Dari wiggled on my lap—it was hard for a two-year-old to sit still, especially in a stuffy, windowless courtroom. She clambered over to my husband, Val. Dari had been living with us for nine months, ever since she left foster care. Today we waited for the judge to finalize the adoption. A microphone rested on the table in front of us, ready for testimony, or to catch our whispers.
I was feeling fidgety myself in this formal setting. Any little sound echoed through the chamber. It almost made me forget we were here to make a family.
The judge bounded in. “I love adoption days!” she said. Dari squeezed my hand. At least we got a happy judge.
“And what’s your name, young lady?” the judge asked Dari from the bench. But our daughter responded too softly for even Val and me to hear.
“Why don’t you talk into the microphone?” the judge suggested. Val lifted her up so she could reach it. Dari took the microphone and turned it round in her hands as if considering what to do with it. Finally she opened her mouth—and belted out her favorite song, “Let It Go,” from the soundtrack of the movie Frozen.
Our little angel’s voice rang throughout the courtroom. “The past is so behind me, buried in the snow. Let it go! Let it go!” We all applauded, including the judge. The perfect lyrics for her new beginning.
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