"Gramma, wake up.  Are you awake?  Open your eyes!  I know you're awake."

"Sarah, it's too early.   Crawl in here with me."

"No, Gramma.  Get up.  Today's my dance recital!"

"Not until this afternoon."

Sarah's entire four-year-old self was a bundle of quivering energy.

"Gramma, where are my dancing shoes?  Mrs. Thompson said Don't forget your dancing shoes. I'm gettin' my dancing shoes right now."

“Look, Gramma, it’s snowing! Is today, Christmas?

I glanced out the window.  Indeed the snow was falling, its reflection in the corner  lamps and the Christmas lights that lined the street looked like a Christmas postcard.  Suddenly, I was no longer tired, but filled with the Christmas spirit.

I crawled out of bed. “No, Sarah, today is not Christmas.  It is just your Christmas dance recital.  Santa still has ten days left to get everything in order.”

That's how our day began, and later I sat in an auditorium filled with parents.  My heart swelled with pride as I watched Sarah line up with her classmates.  She kept her eyes on Molly and followed every instruction.  Tonight's dance recital was a milestone in both of our lives.  I smiled as I thought of the day I met Sarah, a year and a half ago.  She was not quite three years old, a waif, no sparkle, no excitement, and a need to cling.    

Although a certified foster parent, I had stopped accepting children years ago.  Children deserve someone with a life to share, and I had difficulty facing the mornings much less facing the demands of children.   I was sixty-seven years old, and my last foster child had left for greener pastures some ten years ago. 

Oh, foster parenting had been a good run for my husband, Ben, and me.  We both loved the challenge that every child presented and the pleasure of watching the children learn to love and trust.  To be honest, we also loved the little extra income fostering provided, but it was the children themselves who so improved our lives.  Ben and I were childless despite years of trying all the known medical miracles of the day to become parents and our marriage was becoming less like a marriage and more like a science experiment.

Ben finally had enough.

“Lily, let’s stop fighting reality.  We cannot have biological children.  We could adopt. What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Ben.  I just don’t feel like adoption is the way I want to go. I want a child of my own.”

“Well, we both know that is not in the cards.”

“No, we don’t know that!  I am only thirty-five.  We could still have a child.”

“Okay. Let’s take a break from counting ovulation days, taking temperature, and checking the calendar every day.  Let’s just become normal again.”

“But, Ben, I want children in my life!”

Exasperated, Ben replied, “How about signing up as foster parents?”

I felt immediately drawn to the words. “Yes, let’s check it out!”  I was excited and on-board with the idea.  We called the local CPS office for an appointment and three days later, we sat in our first parenting class.  For twenty-plus years, we watched children come into our home in need of love and direction and watched them leave happier and more settled.  Some of the kids were there for years, some for months and some for only a few days.  Of course, there were failures, there were kids to whom I never knew what happened and kids I cried for when they left.  But no matter the circumstances, our focus was on each child and, to this day, I still get 'hellos' from some of those children.  

Then one awful October day, Ben didn’t wake up – just didn’t wake up!  He was only sixty and he died from heart failure.   The light in my life went out.  I dropped out of the foster system.  Indeed, I dropped out of life.  Most of my days consisted of eating, drinking, and staring.  I could still put on the ‘good face’ when I had to, but I avoided it when I could.

That was my mood when Rita from CPS called to see if she could come for a short visit. 

“Sure.”   I agreed only because I didn’t immediately think of a good ‘out’.  I was indulging myself in my annual October Pity Party, but that’s not something you share with others.  I put on my happy face.  “Of course, Rita, love to see you.”

“I am bringing someone with me if you don’t mind.  See you in about an hour.”

She hung up before I could say another word.

In an hour and ten minutes, there was a knock on my door.

“Hey, Rita.”  I said as I looked down to see this tiny little girl standing beside her.  Well, not exactly standing, more like ‘wrapped around Rita’s legs’.

“Rita, why…….”

Rita interrupted. “I need you, Lily.  I know you, and this child needs you.”

“That’s not fair, Rita.  You know I’m not in the system anymore and….”

Again, Rita spoke.  “I found her and she’s so alone.”

I glanced again at the child who seemed to have more tightly glued herself to Rita.  No tears, no nothing, but palpable fear.

"You found her! Where?"

"Scrounging in the garbage behind a motel on Market Street. Can you believe a baby this age – what do you think – three, maybe, and someone left her in an alley.   It’s almost Christmas, Lily, and our office closed early today and it’s after seven now. I don’t have anyone available to call at this hour.  Can you take her for now? I promise I'll have her out of here by week's end."

"Okay, Rita, but one week only.  I'm not getting back into the foster system.  It's heart wrenching and my heart's tired."

"Thanks.” 

Together Rita and I peeled Sarah from Rita’s legs. I picked her up and she weighed so little that I instinctively squeezed her a bit as I turned toward a rocking chair. 

“Sit down and visit a while, Rita.”  

Although I said it in my most convincing voice, in my heart, I wished she would go.   Sarah needed some attention.  As if Rita heard my thoughts, she quickly made some excuse about having to be somewhere and she left.

Sarah was now clinging to me.  She was all eyes. Her hair needed a shampoo, her clothes were dirty, and she wore no shoes.  I could feel my heart start to melt just a little as I thought of the many times Ben and I had begun a journey with a child in need.

"Hi. My name's Gramma.  What's yours?"

Sarah stared at me, then buried her face in my shoulder as if her life depended upon it.  And maybe it did and maybe mine did too.

Thus, our journey together began on that chilly October night.

Police identified Sarah's mother, but didn't find her, no evidence of a father.  Sarah was severely underweight and had amblyopia, commonly called 'lazy eye'.  She looked so tiny when the optometrist fitted her glasses. She was intelligent, precocious even.  Her vocabulary ballooned, and once hearing a book read, she would 'read' it aloud to me. Her glasses opened a new world for her.  

We had our first Christmas together, she and I just emptied stockings and opened a few gifts.   It was sort of a non-event.  Oh, I read to Sarah, I talked about the real meaning of Christmas and the birth of love in our world. I even took Sarah to see Santa, but that did not go well.  She clung to me as if her life depended on it and I accepted the peppermint stick in her behalf.   She had no interest in the mall decorations or the trains or elves.  She wanted only the safety of home. 

 The winter turned to Spring and then into Summer.  Sarah blossomed in private as part of our duo, but, in public, she continued to cling to me and retreated to some place inside herself. 

It was a fortuitous day in August when Molly Thompson fell onto our bench at the playground.  She was completing her morning run.

"Geez, it's hot this morning.  Mind if I sit here a minute?  What a cute little girl you have there.  Granddaughter?"

"This is Sarah."

"Well, good morning, Sarah.  Why aren't you on the playground?  It's such a pretty day."

Sarah buried her face in my shoulder while Molly and I talked.  She mentioned the time of her daily run, and I made sure Sarah and I were at the playground every day, sitting on the same bench. It became a morning ritual for Molly to finish her run with a few minutes of chatting with us.  

Molly had a way with kids.  She talked to Sarah as if Sarah conversed.  Yet, she didn't push her.

"Well, Sarah, what have you been up to?  I like your dog."  She referred to a stuffed, flop-eared toy Sarah had received for Christmas and now carried at all times.  "What's its name?"

Sarah just looked at her, a major improvement from burying her face in my shoulder.

"Did you say you call him Billy Flop-Ear?  Well, that's what I'll call him from now on."  

She'd laugh and be on her way. Soon Sarah began to return Molly's smiles, but not her conversation; apparently, she did listen.

"Gramma, can I take dance lessons?"

"Dance lessons?  Where?"

"Ask Molly."

"Mrs. Thompson to you, miss.  Why should I ask her?"

"She told you, Gramma. She has a dance school."

It was October again and the dance class was beginning their work on a Christmas project. Sarah was signed up in the four-year-old group and took to the routine like a duck to water, as they say.  There was practice three days a week at the studio and on all other days, Sarah performed repeatedly for me.

I noticed the annual October Pity Party did not show up this year.  I didn’t have time for such things.  Sarah and I were too deep in enjoying our lives together.   I had talked to Rita about my chances of adopting Sarah and making her my legal daughter.  There were hurdles and challenges to overcome, but we met every obstacle head on.

Yesterday, while Sarah was participating in dress rehearsal for the Christmas Recital, I received a call from her guardian ad litem: I was approved to be Sarah’s adoptive parent. Christmas came early, but I had not shared the news with anyone yet. It felt like something that should be shared first among me, Sarah and Ben.

As the music began, my attention returned to the present. I was so proud of Sarah.  She listened, she followed instructions, she twirled and her face radiated happiness.  As the dance ended, Sarah closed her eyes, and threw her arm in the air, lost in a moment of childhood fantasy.  

As we left the studio, Sarah walked proudly beside me, holding my hand.  "Gramma, do you think Santa Claus will bring me any presents this year?

"I don't know, Baby.  What do you think?"

"I think we need to go see him and talk!  I have a lot of things to ask.   What do you want, Gramma?"

"I want a little girl just like you to be my own 'forever' child.   What would you think about that?"

"What do you mean, 'forever'?   Do you mean I might have to leave you?"  Tears were welling up in her eyes.

By now we were settled in the car and I reached to give her a hug. "No baby.  You will never have to leave our house.  It is mine and yours now.  But we must make it official."

"How do we do that?"

"We are going to an adoption ceremony, with a judge and a lot of people watching.   When it is over, I will have my Christmas present - you will be my 'forever' little girl."

A big smile crossed her face.  "Know what, Gramma?  I want to go see Santa right now."

"Why?"

"I need to tell him what my bestest Christmas present would be."

"What would that be?"

"A 'forever' mom!"   And she giggled as I strapped her into her carseat.  She laughed so much that I, too, was soon laughing out loud. 

"Maybe it was my imagination, but I think I heard Ben’s voice: “I love you.  Merry Christmas.”  

I was reminded in that instant. Christmas always represents the birth of love and our 'forever' family love will continue to grow.  And every Christmas, we will remember this Christmas as the birth of our 'forever' family.