I've been dreaming about you since I left. I woke up this morning practically panting, still imagining me chasing you down the sidewalk. I never caught you. I've been having the dreams of a mother: you walked out into the road and I grabbed your hand to stop you. I was pregnant with you in one dream and woke up cradling my stomach, surprised to find no bump was there. You're in every little kid's face I see in a mother's arms walking by, and I keep humming 'I'll Stand by You' and not even feeling cheesy.

I was afraid, because I couldn't take pictures at your orphanage, that I would forget your face. I didn't. I won't. I didn't know until I left how you would be stuck on my heart. I didn't realize just how much I treasured your precious face. I miss the snot that is always dripping from your nose, and your refusal to blow it into a tissue. I miss the way paint is always dried to your bald, brown head. I miss the way you smell like pee and the way you would get so angry when someone told you "no", and I hate thinking about the fact that your rebellious, three-year-old self wouldn't be chosen if parents came to shop. They wouldn't see past your face, the face that just isn't as cute as the others, or your behavior, or the way you don't talk to almost everyone.

But I know you. I know your stubborn, pouting face is only because you're hurt and angry, and you're three years old so you don't know what to do. I know you desperately want to be touched- literally, you want someone to just hold you. You want to be carried and you want those hands that hold you to raise you, not to leave you. You wanted me to stay and you cried when I told you I was leaving, and you left me angrily, without a goodbye.

You are so special, Richard. My soul is still chaotically trying to sort out the mess you've made my heart in my dreams and thoughts, and I feel your presence from a million miles away. I can't let go yet. I can't say that I'll never see you again, even though it's true. Somewhere I know that but just like you, I'm stubborn.

Even if I never see you again, I'm writing pages and pages of prayers for you. Every night God hears all about you-- and He listens. So, you might never know this, but this girl who got to be your mommy for a week and then left you is praying for you constantly. Your future, your family, your soul, it's all more important to her than the world itself, even if she couldn't take you home, and even if you forget her. You won't know any of this, but you're going to know you're loved, because God listens and He loves. So you're going to be okay, and I've got faith in that promise, too.

But still, I miss you Richard.