The photos say it all. Book 15 or 14 or whatever it is, completed, edited, polished, packaged. Every time I finish a book, I feel like a tree killer. Piles of paper in the garbage can. Piles of paper on my desk.
Piles and piles and piles.
310 pages of manuscript printed out and read. Edited and reread. Re-printed and read again.
Aside from making sure my book was ready to go, I began packing, completed paperwork that must be hand carried to China, shopped for the stuff Sassy E needs for her performance. Typed up lists for my sisters and mom (who will be staying here).
And realized I am adopting a child.
Really and truly and for sure.
Bringing her home and making her part of us at the same time we allow ourselves to become part of her world, her life, her experiences. All her goods and bads and in betweens, all her challenges and triumps, swirling into what we already have.Our challenges and triumphs, our goods and bads and in betweens. Until there is no longer an us, no longer any her, but simply a family.
There is something beautiful and profound in that. Something beyond words or even thought. Something that wells up and spills out, overflowing into everything I do and think and say.
I finished my book this week, but more than that happened. I realized I was adopting a child. Really and truly and forever.
And it changed me.
Four days.
