April 19, 1995

It was a Wednesday morning. I was newly married and living in a little 2 bedroom apartment in Southwest Amarillo. I was getting ready to go to a science class at WTAMU in Canyon. I turned on the TV to watch Good Morning America while I ate a quick bite of breakfast and there it was.

A bomb had exploded in Oklahoma City.

I skipped the science class.

Fear gripped my heart and for days I was glued to the TV. I was in shock. The pictures were the most frightening thing I had ever seen and the children. . . . . . My heart broke for the children.

The photo of the little girl wearing yellow socks, being carried by the fireman changed my life. I was haunted by that image for years.

 My nephew, Ben, wore little yellow socks. He was three years old. He saw the image of this sweet baby on TV and asked, "Where is the mommy?" He knew she needed her mommy.

In the days that followed, family members were interviewed and we found out the baby's name was Bailey. I loved that baby. I loved all of those babies who were snatched away that Wednesday morning. I wanted to do something. I seriously considered jumping in my little red car and driving the short drive to OKC. Why? I don't know. I don't know what I thought I could do. I just wanted to do something.

Years passed, but I didn't forget Bailey. When we first began our adoption journey, we traveled to Tulsa for a meeting with our adoption agency. On the way home, we stopped at the OKC memorial and I found Bailey's chair. I couldn't stop the tears. I still felt the overwhelming desire to do something.

I did the only thing I knew to do.

Two years later, my sweet daughter traveled from Korea to Texas to be my little girl . . . .

and I named her Bailey.