I Met You

Two years ago today I sat in the airport in New York on a bench in a well-lit hallway with my husband. My hands were shaking, and I nervously looked to my left, to where they would come walking toward us. I fiddled with the camera strap, giggled nervously as we talked, and watched as families of all nationalities walked by us. The plane had landed; we were just waiting for him to come through immigration. It took a long time. The last 45 minutes of "The Wait" for our son to come home were possibly the most excruciating. We knew he was there, around the corner and beyond the desks. It was mere moments away. I pushed the diaper bag under the bench, then pulled it back out to adjust something or other. I stared at my feet.

And then suddenly our greeter came walking toward us, a wide grin spread across her face, and a small baby cuddling in close to her shoulder. He was dressed in a very feminine onesie with pink and purple butterflies, and wore a white Hello Kitty sailor's hat. My first thought was that there was some mistake, that a baby girl had arrived instead of our boy. But he was our boy, and when the greeter handed him to me I recognized his little face immediately. I held him so tight, fully enjoying the weight of his little body pressed against mine. I said "Hello, my baby" and kissed his forehead. I watched Brendan's eyes get teary as he said hello to his son, and felt a lump in my throat that warned of tears in my own eyes.

And we were a family, at last.

Two years later the memory of that day is sweet and sad. I now know what H went through that day before he came to us. I now know how scared he was, how his intense gaze was not keen interest, but stark fear. But I also know that he is 30 feet away from me now, sleeping soundly in the room he proudly claims as his own, tucked in and surrounded by love, exhausted from a day filled with swimming and running in the sunshine. I know, too, that he is beginning to be curious about how he came to be our son, and where babies come from, and a far away place called Korea that is somehow important to his story.
Two years removed from that extraordinary day I can only be thankful that I have been given the honor of being his mom. Two years. I am so glad I met you, Harrison.