As we push forward on our adoption journey, I continuously battle the thought that our adopted child will in some way be replacing Adelaide. Rationally, I know this isn’t true. No one could ever replace Adelaide. Furthermore, I never questioned that Adelaide was replacing Elvis. However, if Adelaide were still alive - would we be looking to adopt? I’m not sure. If Adelaide were alive AND healthy would we? Probably not. And that’s where I get hung up. 

In speaking with a friend she suggested that I rephrase the thought: instead of replacing, we are adding: adding to our family. I will be a mother of four - two children physically with us and two that are not. Just as we tell our children that we don’t love one more than the other - that there is always enough love to go around - the same goes for our loved ones that are no longer with us. I would never think that bringing a new child into our family would mean that I love Jackson any less, so it doesn’t make sense that a new family member would make me love Adelaide any less.

The difference is, of course, that I can spend time with Jackson and show him how much I love him. But without Adelaide physically with me it is more difficult to manifest the love I still feel for her. In movies, before someone dies, they often tell their loved ones that they will always be with them. In theory, this is sweet, but in reality - what does that even mean?! Our loved ones who have passed on, aren’t with us - physically anyway - and that is what we miss the most: their hugs, shared meals, laughs or informed advice. We no longer have these opportunities to share and receive love with them and our memories, pale in comparison to the real thing. All my love for Adelaide gets trapped inside with fewer opportunities for release. Which, as author Jamie Anderson said so perfectly, “Grief is just love with no place to go.”

And, again, I am back where I started. 

Then, last week when several people asked about updates on the adoption, I had a revelation. Adoption is a long and emotional process to be sure. It requires abandoning control of a situation, being patient and wishing for the best. We check the boxes and sign at the X, but so much is out of our hands. Hey epilepsy families - sound familiar? Yeah, I thought it might.

In many ways caring for Adelaide prepared me for this adoption process. Now, in no way am I saying that Adelaide suffered so that we could adopt a child - that’s ridiculous. But those lived experiences are a part of me. They are a part of my past memories and as a result shape the way I respond to life in the present.

For example, should our new child have any health or developmental issues I know that we will take them in stride, do our best to treat them, but recognize that stressing over them unnecessarily is a waste of valuable energy. 

We make better what we can and let go of what we can’t. 

We celebrate the present because the future is not guaranteed. 

We live life an inchstone at a time.

These are Adelaide’s lessons and in that way she is always with me. She is with our family, never replaced, always loved, remembered and honored.

Adelaide’s memory will help me parent any child that comes into our home with understanding and patience. She is with me because she has chiseled changes into the very core of my being. I am not the same person I was before giving birth to her and never will be. In that way I do carry her with me - in every reaction, perception and decision made Adelaide is there - shaping not just my present but my future as well. I am a better person and parent because I cared for Adelaide and in that way Adelaide will be the best big sister any child of ours could ever have. They will never meet her in the flesh but she will have influence over their lives through Miguel and I and, honestly, I can’t think of anything more beautiful.