Sweet Wadley


Sweet Wadley,

September 12, 2015. Your 5th birthday and the day you got to run into Jesus’ arms.

It wasn’t supposed to go the way it did. We were praying hard for your forever family to find you. We had plans for a beautiful cake and a party on Monday. Instead you got a much better birthday than we could ever have done and a much better family than we ever could have imagined.

I miss your cuddles, the way your arms would fall around my neck when I picked you up and held you just so.

I miss hanging out under the mango tree with you, reading, cuddling, and just talking about what was going on around us.

I miss comforting you when you weren’t feeling well.

I miss greeting you each morning and every time I walk in the door.

I miss rubbing your head and kissing you on the cheek as I leave the house.

I miss helping you do motions to songs in school.

I miss helping you practice sitting up.

I miss helping you color, shake an instrument, or discover a new toy.

I miss watching your eyes follow bubbles as they floated through the air.

I miss you.

I’ll never forget caring for you in the middle of the night after your surgery.

I’ll never forget our day at Milot as we got a lot of stares from your seizures and when I fed you through the tube in your stomach.

I’ll never forget the first time you smiled in reaction to something—I was tickling your feet.

I’ll never forget that day sitting under the mango tree when your smiles were so huge --the biggest I ever saw-- as we talked and sang and I tickled under your arm. How I looked around to see if anyone was near to show off your new skill and when someone finally did come by you wouldn’t show them, as if it was our little secret. My heart was bursting with joy and pride, thinking about how far you have come.

I’ll never forget all the progress you made. When you first came to COTP you slept constantly, seemed to have no muscle tone, did not track anything with your eyes, and would not respond to loud noises near you. In the almost three years you lived with us you learned to track things with your eyes, you learned to sit up for a short time on your own, you would lift your head up to see what was going on around you, your hands opened so much wider, and you knew who your people were.
I’ll never forget you.

You taught me to value the little things in life. I never knew it would be so exciting to watch someone track a toy with their eyes for the first time after a year of therapy sessions practicing that same skill. I never knew I could smile so much or have so much joy in my heart from watching you, at four years old, make your first intentional smile. You came so far and amazed us so many times.

You still come to my mind often throughout the day. Your place where you sat by the door looks so empty now. We miss you in preschool. Our house is not the same without you.

I didn’t get to go to your funeral and I still regret that, but I cannot wait until the day we meet again. I look forward to seeing you whole and healthy. I imagine you running around with a full personality, but still sensitive and cuddly. 

Wadley, Sweet Boy, you were loved. You were cherished. You were valued.

*Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site. Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not to be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.  

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