The Story of a Girl Who Never Stopped Hoping

 **Chapter One: Where My Story Begins**

I've wanted to write my story for as long as I can remember. Not because I think my life has been harder than everyone else's, but because every life has a story worth telling. Mine has been filled with incredible love, heartbreaking loss, unexpected twists, and people who shaped me into who I am today. Over the years I've realized how quickly memories can fade, and I never want to forget the people, places, and moments that made me who I am. If my story helps even one person feel less alone or reminds someone to appreciate the people they love, then writing it will be worth it.

My story began on May 17, 1993. Before I was old enough to crawl, speak, or even remember the world around me, I had already faced my first challenge. I was born with pyloric stenosis, a condition that prevented food from passing from my stomach into my intestines. I needed surgery as a baby, leaving me with my very first scar before I even knew what a scar was. I don't remember the hospital or the surgery. My first memories begin somewhere much happier.

As I grew older, I slowly learned about the first two years of my life. My biological mom was still very young when she had me. From what I was told, she simply wasn't ready to be a parent. Before leaving me with her parents, she often left me with other people while she tried to figure out her own life. I also learned that when she became pregnant with me in Indiana, her own father kicked her out of the house. My biological grandparents had already been divorced for years, and from everything I've been told, life wasn't easy for either of them.

I don't share those details because I want anyone to be the villain in my story. Life is rarely that simple. People make decisions for reasons we may never fully understand, and those choices eventually led me to the two people who would become my entire world.

When I was two years old, my biological mom left me with her parents. That decision changed the rest of my life, although I wouldn't realize it until much later. The funny thing is, I never felt abandoned because I never knew anything different. To me, they weren't Grandma and Grandpa. They were simply Mom and Dad. Those were the only parents I had ever known, and they never once made me feel like I was anything less than their daughter.

We lived in a small town surrounded by the rolling Palouse Hills of Eastern Washington. If you've never seen the Palouse, it's hard to put into words just how beautiful it is. The hills stretch across the landscape like giant waves frozen in time. During the spring they glow with every shade of green imaginable, and by late summer they become endless fields of gold beneath bright blue skies. Even today, when someone asks me what home looks like, that's the first image that comes to mind. I don't picture a house. I picture those hills.

Our house wasn't large, and we certainly weren't wealthy, but I never once felt like I was missing anything. Looking back now, I realize it's because our home was overflowing with something far more valuable than money. It was filled with love.

Mom worked at an engineering company, and looking back as an adult, I honestly don't know how she did it all. She would work long hours, come home tired, make dinner, take care of the house, and somehow still have enough energy left for me. She was my very first teacher. She taught me how to talk, helped me learn my ABCs, counted with me until I could count on my own, and patiently sounded out words while I learned to read. She sat beside me while I practiced writing my letters and celebrated every little accomplishment as though it were the greatest achievement in the world. She made learning exciting because she made me believe I could do it.

One of my favorite memories was bedtime. Every night she would tuck me into bed with a stack of books beside us. I'd always ask for one more story, and most nights she'd smile and give in. I don't remember every book we read together, but I remember the sound of her voice, how safe I felt, and how I'd slowly drift off to sleep before she reached the last page. As a child, I thought those moments would last forever. As an adult, they're some of the memories I treasure most.

Dad worked for the local school district. He first worked with computers before eventually becoming a custodian. To most people he was probably just another hardworking man, but to me he was larger than life. He could fix almost anything, and somehow he had a way of making ordinary days feel like adventures.

Winter was always my favorite season because it meant snow. As soon as enough had fallen, Dad and I would bundle up and spend hours outside building giant igloos. They weren't little snow forts. They were big enough to crawl inside, and to my childhood imagination they became castles, secret hideouts, and places where anything was possible. I still remember the crunch of fresh snow under our boots, our gloves soaked from packing snow, and laughing until Mom called us inside to warm up. Looking back now, I don't remember whether those igloos were perfect. I remember building them with him.

We also had a Komondor, and as a little girl I honestly thought he was the biggest dog in the world. His long white cords bounced as he walked, and he followed me everywhere I went. If I went outside, he went outside. If I wandered through the yard pretending I was exploring another planet, he quietly followed behind me. If I sat in the grass looking up at the clouds, he'd lie down beside me. Looking back, I think he believed protecting me was his full-time job. Between Mom, Dad, and that giant fluffy dog, I never knew what it felt like to be alone.

Some of my happiest memories happened after dinner. Dad and I would sit together and watch the original Star Wars trilogy. I was too young to understand everything happening on the screen, but I didn't care. I loved Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, the lightsabers, and John Williams' incredible music. More than anything, though, I loved sitting beside my dad. Those evenings became so much more than movie nights. Without either of us realizing it, they became the beginning of a lifelong love for Star Wars. Years later I'd have Star Wars tattoos, an Ewok gamertag, a Star Wars-themed wedding, and a honeymoon inspired by the galaxy far, far away. It all started on that couch beside my dad.

Everything changed a little when I started kindergarten. One afternoon I overheard my teacher talking with another student's parents. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but one word caught my attention.

**Adopted.**

I'd never heard that word before.

When I got home that day, I asked Mom and Dad what it meant. They sat me down and gently explained that they had adopted me after my biological mom left me with them when I was two years old. I remember sitting there quietly, trying to understand something that felt so much bigger than I was.

Then I looked at them.

Nothing felt different.

Mom was still going to read me bedtime stories that night.

Dad was still going to build igloos with me when winter came.

We were still going to watch Star Wars together.

Our Komondor was still going to follow me around the yard.

Home was still home.

As I've grown older, I've realized that being a parent isn't only about biology. It's about showing up every single day. It's about reading one more bedtime story even when you're exhausted. It's about teaching a little girl to read, write, and believe in herself. It's about making ordinary moments unforgettable. Mom and Dad didn't just raise me. They gave me a childhood filled with love, safety, and memories I'll carry for the rest of my life.

Looking back now, those were some of the happiest days of my childhood. Back then, I truly believed life would always be that simple.

**I had no idea how quickly everything could change.**