confession

I have a confession. I cheated. Well, kinda cheated. Mostly ignored.

I cheated and ignored you. That's got to be the worst.

I can explain.

You see, for years I watched-oogled-followed-stalked adoption blogs. I am not kidding. I'm pretty sure I am half of the earlier hits on Micah's, Deacon's, and Silas' pages. No joke. These boys just got me all giddy. Then I started finding other pages. And I was hooked.

So I lived vicariously through these pages. And then I finally made one. Bold, I know, after months of stalking.  And then I became even braver {is that a word?} and actually started leaving comments. And after loads of comments, people read my blog! It was thrilling. I would watch the number of hits get bigger and bigger. Thrilling. Really.

It was amazing to be connected to so many others who actually understood what I was feeling, what each step of the process was like. And then it was time. We were actually leaving. We were actually going to Ethiopia to meet our son.

I'd decided that if I was going to be stuck at home all the time {all that cocooning frightened me!} that I was going to have to fix some stuff up here at home. So that's what I did. And a friend turned me on to another kind of blog. Housey blogs. About all sorts of stuff --- that I love --- and so my addiction wandered.

Last night as I was lying in bed with a headache, far from sleep, I thought about this blogging community. I thought about how much I owe you. About the thousands of thank yous I should send because you sustained me through one of the longest periods of longing in my life. You welcomed me into your homes, your families, your own experiences with open arms. You advised me. You appreciated me. You loved me.

Many of you did more. We're regular friends. Not just friends on facebook, but actual friends. We've hung out. We've hugged.

And some of you, a few special ones of you loved on my son before I could. You whispered sweet secrets of his family, of the love we had already, of our coming. You kissed his cheeks. You held his hand. You sent me pictures. You told me stories. You filled the gaps for me.

While I may have wandered, I will never leave you. You are part of us, part of our history, part of our family. We need to remain for those yet to go, for those looking to find, and for when we return again.

Thank you.