Carol Graham shares an open letter to her estranged son. Read more from Carol on her blog.
You were so tiny. My firstborn. My son. Adopting a baby required an extensive amount of soul searching. There was no doubt. Our prayers were answered when she placed you in my arms. My baby. And yet….you walked away.
When you were six months old, the adoption judge asked if we were committed for life – not a year or twenty years — but for life. And yet…..you walked away.
Taking your first step straight into my arms, you wrapped yours around my neck, so proud of yourself, yet a little scared. And yet….you walked away.
Falling off your bike you came running to Mommy to help ease the pain. And yet….you walked away.
When that mouse ran across the floor and scared me, you caught him and put him outside, protecting me. And yet….you walked away.
Being bullied at school and sharing those woes with me, you needed my comfort and support. And yet….you walked away.
Coming home several hours past curfew, finding me waiting for you, worried and praying for your safety, you apologized. And yet….you walked away.
Finding the girl of your dreams and asking for my blessing on your marriage, I gave it without reservation. And yet….you walked away.
Placing your firstborn son into my arms, with tears rolling down your cheeks, you asked forgiveness for all the times you rebelled or was ungrateful for my love. And yet….you walked away.
Placing your second son into my arms, with joy flooding your heart, you laughed because now I had two little ones to love. And yet….you walked away.
Listening to your concerns and struggles, offering love and advice, you were so appreciative. And yet….you walked away.
Hiring both you and you wife when times were difficult, you repeatedly told us how grateful you were. And yet….you walked away.
Every day when you called me, you ended the conversation with, “Love you, mommy.” Yes, you still called me that. And yet….you walked away.
At our fortieth wedding anniversary party, you shared how much you loved me and appreciated how we welcomed your wife into our lives. And yet….three days later….you walked away and took your family with you.
“Have a nice life,” were the last words you spoke to me on that awful day, three years ago. A part of me died. My heart shattered into pieces.
Four of you vanished from my life, in one fleeting moment. My heart has been pierced with four wounds that only your return can heal.
When you walk by our store, head down, not looking in the window, my heart breaks a little more. Once you glanced up and I waved but you quickly looked away.
I will never give up hope. I will never stop believing that one day you will come back. I see you embracing me in my mind’s eye.
I will not question you. I will always love you. I forgive you.
Please walk back home.