Eight years ago today, a two-year journey that re-defined my faith and changed my life, came to an end. Eight years ago today, we ran with small sick babies in our arms through the Miami airport to catch our plane. Then they screamed themselves to sleep (sorry other passengers) on the long awaited flight home.
My older daughter, then five-years-old, has told the story so many times her baby sister thinks she remembers it. The truth is, that the moment we walked into our home for the first time, she was only two-years-old and asleep in my arms.
The Christmas tree was lit. There was a fire in the fireplace. Everything was so beautiful and so quiet. There was a doll in a doll stroller in the living room. It was like magic.
She walked over to her new older sister’s doll, picked it up and whispered “Belle..” (Beautiful in Kreyol).
Eight years ago today, my broken heart began to mend, because that was the day my daughters came home.
Happy Gotcha Day, my precious babies. I love you with all my heart.