I am sad this morning, knowing that you are gone and that our home will not be the place in which you grow up. We have fostered dozens of children over the past thirteen years, and felt love for all of them, but I suspect that this might be the hardest parting ever.
You are a beautiful young woman with a sharp mind and sharper wit; if you do not wind up a lawyer you have a bright future in standup comedy. Yet despite all your wonderful qualities, we made a decision some time ago that we did not want to adopt any more children.
This makes it even harder to have to say goodbye.
You have been with us off and on for quite a few years, and we watched you grow from a precocious fourth grader into an athletic junior high school student. We forgot to have that last race; you were convinced that you could outrun me now, and I am pretty sure that this time you would beat me. The last race saw me winded and reaching the finish line only by the fact that I have really long legs.
You are a child who has been in many homes over the past decade, and for quite a long time we thought we might have to break our decision about no more adoptions. I know that you must feel disappointment that our home was not meant to be your forever home, and to tell you the truth: so do we.
I did not want to say goodbye yesterday, and I spent most of the day thinking about all the memories I have of you, like the time you got mad at me and threw a hard-boiled egg at me, or how you good you were at conning me into taking you to Arby's, or sitting down with you when you had "read to a parent" homework, or taking the dogs for a walk with you.
I also could not watch as you drove away with your new dad; he seems like a terrific person, as does the rest of your new family, but it is difficult to let go of someone who has been a part of your family for so long.
You will be missed, my child, and even by those in the house who pretend that you are a pesky kid. I wish that I could have been a better father, especially that time I got really mad and dragged you up to your room when you wouldn't go, or the times I growled when I was working and you just wanted someone to play a game with or tell someone about your day, or when I got irritated when your radio was too loud and we got into a tug-of-war over the blasted thing (I sure showed you, didn't I, taking the removeable plug and leaving you with a powerless radio).
You are the kind of kid who keeps in touch, so we will probably talk again, but you will always be a source of happy memories for everyone in our family. I am sure that you have a bright future in store, and I know that anyone who can figure out who to make a profit from a school lunch has the potential to be a successful business tycoon. You will be missed here, daughter.
And you will always be loved.