One year ago today, your father and I began a journey to change our lives. A real, physical journey, rushing suddenly to put the house in order and pack ourselves into a car for a 4 hour drive up to Fargo, North Dakota, where Cyndel's birth mother had been admitted for labor. We didn't know if we would arrive before our child was born. We didn't know if our child was a boy or a girl. We didn't even know if we would for certainly be allowed the gift of calling that child ours.
It was the kind of October that looked forward, with a chill wind and the illusion of snowflakes in the air. Sometimes we sat in awed silence - at other times, our rapidly spinning minds churned out long babbling brooks in the other's direction. Unlike the previous trips, where arrival and departure sat alongside each other in our plans, now we couldn't see beyond the one way. The destination was not back home. The destination was forward. Through the early October into a future that did not exist beyond each second we lived it.
Out Here in the Rain
- To my daughter on the 365th day