Within our semi-open adoptions, we have an agreement to send an annual letter. It’s a kind of summary, accompanied by photos, of what our year has been like, or more specifically, the children’s year. In these letters, I share how they are doing, what they’ve experienced, and how much they’ve grown.
It may sound simple or straightforward, but in my case, behind each letter there is so much more than an annual update.
For me, the process is not just grabbing a piece of paper, writing, and dropping it in the mail.
The first thing I do is choose the photos. I’m not looking for perfect pictures or Instagram moments. I focus on finding harmony, everyday life, well-being, genuine happiness—not posed. I feel that photos are a way of communicating what we’re living without too many words: they show who my children are today, how they live, how they feel. They are a small window into their world.
Once I have the photos, I begin looking for a blank greeting card. I always choose one that’s blank and simple, though I pay close attention to the cover. I try to make sure there are no words on it, so the focus stays on what I’m going to share about the children.
And then, with the photos ready, the greeting card open, and a pen in my hand, I begin to write. Always by hand. With the clear intention of making it feel more personal, more intimate, and giving these letters the importance they deserve.
Sometimes the kids are with me while I’m writing. They see the photos, ask what I’m doing, and I explain it to them. Sometimes I even invite them to write something themselves.
But there is always one common question:
What do I tell them? Where do I begin?
A year of life cannot be easily summarized. So much happens, school, sports, new achievements, emotions, small and big changes.
These letters are small life stories. They are not reports, and certainly not justifications. And even so, I can’t help but feel a little strange choosing what to share. After all, they are their children too.
I try to focus on the purpose of these letters: to offer reassurance and affirmation. To know that their children are doing well, that they are loved and cared for. Something like reassurance, a way of finding or holding onto peace in a deeply complex decision.
As I write, I always wonder how they are doing. What moment of their lives they will be in when they read these letters. Whether my children will someday read them too. I almost always have more questions than answers, but still, I find inspiration and feel deeply proud as I tell them how wonderful our children are.
These letters are not just an agreement within our adoption process. They are not meant to explain a decision or summarize an entire life. For me, they are a way of creating presence. Of saying, with care and respect, that our children are well, that they are loved, and that their story continues to be honored.
And I also like to think that one day my children will read these letters. That they will feel the respect and love I have always held for their birthmothers. And that their birthmothers, in turn, have been able to glimpse the children’s lives—without guessing, without doubt.
It is for them, for my children, and for us, that I give these letters the importance they deserve—because they are small pieces of our shared story ❤️
Grateful to have you here, heart to heart.
Melli
