Two dreams are tearing me in half.
On my right wrist grasps the dream of travel and adventure; of living on the road. It’s dragging me back to Alaska, beckoning me to load my van with my two dogs and a year’s supplies, then head west before turning north.
This dream plays dirty: it flashes memories of glaciated peaks, braided rivers, starry skies. It entices me with fantasies of all the things I missed on my road trip last year: seeing the white dome of Denali loom above the Susitna river; watching northern lights dance above the silhouettes of spruce trees; camping on the coast of Prince William Sound; passing through the Gold Rush boom town of Dawson City and driving the dusty Dempster Highway through Canada’s Northwest Territories for 593 miles to Tuktoyaktuk.
Visions of these places pulled me through the gray days of a New Hampshire winter, promising an escape from the life I once loved.
And then I remember why I turned my van east last fall and drove home: to pursue another dream—motherhood—when my husband Seth and I were matched with a child to adopt from foster care.
It was hard to know what to do when, a little over a month into that placement, we knew it wasn’t going to work out.
I dreamed of getting back on the road. But ten days after we ended that match, another opportunity popped into my inbox: two siblings, a 1-year-old girl and 4-year-old boy who’d been in foster care for over a year, were in need of a pre-adoptive home.
We were matched with them in February and started visiting in March, taking it slowly, figuring out if our 44-year-old bodies and brains could keep up with their energy and enthusiasm. I ended each visit utterly depleted and relieved to have my life back, at least until the following weekend.
The Alaska dream tugged my arm and said “You’re not cut out for this! Let it go, and come with me on another adventure!”
But each time I considered canceling our second pre-adoptive placement, another dream grabbed hold of my left wrist and tugged just as hard: “Don’t give up! You’ve always wanted to be a mom! You can do this!”
The motherhood dream lured me with freshly-folded piles of pink onesies and corduroy jumpers, and the stuffed puppy I gave the little boy on his first night in our home. It flashed images of rocking the little girl in my arms; of watching her toddle around our campsite on the coast of Maine; of waking up to her blue eyes staring at mine as she murmured the most beautiful word I’ve ever heard: “Mama.”
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