I know this is deeper than I usually am, but I can't help but think about this. I put my kids to bed at night and as I kiss each one of them I can’t help, but think about how each one came to me and I just get filled with a gratefulness that I’ve never felt before. I think my heart is full now and it’s an awesome feeling. It wasn't really that long ago when I truly thought I must have done something horrible. I mean, why else would God punish a person who only always wanted to be a mom by making her born with a chromosomal translocation she could pass one? Then, when we lost our first child, I thought for sure. He was angry at me and I was losing faith. Little did I know that all this time he was orchestrating my life in the most perfect way. Through the hurt and the tears came some of the most wonderful gifts a person could ever receive in their lifetime.....four great children. Sometimes I can’t help but think how long God worked on a plan just for us. I mean it’s too perfect to not have taken a lot of time. And the way everything played out is just amazing.I'm not just blessed for having them, but how. I mean I can honestly say that I think I was blessed beyond words because the Lord let me experience two of the most extraordinary ways of having children. I got to give birth from my body and my heart. When the boys were born in that hospital I thought I'd experienced every wonderful thing there was to experience. I was lucky to feel my first babies inside of me while I waited for them. They were incredible. They were so tiny (okay not so tiny) and innocent and they were mine. Then after Chase was born we just weren't done. There would be no more biological children as we'd medically prevented. But, to experience the gift of adoption is nothing short of explicit wonder. To have your child born half way across the world in circumstances out of their control, leaving one mother desperately hurting, and this same child to come into your life and bless it immensely is nothing short of incredible. You never thought you could love someone not born to you before you started this journey, but you find that you love this little person before you ever even hold them. It was like loving that little figure in the ultrasound so desperately except you can see this little person, I mean really see them. This photo is all you clutch to while you wait for their arrival. You can't feel or touch them, but you know, without a doubt, this is your child and you love them beyond measure. To have my babies brought to me in the airport, was obviously much different than giving birth in the hospital, but my heart was with them all the way. And holding them for the first time in that airport was priceless. Everyone else and everything going on around us just disappeared. I sunk into myself and my baby. I was finally touching my baby and I’d waited months to have that experience. Just like delivering in the hospital, I’d dreamt of that event over and over and over again. The individual memories of the first moments with my children, although very different, will be engrained in my head and heart forever. I will never forget how blue Cole was or how hard he cried, how BIG Chase was and how quiet he got as soon as he was laid down on me, how hard Kaelin cried every time she realized everyone no longer looked like everyone she’d ever loved or how Chelsi just took everything in and sat quietly in the carrier when I took her. I will NEVER forget the smell on the girls’ clothes. Every once in a while I still swear I’ll suddenly smell it on something. That smell, to me, is
Korea. That smell gives me happy memories. But, I remember that that same smell may not be the same memories for my daughters.Recently, I submitted something to someone who is interested in developing a website, not so much in genealogy, but the stories that come out of that. These stories are part of our children's heritage whether by adoption or birth. That had me thinking some more. Here are some of my ramblings for that:Shortly after our second son was born and a couple of years after my paternal Grandmother (my last living Grandparent on my Father's side) passed away, I decided to begin researching my family's roots. After all, my Grandmother was no longer around to tell me any stories and she lived further away and I wasn't able to get much before she got sick. We hooked our computer up to the internet and I spent countless evenings reading anything I could find on that side of the family.
It sounds like I focused on my father's side, but it wasn't that as much as I still had my maternal Grandparents still with us and my Father's side was easy to trace as he'd come from a well-known family. Or at least that is what I discovered. My Mother's side is traditional German. No one really spoke it or speaks it anymore, but my Great Grandmother and Great Grandfather had VERY German surnames. His was Kraus. My Great Grandmother would tell me stories of walking to school the school house in the old days and the mules that would kick my Great-Great Grandfather as he went out to work the farm. Every time I would go over to visit she was watching "Little House on the Prairie". To this day, even though she's gone and I really don't know, I'm convinced that she loved that show because she could totally relate. When she passed we each got something of hers. I gave each item to each one of my children. My favorite, however, was a little wooden trinket box that my Great-Great Grandfather had made for her when she was a little girl. That means so much to me.
My paternal Grandparents were different from other people in this small community; mostly because they neither came from here nor ended up staying here. My Grandfather was German/Irish in heritage, while my Grandmother had different heritages in her background. Her side has been easy to trace. I've traced it all the way back to the 1600's when the family came over from
England. The Pyle family is a VERY big family. The ancestors of mine that came over from
England, were mostly generation after generation; doctors who stayed in
Pennsylvania for awhile and eventually ended up marrying and settling into the
Midwest where my Grandmothers were born. My roots here are English/Swedish/Choctaw Indian and some others I've not figured out yet or verified. My Great-Great Grandmother was, apparently, pretty adamant with my Father that she was Cherokee. She even told him stories of the Trail of Tears as the stories had been told to her. Most of those are now lost and that's what makes me saddest. My Dad says she passed when he was very young and the one thing he absolutely remembers was that she had coal black hair and eyes like him. I got the dark eyes trait from my dad. That was one trait that when I was young, I hated. I stood out in a sea of blue-eyed blondes. I did have blonde hair, but having eyes as dark as night was very different at that time. I've grown to love that physical feature and that fact that I am a little different than my peers. I'm teaching my daughters this.My eyes were a sore spot when I was young. I was called
China girl (yes, with blonde hair). Just as my daughters' eyes squint when they smile mine did and still do. Even in high school I was called the "devil's daughter". That was a new one. All of these names were because of my eyes. I realize as an adult just how pretty they are. Now, the only comments I get are how beautiful my eyes are. I think it's a bit ironic that in our family of six my husband is the only one with blue eyes; the eyes I wanted so bad growing up. I just didn't like being so different; some of the same feelings my daughter’s very well may feel. All four of my children have dark eyes, but only my daughters' eyes are as dark as mine and I point that out to them. I tell them just how beautiful their eyes are and how beautiful their shiny black hair is. The American Indian in my background gave my family some great traits. My Korean-born daughters do not stand out as much, in our family, because of that. My dad has black hair and eyes along with olive skin. My sister also has darker hair (when she's not playing with color) and dark eyes. We don't have the typical German nose that my husband has. My children and I all have the same basic shaped nose. I love all of the differences and the similarities that each of these backgrounds brought to us and enriched our lives. And in the end the traits from these backgrounds helped stitch together our transracial family just perfectly. Now that I'm a mom to four kids, two of which are Korean-born, I've let go of the research. It's the stories that ARE important. These people; the Grandfather who fought along side George Washington, the ancestors that make me a (VERY distant albeit) relative of Baroness Francesca Thyssen-Bornemisza, even the ancestors that had a part in slavery, are a part of my children's family history. These people shaped my family; all the people in my family. Our family now has an added piece in our tree and puzzle and that's the families of our Korean-born daughters. These are stories that will continually be passed onto all four of my children's children and that makes me happy to envision. May anyone reading this realize even in our hardest times God is just trying to get us to that place in our life to fulfill our dreams. And may I always reflect on and remember this.
