Our First Hello

September 8th, 2010 was a Wednesday. I had just started working as a part time teacher in the Marysville School District, about forty miles north of Seattle. School had only been in session for four days and so I was still just getting to know my students.

We had known of you since that March, and it had taken six months of preparing for your arrival, filling out and mailing paperwork, getting your room ready, baby proofing the house, buying all the things we thought a baby needs, deciding if we would change your name or not (we kept your first name because you already knew it was yours), getting interviewed by social workers, dealing with social services from California and Washington etc. And finally, we got the call.

On this day I started by letting my students know that as soon as school was over I would be driving 49 miles south to SeaTac to pick up a little boy that my wife and I would be adopting. That is so cool, they said, and one of the girls was particularly excited because she herself was adopted. I still think of her. She was the first non family person that cheered for you.

I was nervous that day for several reasons. One reason was that all of the work we had done up to that point had not seemed real, at least to me, but that by the end of the day it would be. A real, whole human being would be entrusted to us. We learned about you when you were three months old. You were a day short of nine months when you finally arrived. Those six months were very long. You were already ours in our minds and our hearts. We already worried about you. Were you warm? Was someone consoling you when you didn’t feel well? At this point we only had a vague idea of all the things you had suffered. We couldn’t wait to love you.

So I went through my workday and I messaged your mom almost every hour to make sure we were on the same page, what time I would leave the building, what materials, papers, and ID’s we needed to make sure we had with us. We joked that it was funny that the social worker that would fly with you had the same name as your mom. She messaged me each time she got an update from that social worker.

I calculated the drive time over and over, estimating that we would get to the airport at the same time as your plane landed, and figured that would be fine since it often takes time for the plane to deboard and go through baggage claim, etc.

That was a long day. I walked through the halls as if on a cloud, nervously excited. I wanted to tell everyone that my world was about to change. I think it manifested as a perpetual smile on my face but I can’t be sure.

Finally the time came to leave work. I drove home very intently, looking at the dashboard clock as much as the road (don’t ever do that). I picked up your mom, and again asked Katherine if she wanted to join us or stay home. She chose to stay home. We immediately headed for the freeway. Traffic was fair. It should have been since we were driving south and usually the afternoon rush heads north. We drove past Lynnwood, Edmonds, hardly noticing much other than the time. Your mom was nervous but excited enough that she could not sit still in the passenger seat. The Seattle skyline, lovely as ever, grew and expanded, and the Space Needle shone. We drove past Seattle and on towards Mt. Rainier. We drove past Boeing. 

When we arrived at SeaTac I dropped off your mom at the arrivals entrance and I drove around so that I could park the car. It took me at least ten minutes to find a spot and when I got out of the car I realized I needed to use the restroom badly, normal for any teacher. I had been in such a hurry to leave work that I hadn’t noticed.

So I walked across one of the sky bridges to get into the airport terminal and headed for one of the restrooms. I washed my hands and exited near the correct gate. I hoped your mom had found you and the social worker with no fuss.

When I rounded a corner I saw her. There she was, my wife, sitting at a bench with a small human in her arms. She was looking down into his face with the pure love all parents know. 

Katherine was twelve years old at this point. When your mom and I got together she tried to be Katherine’s mom, but that did not work out too well. Also, by then your mom had been told by several doctors that due to health issues she likely would never be able to have children of her own. I am not a woman. I will never even pretend to understand what that hurt feels like, not being able to have children. But even if I could not empathize, I certainly could sympathize. And I could definitely understand why she looked at you the way she did the first time I saw her with you.

As I approached she noticed me and turned you so I could see you better, happy tears and the biggest smile I’d ever seen on her. There you were. And you were beautiful. You have always been beautiful. As I walked towards you two I felt sorrow. I didn’t yet know all the hurt you had gone through in your nine months of life, but I knew some. And it was enough to make me sad for you, little human, who couldn’t quite understand that your life was changing, we hoped for the better. It made me sad that you had had so much pain and hunger and cold and loneliness so young. And though we intended to give you as much as we could to try to make up for all you did not have, it would not be able to negate your past. But we would try our damndest.

You are not my biological son, Aidan, but I knew in that moment that you were my son and that I was your father. I knew it the way I know my heartbeat. That feeling has never changed.

And when I got to you and your mom, you looked up at me, and you smiled. You smiled and stretched out your arms and reached for me. Our first hello.

9.8.22 – 2.15.26