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Thursday, January 16, 2014


The final home study visit is coming up, and then the great day, soon:  the formal adoption of Thistle, who will then be given CG's and my last names, hyphenated, and also her birth name as a second middle name, and a new birth certificate. We are trying to honor her birth parents as well as the fact that CG has offered to co-adopt and co-parent her.  The juvenile court judge's mother makes a patchwork quilt for each child when they are adopted.  All her social workers, her therapist, and a few select people will be invited.  I hope I don't cry too much during the ceremony, but I think that will be okay:  what a long, long journey.

 I have done what I hope is a gift of love for CG, who is the most unselfish person I have ever known.  He has given generously of his home, his time, money, and effort to help me, and has committed to care for Thistle as her father, mostly because he loves this little girl, and also because it takes a weight off my shoulders as to who will take her if something happens to me.

Long ago, I got pregnant with CG's baby.  I was 46 years old, maybe a bit late to get pregnant, but there you have it.  CG was an angel at that time:  he brought home boxes of peppermint and ginger tea for my considerable morning sickness, rubbed my tummy all the time and said hello to the baby, and treated me like royalty.  I had the wonderful experience of bellydancing pregnant, which was a sensual delight.  Everyone was so happy for us.  Even the rosebush in the backyard produced a little miracle for us:  red roses began to bloom from the same stem as the yellow ones.

And then I lost the baby.  I was a little over eight weeks pregnant.  I miscarried at home. To this day, CG will not talk about the loss; it is a deep scar for him and for me. 

I do feel that Spirit gives us the gifts we are supposed to have if we keep a clear path: and clearly, we were meant to raise a child together. I am at peace with this decision. No matter what happens in our lives, CG and I are united in the care of this precious little girl.

We hope and pray for her birth parents, who are trying to do the right things.  I have faith in them.  I do not dare to lose it, because I simply can't.

I will close with a dream I had when I first got Thistle, at the time a delicate, frightened little toddler who slept in my arms every night for a long time. I dreamed that the meadow behind this house had become a beautiful blue lake.  I took a boat from this house to another one on the opposite shore, a rambling white house with many stories.  In that house were random people; the only one I remember was a Scottish mystery writer, and I still cannot figure out who this was (I am half Scottish and half Italian, so it probably has something to do with me).  At some point, the mystery writer and I were standing in front of a "broken chapel" which was a white stone structure falling apart here and there.  Inside it, we could see the most glorious structure, a chapel made entirely of stained glass which glowed with the holiest of lights; the colors shone out of the chinks in the stone overlay.  It was stunning and deeply emotional; I sensed that all the stones would eventually fall and the stained glass chapel, in time, would be revealed.

Then I was back in the same rambling white house as before; I climbed the stairs, up and up, past rooms and flats where people were living.  My own living space was at the top of the house.  When I entered my room (a pure white room filled with light from tall windows), I saw Thistle asleep on my bed, tucked into an exquisite golden comforter with many folds, cradling her as she rested peacefully.  She looked like a child asleep in the center of a golden rose, safe and warm.  I sensed in the dream that everything would be okay and that she would not have to go away from me.

And so it is.