I didn’t mean to see her so big.
Went looking for an address so i could send a letter that was for our eyes only
and, like a dream, I found her instead.
I wanted to make sure she’d heard me….to walk all the way to the edge
and lean over the side to make certain that she’d received my heart unedited.
But there she is and I cannot look away.
It’s like discovering this incredible Christmas present in the closet when I go looking for the lights.
I know it hasn’t been offered yet, but my eyes can’t keep from dancing:)
I scroll through more images, like I’m hearing her echo under years of rubble.
and my heart thumps wild hope as I dig.
The rest of the world goes quiet as I unwrap gifts – a local talkshow interview
and then another, and I’m hearing at last the music of her voice.
The moving water of my children all together laughing is my favorite sound;
now hers is flowing across my ears and I throw back my head and join every glad noise
in the universe, belting out thanks for the wild beauty of this thing.
There is a timbre that siblings share, like the voice of rippling waters.
The river just got wider and my heart stretches with the sound.
I watch her mannerisms, mesmerized, matching every nod and tilt and gesture,
all so famliar – I know this rhythm.
I need to grab somebody’s arm and say, “look!” – to share the wow of this discovery
but my feet are planted where they stand,
wilding over the beauty – her intelligence and humor and heart..
What she’s building in this world is just so cool and I’m grooving to her words,
powerful and clear, even as she explains, “I’m adopted,”
and I take in the way a shadow passes over the light in her eyes when she says it,
the way mine do when I’m feeling hard or pain
and my hand floats unthinking to the face on screen. Am I seeing anger?
Is that grief? Shame? Or do I only imagine – just my fear on the screen.
Oh baby girl.
“Please talk to me,” I ache.
Do I even dare?
I’m standing in front of her profile picture
and the long road I’ve traveled seems to end right here.
I squeeze my eyes to hush the “don’t you even.”
My fingers flutter above the friend request key.
No. Stop. Too much. Is it? It’s an invitation, right? Or is it barging in.
Will she welcome this discovery or feel it intrusive?
I don’t know.
I don’t know so hard it hurts.
Instead, I keep my hand over my heart
and let my eyes wander through her posts and pictures and perspectives,
savoring each one as I go, like picking up feathers and leaves in the park.
I’d choose to hang out with this woman.
Like all of my kids, this is someone I enjoy.
I can’t dig any deeper and not say something…..it feels stalker-ish.
And disingenuous. I need to brave up and tell her.
I hit the message box on her profile and the daunting blank canvas pops up on my screen.
What do I even say?
I want Amanda to know that I found her and I’m here,
– just a few pecks of the keys away – want to connect?
And if she doesn’t want, or doesn’t want now, I promise not to push.
If I don’t hear back, I won’t withdraw my love. I’m in either way.
I tug the message into words and my finger stalls on “send,”
my heart a jumble of joy and yes and please and oh shit.
I can’t do this. Yes you can. Go. Just go – I mash the button quick to send.
When at last I get around to checking addresses that night, I’m spent,
so it doesn’t bowl me over right away the several years she spent living in my city,
leaving just before we arrived.
Tomorrow I’ll go see, I sigh as I finally nod off, drained by the electricity of the day.
Like a kid after too much Christmas.
A few hours later, I pop up with a start – Instagram! I totally forgot to check….
I trot down the hall to my computer and there she is again -too beautiful for words.
I linger for a while, so punch drunk in love that I can hardly send my silly self back to bed.
One more quick check – facebook, did she answer back?
Not yet. Okay. It’s okay. She’s on the west coast right now – time difference and all that.
I sit for a minute and hold the sheer awesomeness of even knowing this now,
my soul twirling grateful in the moonlight.
I’m guessing tomorrow, then. When she’s had time to digest.
And as sleep sweeps me up at last, I’m smiling still.
I’m seven weeks into this Summer series and I love that you’re here.
Thanks for hearing and holding the pain of my story with such balmy care;
If it doesn’t shine through the ripples yet, I’ll write it more clear around the bend,
the peace that’s holding me and the squeeze of Love’s hand.