It is Forever

The buzzing noise threatened to kick my anxiety into overdrive. I was laying on the white vinyl chair with my head turned away from my newest friend, Damon. I did not watch him set up, I did not see if the needle was clean, I forgot to look and see if he was wearing gloves. I was probably making a mistake. I was making a mistake. This was a mistake. Why do people even get tattoos? What am I doing? This. Is. Forever.

My mind was racing and all I wanted to do was get out of this chair and back to the safety of my car. I do not do permanent. I do not do forever yet there I was, just having committed to a colorful tattoo next to my heart. It made no sense. There was no logic behind this sort of commitment.

Damon took a deep breath, put his, now visibly gloved, hand on my shoulder and began poking my skin with the fine point needle. It hurt. With each pressured pierce my skin burned. The buzzing no longer activated anxiety but instead lulled me into the past, my real reason for sitting here…

I sat at work, like every other Thursday, when my phone rang. “Mrs. Mallett, I ‘ve got three kids. 2 boys and 1 little girl. The baby is 2…. they need you.” I was not even able to greet the caller, my placement agent from my foster care agency, I barely had enough time to catch my breath but the moment I did I spoke. “Yes, bring me those babies. Bring. Them. To. Me.” I gathered my belongings, cleaned up my desk, rang my boss and was out the door for the weekend. I did not call my husband, I did not call my parents, I drove the 30 minutes home in silence…My thoughts were loud enough. “Was I ready for this? What is their story? I wonder if they are hungry. Is my house clean? Will the baby be ok without his Momma?” The drive ended and I was greeted at the garage door by my husband. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is everything okay?” Later he told me I looked as if I had been crying. I looked scared and hurt. “Sweetheart, our agency called and said he is bringing a few kiddos for us tonight to keep for a little while. That is all I know, expect the baby is 2. Honey, there is a baby.”

I cannot have children. I cannot birth children. I cannot carry children. I cannot be a mother to a child I carried. Ever. Is there really a nice way to say that? Even after being married for over fifteen years there is not a way to say that without being uncomfortable, or embarrassed, or ashamed. For many years, my husband and I tried every method possible to get pregnant. Nothing worked. Our precious doctor told us he could not keep trying and we should not either. My heart was broken. Then we tried adoption and it was not successful. Then we became foster parents. Licensed parents. The idea of it was exciting. The reality of it was heartbreaking. Taking care of children whose parents need a little TLC to be the parents the children need. Glorified babysitters. That is what we were. Until the moment my eyes locked with 3 beautiful pairs of baby blue eyes.

July 2, 2015. The day I learned what true love was. The day I became a Mom. The day my heart stopped beating for myself but began beating to the sound of the pitter patter of baby feet on my hardwood floors. The day my heart healed.

They were beautiful, scared, filthy, abandoned. But they were now mine. I did not know that then. I thought this was a temporary. I do not do forever. I do not do permanent. I bathed them, fed them, bought them new clothes and night one told them I loved them already. I hugged them close and they let me. The Professor was the oldest at only 7 years old. Heaven was 5 but she was a mother hen. Preacher, oh Preacher, he was 2 and my heart melted for him. He could not talk, but he made it known when he did not like something, and he had the sweetest smile. They called me Mom. Not because I asked them to but because that is what I became to them.

We took the kids to visits with their biological parents each month, had strangers in our home to make sure we were following the rules of glorified babysitting, toted them to doctor appointments, enrolled them in school and invested in their lives. All while they were changing mine. Every. Single. Day. Six months into our new living situation we learned they would not return to their biological parents. These three precious gifts would be broadcast on an adoption website like puppies. I could not fathom it. They were mine. Those babies were mine. We went to court the day of parental right termination. Their biological father signed his rights over to my husband and I. Their biological Mom was oblivious. Her rights were terminated by the court. This was forever. This was permanent.

That night as Heaven sat on the floor of my living room she asked if God had answered her prayers. As I asked her what those prayers were her baby blue eyes glistened with tears. “For you and Daddy to be my forever Mommy and Daddy.” We were honest. We told her we did not know what would happen, but we would keep believing that they would be able to stay.

On March 22, 2017 the Professor, Heaven and Preacher became my forever children. We adopted them. The courts said we were no longer glorified babysitters and I was listed on their birth certificates as their Mommy, my husband their Daddy. This was forever. This was permanent.

“Hey, are you sleeping? I am done. Heeelllooooo?” Damon said. Oh! Damon. As I flew through 5 years in my mind, he had pierced my skin with a permanent reminder of my story. As I stood in front of the mirror I cried. I cried at the beauty of the vibrant colors that jumped off my skin. A triangle intertwined with a heart and a beautifully bloomed sunflower. Each side of purple triangle represents a piece of the story. The adoptive family. The biological family. The children. The intertwined heart is a representation of all the love in the mix of our adoption story. The sunflower represents me. It is me. A reminder that my life is now bright, bountiful and I have been provided the life I prayed every day for. That Mom life. It is forever. It is permanent.