I could never have planned my life to look like this—simply because I couldn’t have imagined it, even in my wildest dreams. You don’t just get two precious babies born 87 days apart, and yet here we are. Today, I find myself in awe, simultaneously honoring the generational trauma that separated my children from their families and giving thanks for the miracles that allowed my family—my whole world—to exist.
My journey into foster care and adoption began with my incredibly compassionate parents. Their hearts were enormous. It started through their work with Doctors Without Borders, welcoming a child and his mother into their home while he received medical care. Soon after, they took the steps to become licensed foster parents.
I was on a college break at the time and had the opportunity to help—preparing rooms, shopping for clothing, listening to their discussions from classes, and witnessing the emotional weight of fostering, including the agreement they would not be adopting. When a tiny, 4-day-old baby girl arrived, my parents supported visits and attended court hearings, navigating the path toward potential permanency. Two years later, my little sister was freed for adoption, and we joyfully celebrated her legal arrival into our family.
My parents continued fostering other children while living in Connecticut before moving to Arizona. They had planned to recertify together, but my father’s sudden passing changed everything. My mother went through the process alone, and in November 2018, another little girl became a permanent part of our family. Witnessing my parents’ devotion—and seeing other friends actively involved in the foster and adoptive community—inspired me to become a licensed foster parent myself, as a single woman.
Fostering is always a team effort, with the goal of reunifying children with their parents whenever possible. I entered the system with that intention, though I knew from my family’s experience that reunification isn’t always feasible. During my intake, I was asked if I would adopt a child whose parents’ rights were terminated while in my care. There was much to consider, but my answer was a firm, “Yes.” Every child in foster care experiences trauma, and moving them to yet another home would only add confusion, heartache, and challenges in forming healthy attachments.
In March 2019, I met two social workers in a gas station parking lot to pick up a teeny, 2-week-old baby, now known as Rad. The first three months were a whirlwind. I was learning how to be a mom, navigating every emotion imaginable. A complete stranger depended on me for every little thing. I fell in love with tiny toes, baby coos, and that indescribable bond that grows overnight. Yet I also knew he already had a mother—the woman who gave him his dark hair and eyes, who had carried him in utero. I wrote him a letter after one week:
“You are more than everything I ever imagined my first child to be. Even at three weeks old, you are patient with me as I learn this mama thing. I am amazed by your sweet temperament and resilience… I adore your big brown eyes, your loud little eating, even your soft baby snores. You have spoiled me, and I will spoil you as long as I can.”
During those first months, two other baby girls stayed in our home—one at four days old and another at eight months. Saying goodbye to the last little girl at the park left me unexpectedly heartbroken. I was genuinely happy she would live with her big sister and grandmother, yet I couldn’t stop crying. In that moment, I realized: “If he leaves me, I will be wrecked.” That dual reality—supporting reunification while falling deeply in love—reflects the complex emotions every foster parent faces.
Rad’s first year was filled with intense moments: doctor’s appointments, visits with his parents, sleepless nights before court hearings, and holding my breath during legal decisions. But through it all, our bond grew. I came to understand and love his parents in a small, profound way, appreciating the love they had for him. And there was joy, too—like the day we went to the zoo. Looking back at photos, I realized I was truly present, genuinely happy, completely found in the moment. Motherhood, I discovered, is one of life’s greatest gifts.
I wrote about those early months:
“I’ve learned more about my heart, strength, and creativity in the past four months than I could have imagined! I’m excited for the future, but I’m not rushing—I want to stay in the here and now, soaking in these days with gratitude.”
A few weeks later, I was contacted about little Rocky, a baby surrendered at the hospital and in foster care. His case appeared likely to move toward adoption, as his foster family was not interested in adopting. Weeks passed slowly—the foster system is complex, with waiting periods, approvals, and paperwork. Finally, at nearly two months old, Rocky came home. Unlike my experience with Rad, I had no connection to his parents, no prior visits, and no expectation of him leaving. Our bond formed through healing from trauma. Rocky struggled to be held at first, so every feeding and cuddle required patience, persistence, and prayer. Over time, through eye contact, cuddles, books, and songs, we built trust. By his adoption day—382 days later—he was unmistakably a mama’s boy. I wrote:
“I’ve spent my life wondering what this moment would feel like. Becoming your forever mom is the greatest blessing. Every twist, every sleepless night, every challenge led us here. Happy Adoption Day, Rocky!”
For over a year, I raised two brothers in limbo, and finally, Rad’s adoption day arrived, 575 days after we first met. I wrote:
“Happy Adoption Day, Rad! You are more than worth every sleepless night, phone call, court hearing, and twist in the road. ‘Meant to be’ doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel. God’s plan for us is only just beginning.”
Though I once imagined the courthouse as the setting for adoption celebrations, the pandemic changed that. Instead, both adoptions were finalized at our kitchen table—the same place we share meals, do homework, carve pumpkins, and decorate cookies. It’s the perfect place for our family to grow together.
So here we are: two baby boys, born 87 days apart, arrived in my life within four months of becoming a licensed foster parent and became my forever family within two years. There are countless details I haven’t shared—some private, some still unfolding—but the miraculous design of our lives is undeniable. None of my children’s four biological parents are local to Arizona, yet here we are.
Rad and Rocky have become best friends for life. Watching them play, laugh, and imitate each other fills my heart. Rocky’s adoration for Rad, Rad’s infectious laughter with his brother—it’s a bond I never take for granted.
To my children: I promise to keep you safe, be your advocate, and love you every second. I prayed for you before I even knew you existed, and I will continue to do so. The world needs your light, your joy, and your brilliance. And I am endlessly blessed to watch you grow into exactly who you are meant to be.
