle we blew out and the song we sang. We'll be able to prove to him how much we loved him. We'll show him pictures of his Tol and tell him the story of his Toljabee and his meeting with our friends. He'll see the proof of his foster family's love for him.

His birth mother won't get the chance to prove her observance of this day, and THAT absence breaks my heart. I feel like I don't have a right to be sad for my loss when I think of hers.

I know she loves him, and I know she is thinking about him today, praying for him, hoping for him, wondering about him. I am sure she and her family are doing something to commemorate his birthday. I am sure she is dying to know what he is doing today, wearing today, eating today, receiving today, etc. I can't fix that for her, and it makes my heart so sad.

When Little Bug turned 2 I wrote

Today we are celebrating our son's birthday. The day that he came into the world and changed both our lives forever. We might never meet, but on this day, more than any other day, we are so much more than a "birth mother" and an "adoptive mother."

I feel this again today on Little Bro's birthday, but in a more acute away. I feel my sadness and loss at missing this moment in his life, and I know that it must be a 100 times worse for her...and something she will endure year after year. It has clarified further for me that I will never be able to fully understand or do justice to the love and selflessness and bravery my sons' birth mothers exhibited when they made the choice they made. I wish that today I could somehow give her what joy I have.

All I can do is hold Little Bro tight and remind him in the midst of pictures of celebrations from a far and Tol tables and birthday cakes that there is another family who is not pictured, but not forgotten and still celebrating.

And my birthday promise to her, omma to mama: I will personally make sure the pictures my friend is sending today will eventually be in his file for her to one day have if she so chooses. I want nothing more than to share those special glimpses into the day we both missed with her.