On May 30th, 2015, I married the love of my life, Justin. We were young, full of hope, and eager to begin the next chapter together. We didn’t want to wait long to start a family, so we decided to leave it to chance, believing it would happen when the timing was right. But as the months passed and each pregnancy test came back negative, hope began to feel fragile. Each month, I convinced myself, this is the month, only to be met with disappointment.
In the fall of 2016, we chose to open our hearts and our home to foster care. Our first placement stayed with us for seven months, teaching us patience, love, and resilience. About a month after that first child moved on, I faced a personal health crisis: surgery to remove a large ovarian cyst and a diagnosis of endometriosis. By December, we welcomed our second foster placement, who stayed with us until April 2018. Life was busy, often challenging, but deeply rewarding.
Then, on May 30th, 2018—our third wedding anniversary—the most magical moment arrived. I discovered I was finally pregnant. I took seven pregnancy tests that morning, convinced it had to be real. I carefully put together a small gift box to surprise Justin that evening. When he opened it, our joy was indescribable. It was finally our time.
But that joy was heartbreakingly short-lived. A week later, I began to miscarry. Justin rushed me to the ER, and I endured the physical and emotional devastation of losing our first child. All the dreams we had imagined for this baby vanished in an instant. Time passed, and by April 2019, my endometriosis returned, and in May, I underwent another surgery to remove the scar tissue and restore my chances of conceiving.
During this period, we endured the painful questions and comments that childless couples often face: “When are you having babies?” “Are you trying?” “Just relax and it will happen.” Though well-intentioned, each remark cut deep, a reminder of the heartbreak we carried quietly.
Yet, hope returned. Endometriosis surgery temporarily improved my fertility for about six months. The May 2018 pregnancy had proven that, and so did the discovery of another pregnancy on November 1st, 2019. We approached this new pregnancy cautiously. I contacted my OB-GYN immediately for bloodwork, requesting every precaution to give us the best chance. I was prescribed Progesterone, to be taken twice daily until 11 weeks.
But just two days later, my body betrayed me again. Bleeding and cramping returned. I looked at Justin and whispered, “It’s happening again.” Bloodwork and ultrasounds followed, but my levels didn’t rise as expected. Anxiety tightened around us as the possibility of an ectopic pregnancy loomed—a life-threatening complication where the embryo implants outside the uterus.
The drive to the doctor’s office was silent except for my quiet sobs, tears of anger, frustration, and heartbreak, as I wrestled with my shattered dreams and prayed for a miracle. The ultrasound suggested the worst: the embryo might be in my right Fallopian tube. We were ushered into another room, waiting for my OB-GYN, who had been delivering a baby just across the street. I sobbed. Justin held me tightly, my calm in the storm, my anchor.
When she arrived, she explained the urgent reality: this ectopic pregnancy required emergency surgery immediately to prevent life-threatening complications. She couldn’t wait until morning. The fear was overwhelming, but in that moment, she offered something unforgettable: “Can I hug you?” She assured me this was not my fault. That hug grounded me. The surgery was successful, but my Fallopian tube had to be removed.
The world soon shifted again as the global pandemic began. Life slowed, allowing Justin and me to treasure the quiet moments together. Our focus wasn’t on growing our family, but on gratitude—especially for the fact that I was alive.
Then, on August 11th, 2020, a phone call changed everything. A 2-day-old baby boy needed a home, and we had the chance to take him in through foster care. Our home had been closed to fostering for over two years, but something inside told us to say yes. Within hours, our lives were transformed. I walked into the NICU at OU Children’s Hospital alone due to COVID restrictions, and there he was—our son.
We went from a childless couple to parents overnight. With no baby supplies at home, our community quickly rallied, delivering everything we needed. Though we had fostered before, this time felt different. Holding him in our arms, we realized how miraculous his life was—not just in ours, but in his very existence. The birth had been traumatic, and every doctor reminded me of the miracle it was that he survived.
Adoption was a cautious hope, but we embraced it fully. Nine months later, parental rights were terminated, and our son became a ward of the state. Every step was slow, agonizing, and fraught with uncertainty. Even when we were told we would be his adoptive family, I still asked myself, “But what if?” Finally, in May 2021, I allowed myself to fully believe that we were becoming a family forever.
This journey transformed me. It taught me patience, resilience, and the depth of love I could feel for a child not born from my own body. It forced me to slow down, reflect, and appreciate every moment of motherhood more than I could have imagined.
On November 16th, 2021, after 464 days in foster care, we finalized our adoption. Our son became Koepka Jayce Williams—a name reflecting our passions, our family, and our loss. Each day since, we’ve celebrated life, love, and the miracle of family.
I hold immense respect and love for his birth mom. Her courage gave life to the most precious gift in our lives. To anyone considering foster care or adoption, I offer this: be flexible, patient, resilient, and always act from a place of love. Foster care and adoption are not one-size-fits-all. Each story is unique, and love is the most important ingredient. Every day, choose to give it freely.
