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Author's Chapter Notes:
** I slightly edited the very end (last couple paragraphs) of the last chapter (13). It doesn't change the story, but for those reading, you may want to check it out. ** Thanks for reading!!

I realized something this evening, laying here on the couch in our tiny apartment in Kharkev, waiting for Jenna to finish cooking our microwave pizza as I stare at the ceiling fan turning circles above me... and it's something that seriously tears at my heart.

Do you know that after today I've officially held my daughter more than I ever got to hold my son?

And do you know how unfair that is? That in the tiny span of the two days since we first met Faith, I have cradled her in my arms more than I was ever able to hold Jackson in his entire six weeks of life?

That sucks.

But then again I think of the fact that Faith, at 16 months old has likely been held more in the last two days than she's ever been held in her entire life... and I think that sucks even more. How unfair this whole crazy, messed up world can be. Knowing that my daughter spent the past 16 months of her life - the first 16 months of her life. All the life she's known and according to everything Jenna will tell you from the research she's done, the most important time in any child's life, laying alone in a cold metal crib, only picked up to have her diaper changed... and even then only maybe twice a day.

It makes me sick.

I will admit that being with Faith these past two days has brought back some of the overwhelming feelings of grief I had in thost first months after Jackson's death. The sadness and heartache that came from knowing I would never get to take him home or curl up on the couch with him or hear him say DaDa or blow raspberries on his tummy or send him off to kindergarten or teach him how to play football or sing... or watch him grow up. It's heartache that's eased over time but I know that it will never disappear. And there are fears too. I think once you've had a child die, you fear more for everyone else in your life. I've had nightmares since the night we lost Jackson about Jenna and my brothers and sisters and the guys and just about everyone else I love dying. I hate that.

Of course I also have fears about what the future will hold for Faith -- for her health and her heart. It's hard knowing that your perfect child, beautiful and amazing on the outside, has a broken heart. Literally. And it's terrifying watching your child's lips turn blue the more she plays... the more she sits up and the more she seems to have fun. But man, I have to admit holding my tiny little girl in my arms feels amazing, and at this point I wouldn't trade her for the world.

The way she cuddles up against my chest, her head resting in the crook of my neck, her warm breath gently blowing against my skin. The way she smiles at Jenna and I. I swear I think she already knows we're here to get her out of this place -- that we're here to love her. It doesn't even bother me when we get yelled at for allowing her to fall asleep - which has already happened twice - our girl has a thing for sleeping on her daddy's chest and her daddy has a thing for his girl. And it's difficult because I know this is my child, but I also want to be respectful to the culture and to all of the people who have raised Faith so far. Even if they haven't raised her in a manner I agree with. And of course, the nannies have told us that in the orphange the children only sleep at certain times so we try our best to honor that. But all I can really think is how in a few short weeks she can spend as much time as she wants curled up in my arms. In fact, she can sleep there every minute of every single day if that's her desire. She'll be my daughter then, never again an orphan trapped in crib with no one to give her the love she needs. Never ever again.

The truth is, after all of this... after seeing what these children have been through. Watching from afar as the nannies leave babies to cry in their beds, feeding them without ever holding them in their arms, never getting them out to play, allowing them to bang their heads on the metal edges of their cribs instead of offering toys to distract them -- the truth is, when we get our daughter home, I may never put her down.

Jenna says the same thing.

We've visited three times so far and will continue to visit twice a day until our court date in two weeks. We would visit more if we could, but two visits per day for two hours each is the most they allow. If we're approved to adopt Faith on our court date.... no, WHEN we're approved to adopt her, there will be a 10 day waiting period before we will be allowed to take her home.

So four more weeks. Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less.

What seems like an eternity in the moment is a minute in the grand scheme of things. At this point we've both just agreed to wait patiently and soak up every second with our daughter that we can.

"Pizza?" I hear Jenna ask as I look up to where she's standing above me. I nod because I'm starving and pizza sounds like the best thing in the entire world right now. If only it were Pizza Hut... and if only we were at a restaurant in the U.S. with our friends and family and our little girl, this would be the perfect evening.

We sit on the couch together for a long while, just eating and enjoying the warm evening breeze that blows through the window on this beautiful summer night. I'm thinking of home and swimming in the ocean and laying out on the beach when Jenna breaks the silence.

"I think I have a middle name," she picks a piece of pepperoni off her pizza and I reach over and take it from her, eating it quickly before she has the chance to react. She laughs and rolls her eyes.

"I'm waiting..." I smirk as I reach to grab another and she moves her plate away quickly, smacking my wrist and sticking her tongue out as she munches on the pepperoni herself this time.

"Well," she sighs as she pulls over her computer, the monitor already on. "I wanted to show you this email. Rochelle actually sent it to me the day after we announced we were officially adopting Faith. It's just always stuck with me, ever since then. Hence why I never erased it."

She shows me the screen and I read the email. It's short... just a few sentences but I understand exactly what Jenna means. It's sweet, and in just those few seconds, the words strike something in my heart.

"Jenna

I know that our heartaches can never begin to compare. I've lost pregnancies and you lost a living child. But I wanted you to know that we all loved Jackson and we are all so excited to welcome Faith. I am thrilled that I will get the chance to raise my daughter as you raise yours and I can't wait to share this experience with you. Faith is absolutely beautiful and I just know we will all learn so much from having her in our lives.

My mom shared with me a quote, months ago after one of my miscarriages. It said so simply, "When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

It must be very dark tonight because I think our stars are shining down on us at last.

May God Bless you and Nick on your journey.

Love you,

Rochelle"

Rochelle has a way with words and enough heartache in her own life after suffering four miscarriages that I know for her to send this message was really sweet and really special. I find myself wiping a tear from my cheek as I turn from the computer and look at Jenna again.

"That was really nice..." I whisper, still fighting back the tears. "But what does it have to do with a name?"

"Emerson." Jenna smiles at the look on my face. I still don't get it, but I give it a thought and automatically fall in love with the name.

She laughs when she catchs that I'm lost again, "Ralph Waldo Emerson is where the quote in the email came from and I think it's only fitting that since our son's middle name came from a famous poet's quote... our daughter's should too."

I smile again and nod. That makes perfect since.

"I love it."

We both stare for a long time at the photo on the screen of our daughter that Jenna has made her new background. A picture of the three of us sitting on the couch in the orphanage together. I'll have to send it out in an email soon before the natives get restless and hop on planes to see her for themselves as they often threaten to do if I go longer than an hour or two without updating. Luckily we enjoy sharing her.

I stand up to clear dinner, leaving Jenna still staring at the photo of our daughter but return a while later after washing the dishes to find her wiping fresh tears as she pours over old pictures from the folder clearly labeled; "Jackson's Life."

I sit down beside her and take her hand. It's not often that we allow ourselves to embark on the journey of backtracking to this time in our lives. Sure we have a few photos of Jack that are always present in our home, but these... these are all of the photos of his life. The good, the bad, the precious moments. First and last. Birth and Death.

"I-I'm afraid 'll forget him..." Jenna sniffles when we finally reach the end of the folder. The end of his time in our world.

I shake my head. "Never. I won't let that happen. And you won't let me forget." It's a promise we made to each other when Jackson died and a promise we've both kept ever since.

She turns her head. "But I already have. I mean... I've already forgetten the way it felt to hold him and touch him. The way he felt in my arms. The way he smelled. I.. I didn't want to ever forget." She cries harder as I pull her into my arms.

"But you still remember." I lower my head. The truth is, I've forgotten those same things, but I will never forget Jackson himself.

Jenna sits back down and clicks off the folder. She reachs out and touches our daughter's picture on the screen. "Someone asked me the other day if we were just adopting Faith so that we could forget about Jackson."

"That's horrible."

Jenna nods. "We're not are we? I mean.. I know we're not... it's just... I don't know."

I shake my head no vigorously. "I will never, ever forget Jackson. I think he made it possible for us to fall in love with another child. But I still wish he could be here with us. We will NEVER forget him."

And I want everyone to know that.

Faith is not here to replace Jackson. It's a hard lesson to learn that once you've lost a child, you can never go back. You can't fill the hole in your heart that's made by the death of your child. The hole in my own heart is shaped exactly like my son. It's just as unique and amazing as he was and no one can ever fit inside that hole and fill it up just right. But Faith can take her place inside my heart alongside that hole. And my heart will be bigger because of her. I will always be a father who lost a son. Only now, I will also be the father who has an amazing daughter too.

That's what makes life beautiful. That we can go through horrible tragedies... and after them our hearts still have room to grow.

Jackson and Faith will BOTH hold a place in my heart forever.

I take the computer from Jenna and upload the photo of the three of us to an email. I title the email "She has a Name!" and inside above the photo I add, for the first time "Faith Emerson Carter". It feels good to push send. To share our little girl with our family and friends.

She deserves as much love as anyone else in the world. We have 16 long months to make up for.