Noah's parents lost custody at the end of 2019, so we could have adopted him at the beginning of 2020. The judge set his adoption date for late February, which was a bit of a wait, but no big deal. We had no idea that Covid would strike, and we wouldn't be able to make it happen until June. (And even then, it was done online, rather than in the courthouse.)
We met in our lawyer's office. Sweet Charlotte and Grandma Barrus risked exposure, and met us there. Judge Evershed was at the courthouse, Tamra and Barb watched from the DCFS office, and we saw them projected on a big screen. It was kind of weird, but, again, a distinct memory from this crazy year.
We love this sweet boy. I knew that we were supposed to get him in our family. His path to join us was much more difficult than that of the older kids, but I'm glad he made it. Was he the same little boy that I almost had in New York, before my miscarriage? I don't know how these things work, but this adoption was essentially scheduled back in 2007. I have no doubts about the impression I received that day.
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