Twenty-nine years ago today I became a mother when my son
flew home from Korea. He was 9 months
old, jet lagged with ear infections and trying to communicate his needs in a
language I didn't understand.
My first days as a mother were filled with tenderness,
compassion, and fear. Here I was trusted
with the most precious gift of all, yet we were strangers but the day before. No owner’s manual arrived with him, not even
a bottle of formula or dry diaper. We navigated
this new world together hour by hour, feeling our way along. Small steps, like the first time he smiled
when he recognized my face or when I figured out he wanted to be carried in a
sling on my back as he had in Korea and he snuggled in immediately. We
learned from each other.
This crisp fall day is an exact replica of the day he
arrived right down to the few leaves still clinging to the trees in the
sunshine. I cuddled him close and we
took a walk around the neighborhood, the smell of the turkey and pumpkin pies
drifting out of kitchen windows.
The memories wash over me. Once again I am a new mother
who, although a little unsure of herself, is very sure her heart is bursting
open with gratitude and love.
