No too long ago, Kurt and I were camping with the boys. I realized something that I had never thought about before. It was just the four of us, all cozy in our camper. Our bellies were full from s'mores, and we were about to sleep that good sleep that comes after spending a cool fall day outdoors. In those moments before dropping off to sleep, I realized something kind of cool. The four of us share no DNA. We are genetic strangers. And we are a family. Two boys, that if not for adoption, would never have known each other, are brothers. The boy that I met when we were eight, who became my husband, and I, are their parents. Our sons, who lost their first parents, and had no siblings, now have each other, two big sisters and parents. These two boys completed our family and along with their sisters are as essential to our beings as the air we breathe. Turns out we are a good story. In fact, we are a fantastic story.
So the next time I am asked if my sons are brothers, I will not be irritated. I will not feel sorry that I am not delivering the story that the listener is hoping to hear. I will be happy. I will be supremely happy because I will be able to say, "Yes, my sons are brothers and no, they did not start life as brothers...isn't that SPECTACULAR?"
We made a family where one was missing. If that's not a good story, then I don't know what one is.