Dear Sweet Boy,

I wish I could title this letter directly to you. But I can’t. Because we both live in a home where names are dangerous when they get into the hands of the wrong person. Since you’re a minor in the foster care system, it’s our job to protect you. And to protect your already fragile heart, I’ll probably never get to show you this letter at all.

I wish the “parents” who had an opportunity to love you before you came to us had known how beautiful and truly good you are. But I am also thrilled that we get a chance to love you, too. I wish you knew how much you deserve to be loved unconditionally. But I know that you don’t. I see it in the way your eyes scan the floor when other kids talk about their mom or dad. Your head is like a barometer, showing the fullness or emptiness of your heart. It sinks down into your chest when you think no one cares. But I care. I’ll always care. And I live for lifting that head of yours back up again in whatever little ways I can.

Your life thus far hasn’t been easy. Your first home neglected you. Your next home rejected you. And now you’re here with us in foster care for a second time. Confused. Hurting. Desperate. I hope you know that the way I look at you isn’t in any way a look of pity. Sorrow and love and shared heartbreak, yes. But definitely not pity. And no, I was not mad when you told the stylist at the salon that I was your Mom.

“Hey Mom,” said the stylist as he leaned over into my booth. “He says you know what haircut he wants.”

“Yeah, remember that picture?” you chimed in. You had a look of mixed emotions on your face. I can only guess at what was going through your mind. Fear that I would correct the stylist that you were, in fact, not my son? Panic that I would be angry that you called me your Mom?

Some of my suspicions were confirmed when we climbed into the van later and you began to justify why you said it. “I just didn’t know what else to call you..So I told him you were my mom…I didn’t know what to do…”. I could sense the panic in your voice as you clammored to apologize for something that needed no apology. As I told you in the van, I am absolutely honored that you would call me Mom. What you don’t know, and what I couldn’t tell you, is that I cried later that day harder than I have in a long time. Because I am on my own desperate and painful journey looking for my family, too. I, too, want so badly to belong and to be loved and to have what everyone around me seems to have that I don’t. And when you called me Mom, I was able to forget all of that for a little while. My heart was full. The hardest part of this job is knowing that there will eventually be a “goodbye”. But today, because of you, I remembered that just because I don’t get to keep you forever doesn’t mean I am missing out on the best parts of being your “Mom”.

So you call me Mom whenever you want to, my love. As long as you understand that a person can have lots and lots of Moms. Even if someday you find someone you call Mom for the rest of your life, I will still be there with you. Cheering you on. And so so happy that you’ve found the Mom you get to keep forever.

I want you to know that those moments we spend baking in the kitchen together, and the memories we have of listening to borderline inappropriate music and singing and laughing and messing up lyrics while we have a cinnamon roll baking contest, both of us covered head to toe in flour….those memories will be cherished until the day I die. As memories of me and one of my precious children. And I will continue to remind you that a person can have lots of moms, just as a person can have lots of kids in lots of different ways. I have lots of moms, too. And I absolutely LOVE being yours. Even if I have to share.

Love you to the moon and beyond,

❤ Mom