This Is What I Remember

This is what I remember:

It was hot that day, almost 90 degrees, despite being the middle of October. We drove up the freeway in bright sunshine, full of nervous excitement, not able to stop thinking about the empty car seat behind us.

This is what I remember:

When I first saw you, this enormous bubble of emotion pushed up through me and until I was crying and smiling all at the same time. I could write for a year and not be able to describe all that I was thinking in that moment. All the people who were there that day--your parents and their parents, the friends, your daddy and me--we all stood around crying and smiling at each other. We were so very glad you were here.

This is what I remember:

Your hair was yellow-blond and your hands still wrinkled like an old man's. There was a mark on the tip top of your head from a heart monitor. But the first time I held you none of that showed, because you were bundled up so much that only your face peeked through. You slowly opened your blue eyes and looked into mine. I thought I'd never want to look away.

This is what I remember:

The next several days were emotionally gut-wrenching, as three families fumbled through the transition of adoption. But today as we celebrated another year of your life well-lived, I only remembered the joy of meeting you.

Happy third birthday, Puppy.