A Letter to Rose-- March 6

Dear Rose-

Well, this is it! The last letter I'll write before we meet. I got teared up a little bit writing that.

Next week at this time, you will officially be our daughter. A whole year of paperwork and dreaming is coming to an end. I can hardly believe that we'll walk into the Civil Affairs Office in Nanjing next Monday and Ms. Tang, the orphanage director, will hand you over to us. Even though I have the physical evidence-- the crib, the suitcases packed to bursting in the closet, the to-do list a million miles long on the desk beside me, even the Travel Notice with your picture and our names written side by side, I don't think it's going to feel real until it happens.

It's going to happen!

I don't know what else to say-- my heart is too full. I've been putting off writing this letter, putting off what I knew would be an inevitable flood of emotion, because I feel like I just need to put my head down and grind out these last few days-- the last three runs, the thesis junk, the articles and book reviews, the science project, the grocery shopping, and the packing. If I allow myself to think about, to really, really think about what is going to happen in three days when we get on the plane and in six days when you become ours, it becomes impossible to think about anything else. Even though we've only had adoption on our horizon for a year, and we've only known about you for five months, I think I've spent my entire life preparing for what will happen this week.

I love you so much, Rose. I know I haven't even met you yet, but this process has helped me see that it really is possible to love, with all your heart, someone you don't even know yet. I loved your brothers and sisters before they were born, and I always figured that I felt close to them because they were growing inside me, but I know it's more than that now-- I really do think that I love you because I know you without having met you, because you will always and forever be part of our family.

I guess that's it. I have to get back to packing. But the next time we talk, it will be in person.

Wo ai ni.

Love,

Mommy