Two

With good reason, I could have surmised that it was a ploy to gain a few more minutes of precious play time before beginning his bedtime ritual. Nonetheless, I could not help but be moved by my eldest son's determination to utilize notebook paper and blue painter's tape to wrap "birthday presents" for his two younger brothers. Just hours earlier, as we traveled to Iowa City to celebrate the Feast of Christ's Ascension, an audible sigh reverberated from the back seat where Thomas was strapped in upon my innocent question posed to Russell and Elliot of how old they were going to be. Thomas had followed the sigh with a declaration that seemed more than a wee bit annoyed, "O my goodness. I cannot wait until they turn two." But now blue tape twirled around little packages, tiny scissors snipped in just the right spots, and Thomas posed a question of his own, "Mommy, how do you write I love you?" Granted, this was not a demonstration of generosity on behalf of my son for he admitted that the gifts, a timer and a tape measure, were ones that he did not want anymore. Still it was an act of altruism and one of utmost secrecy. Pulling me over, Thomas confidentially whispered in a my ear, "Shh. I'll tell you what they are. But don't tell Russell and Elliot."

Yes, our two tinies are two. We celebrated their lives on Monday at our home surrounded by a small group composed mostly of family members, as well as one of my oldest friends, who the children affectionately call "Auntie Julie." Grandpa Johnson traveled from Pontiac, Illinois, and Uncle Dan and Aunt Sarah from their new home in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, just to be with us. Thank you! Despite the fact that our local Korean restaurant was closed for Memorial Day, resulting in the replacement of bulgogi and kimchi with Harris pizza, and that white taper candles served as birthday candles in the yellow cakes baked especially for each boy by yours truly, it was a good day in which we each rejoiced in the birth of Russell and Elliot, appreciating all that their presence contributes to our lives.

But on this day, their actual birth day, my mood is more reflective of the chilly, gloomy day outside. I cannot help but feel a profound sadness at my core as my thoughts inevitably turn to the individuals, unknown to us, thousands of miles away. Today I am especially aware of my children's birthparents; the man and woman whose union created my two sons. As a mother of internationally adopted children, it is often painfully difficult to accept that my greatest gifts come as the result of others' greatest losses. And so today I cry for the woman who carried twin boys in her womb for nine months, who labored for hours, experiencing the excruciating physical pains of childbirth until she overcame the struggle and delivered two perfect, healthy boys. I grieve for her who experienced the agony of knowing that at this time in her life, she was unable to parent her sons, and consequently they would be removed from their native land to an anonymous place and adopted by nameless people. I weep for her broken body, for her breasts filled with milk aching to suckle and nourish her little ones, and for her arms empty of her children.

Today, I offer up a prayer for grace and healing in each of our lives, hoping that God will extend His peace to these intimate strangers, Russell's and Elliot's other parents. If you have a moment, please say a prayer for them too. And I want to thank this beautiful, courageous, selfless woman for the sacrifice she made. Happy Birthday to you, Russell Matthew Jin-pyo and Elliot Andrew Jin-seo. Know that you are my heart and that I love you. We all do.