I have struggled to understand exactly how waiting for you should be done: with my eyes open or closed?
Should I look at the clouds any differently than how I’ve always marveled at their grace? Brief, majestic nothingness, their shapes and colors portents of moments that time has yet to relinquish.
However I do my waiting— whether dying of yearning, resurrected only by the hope of imaginary duets
whether swallowing goblets of my own pride and fear, whether planning bedrooms or playdates and how in the world should I rock you to sleep
you, child extraordinaire, born into the world upside down peeking through curtains of night, defying gravity—
I know this anguish is a privilege that few would ever know.
However I spend my time anticipating your coming home— conjuring lists of parental dos and don’ts scrutinizing each book that we will read together fretting over day care and tuition and the state of the world
(the only treasure you will truly inherit, the only womb to which we all truly belong)
I know that I have learned to love in the abstract.
How is it that rain clouds fall without being asked?
How is it that heavens move to reveal the sun
just because it is there
and always will be
like me for you,
my awaited child.
Isabelle (real name changed for privacy) is a communications specialist based in Metro Manila. She and her husband are Prospective Adoptive Parents waiting for a match. You can read her whole story here.