Four years...

Four years ago today, Sasha, Jory, and I were lazing around the house when the phone rang. It was Sasha’s racist CW who was calling to say, I needed to bring Sasha to the DCF office, I had picked her up from eight months earlier, and hand her over to her new parents. Tears started to fall, I was nervous, scared. What if I hadn’t picked up the phone? What if Jory, Sasha, and I were gone would we still be doing this now? What if I packed up and took off to some other state? How hard would DCF look for me? I knew someone who knew someone who could get me birth certificates and social security numbers.

I called my SW because I wasn’t doing anything without her, but she wasn’t answering. A journalist professor at SMC I had one summer said he use to interview a politician, who was so slimy and backhanded, that he would count to make sure he still had five fingers after they shook hands. That summed up the way I felt about Sasha’s CW.

I sucked it up and called Mell, she and I had liked each other in our previous meetings. She was actually the first woman on this adoption journey that I really clicked with. I felt like she really got me. We were two women, the same age, whose road to parenthood was completely different than how we imagined it would be. She was at the store shopping for a carseat so they could put in their car that they left at the airport in Denver. She wasn’t expecting to take the baby home so soon. Graciously, she refused my offer to take Sasha’s clothes. She told me to keep them for my next little girl, which she knew I would get any day. We said goodbye and I went to packing. My baby had to take a few things with her. Her favorite pjs, some things to kick about in until Mell and her husband, Johnny, could get to the store. She had to take the dress she wore to Aunt Heather’s and Uncle Brandon’s wedding, so she would at least have one item to wear to church. I packed some bottles, some formula, and diapers. I was in such a state of confusion, it never occurred to me to find a backpack or something to put them in. I just used shopping bags and made sure since Mell was traveling with a hubby with a broken shoulder bone to give her the Baby Bjorn, too.

In the midst of all of this, I kept calling my SW but to no avail, so I finally called my adoption agency and told them the situation and that I needed her ASAP. A few minutes later she called. She had had her cell phone off and was working from home. She gave me the time we were suppose to meet at the DCF office. This was really happening.

I got Jory and myself dress as time wound down. But for my Chew Chew, I knew I had to find something nice. I chose the after church outfit her Oma had bought her to wear for Mother’s Day. You know cause you need a new outfit to change into after you take off your new Mother’s Day dress that you wore to church. And I put her on a bib that read “I love my Mommy” because she loved me and one day she would love Mell.

I put everyone in their carseats and off we went. Nearly eight months before, I had taken that ride to pick her up and meet her for the first time, the baby who would be my forever daughter. I remember my friend, Steph, calling as I was driving and me saying, let me call you back I’m on the way to pick up my early Christmas present, my daughter. Now here we were making the trip again and I was losing my daughter.

Arriving at the DCF office, I walked inside with a baby on each hip and I was sent to sit away from the general public. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by Sasha’s birth family who were Mexican. My brown haired, blue eyed daughter was being taken from me because she looked white, yet the people sitting next to me testified to the fact that while she might have appeared to be one thing, she wasn’t completely. I wondered where Mell and Johnny were. Mell’s mother introduced herself and thanked me for taking care of the baby until Mell and Johnny could get her and that she would say a prayer for me and for all I had done. I wanted to rage against her, but instead I cried. I was trying to be strong, but it was hard.

I wasn’t Sasha’s babysitter. I wasn’t Chew Chew’s foster parent keeping her until an adoptive family could be found. I was her Mommy. I thought she was the greatest thing since chocolate cake (which is my favorite dessert in the world, not really a pie fan). I had worried that I wouldn’t love baby number two as much as I loved Jory because let me tell you that little boy sat the bar high from day one or rather day five. But Sasha met that bar like it was nothing. She was my most wonderful baby girl, just like Jory was my most wonderful baby boy. Yet here was this woman thanking me for babysitting as my heart was breaking. I hugged her back and wiped my tears. Then I saw Mell and Johnny and my SW, my wonderful SW.

Standing up, Mell and I embraced and she whispered, “I’m sorry.” I lost it. How could she say that to me? Why did she have to say that to me? When I got the call about Jory, it was a joyous occasion. When I got the call about Sasha, it was joyous on my end, picking her up was a little awkward, but it was happy for the most part. Now here we all were in this crummy DCF office with a CW none of us liked or trusted and Mell was apologizing on what should have been the happiest day of her life. I pointed out the bib to her and I think we smiled.

I signed the needed paperwork with Sasha in my arms and Jory beside me. Then it was over, we all walked outside, except for the CW I think she got the hint she was neither needed nor wanted though I’m pretty sure she didn’t care. I handed Sasha over. I’m sure I kissed her face and told her I loved her. And I’m sure I let Jory do the same. I have to say I was secretly thrilled that my Chew Chew started screaming her head off in Mell’s arms. My baby wanted the world to know I was her Mommy and she wanted her Mommy and her Mommy only to hold her. We took some pics because I knew that one day Mell and Johnny would want pictures of their Gotcha Day. Then they took some pics of us. The instant Chew Chew was in my arms, she stopped crying. That’s Mommy’s baby. The picture of her, Jory, and myself sits on my nightstand in the frame that holds the first professional picture, a two days shy of being one Jory and I took on my first birthday as a Mommy. Me and my first two babies.

Fastforward to Denver a few days ago, on the way to the airport Mell said to me, something about wondering if she did the right thing with her having a job that sends her all over the US for sometimes weeks at a time. And for the first time, my first thought wasn’t “they stole my baby,” which is usually the thought that goes through my mind when someone asks about Sasha and what happened to her. The “they” isn’t Mell and Johnny though, it’s the CW and the system that didn't put Sasha first. This time my first thought was, but I wouldn’t have Rowan if you didn’t get Sasha. Though I have had my fantasies were both girls were my daughters. Me with two sets of Irish twins. I think I would have died of happiness. Though poor Rowan would be even more of a middle child. From January 21 to February 25, she would be the oldest twin out of her and Layla. And from February 26 to December 12, she would be the youngest of the twins between her and Sasha. And let’s be honest, Sasha, Rowan, and Layla are not triplet names nor are they twin names. Though all three names are five letters long and have at least one “a” in them, all of which was a total coincidence. See how God has your back on the minute details.

But I digress. It was great seeing the now four-year-old Sasha. It was fun picking her up, tickling her. It was great to hang out with Mell and Johnny. It was awesome to see her daddy so in love with her and content if they never had another child, though Mell and I both are pushing for her to have a sibling. When Mell was explaining how if she doesn’t stick to the schedule Sasha has a meltdown, I thought wow she wouldn’t last long in my house then. I try to stick to a schedule, but- - then I remembered she might not be that schedule sticking girl if she had remained with me. I use to come home from work and she’d be napping. I would eat dinner with Jory, get him ready for bed, and put him down. Then she would wake up, we’d take a shower together and hang out for a while. She was my Chew Chew.

In some ways, I guess I’m similar to the parent who doesn’t see their child often because of distance or the parent who doesn’t have primary custody. We look at that child and wonder who she would be if we were the ones rearing her. Who would Sasha be if she had been Sasha Herrington for all of her life? I’m not sure. And I don’t dwell on it. I have to remember and be thankful that for nearly eight months she was Sasha Herrington, daughter of Yashama, sister to Jory. I’m thankful that I’m still apart of her life that I’m not wondering how she is and where she is. I’m thankful she is part of a relative adoption, where her parents/relatives get it and make her their sole priority. I pray she and her awesome parents will always be apart of my life. And if it wasn’t so creepy, I would have loved for her to be my daughter through marriage, so we could be connected forever. But yuck! You can’t marry anyone who held you in their arms while wearing a “Big Brother” lime green t-shirt and you had on the matching “Little Sister” t-shirt. Creepy to the nth degree. Oh let's call it what it would be incest.

Four years have past and I still love her endlessly. Forever she will be my Chew Chew, my Sasha.



You'll always be a part of me
And I'm part of you indefinitely

You'll always be my baby
And we'll linger on
Cause time can't erase a feeling this strong
You will always be my baby