An Article of Loss
*The following is a brief article I wrote for a newsletter produced by Little Angel Adoptions. I was asked to write about the challenges and heartache of being matched with multiple birth moms during the adoption process. I found it difficult to keep my words at a minimum, as there is so much to say about our experience. I ended up lost in the writings of my old adoption blog, finding them weirdly therapeutic. I’ve included the link here for others to read as well. I pray my writings from years ago still speak truth and encouragement to adoptive parents, whether they’re still waiting or not.*
My husband and I began our adoption journey in the spring of 2010. I remember one of the first questions I asked when we started; “How often do birth parents change their minds?” I wanted to know the risk. We were told it happens, but rarely. Most birth moms have come to terms with the reality of their situation and they’ve been thoroughly vetted by the time adoptive parents connect with them. Relieved, we entered with open hearts and open minds. We were willing to be matched with a birth mom from any state, of any ethnicity, and in just about any situation. Our openness meant we were frequent candidates. Our profile books were sent out left and right; I struggled to produce enough. Just three months later, we were officially matched with our first birth mom.
Seeing no reason not to, we jumped in heart first with this young woman. She lived across the country, five months pregnant, raising a two-year-old on her own and couch hopping from one friend's house to another. She was desperate for help and we were desperate to help her. We paid to move her and her son into a home just an hour from us. We entered into a sweet relationship. I went to her doctor’s appointments. We talked to her on the phone consistently every week. We learned about her and her family. We grew to love her and the child she carried. Soon we found out she was having a boy, due in January. We prepared a nursery in our home and poured over baby name books. In November I attended two baby showers planned for me and our soon-to-be son. We were ready. Everything was going perfectly. Until my phone rang. Our adoption agency called to tell us the birth mom had changed her mind. She’d felt she’d bonded with the baby and couldn’t bring herself to go through with the adoption. We were just two months from her due date. I remember sitting in the nursery that night, surrounded by piles of new baby gifts. It felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath us.
We experienced every range of emotion that comes with loss. We felt betrayed, dumbfounded, angry, and above all, sad. Our agency assured us we’d get another match. We had to dust ourselves off and try again. They were right, and we did. Over the next 12 months, we were matched with another 6 birth moms. Each match was different, and each one fell through for a different reason: Family members surfaced that were willing to parent the child, Mom chose foster care for her baby over adoption so she’d have a chance to get him back, or Mom was clearly taking advantage of our financial generosity so we were compelled to walk away. We saw it all. Our agency was just as perplexed as we were. They’d never seen any waiting couple go through such repeated loss as ours. It became a joke that we should at least get our names on a plaque in their office when all was said and done, (or a very big discount should we ever attempt to adopt again). Over the year we grew more and more guarded. With each match, our hopes failed to rise.
Each time we met a new birth mom, we struggled to connect with her because we didn’t trust her. We didn’t dare lay claim to the child she carried because we knew until all papers were signed, that child wasn’t ours. After the third match or so, we stopped choosing names for the baby. We stopped washing clothes and readying the nursery. We built an emotional wall that became higher and thicker with each passing month. We were so tired. Tired of thinking this time might be different. Tired of calling family members to tell them yet again, no baby. Tired of coming home to an empty house after turning back from the hospital. Tired of being childless.
Our fifth match was with a birth mom in Michigan. We flew all the way there, went to the hospital, and met the baby. A nurse assured us the baby was ours. She’d spoken to the social worker and everything looked good. We tried hard to show confidence. I remember telling the nurse through choked-back tears, “You have no idea what we’ve been through. I won’t believe this baby is ours until we walk out of here with him.” Of course, we never did. We flew home without him two days later. After that, I was ready to quit. I was resigned to the fact that adoption just wasn’t in the cards for us. My husband, sorrowful as he was, insisted we hang in there. I’m so grateful for his steadfastness because one more match and six weeks later, we got our last phone call.
On November 1, 2011, we drove eight hours to a hospital in Los Angeles. Every hour we waited for the phone to ring with bad news. When we arrived, we insisted on waiting until the birth mom had signed the papers before we met the baby girl she’d delivered. When we were given the all-clear, we finally met our daughter; 19 months and 7 matches later. I could tell you that hindsight made everything easier to understand. It didn’t. I don’t have an explanation for why we went through all we did. But I can tell you our daughter was more than worth every loss we endured. I can tell you that our marriage strengthened and solidified as we drew close to each other in grief. We carried each other through the hard days and leaned on each other when we wanted nothing more than to collapse to our knees. We dreamed together of what parenthood would be like. I can tell you every hardship we’ve faced since has been surmountable because of the adoption journey we’ve walked together.
We did adopt again, crazy as that seems. We signed up to do it all over again (even without a discount). The second time around our attitude was renewed. We entered in again, not from a place of desperation, but a place of contentment. When we met a birth mom, our intentions were set on showing her empathy, compassion, and trust. Each match (of which there were only two) was an opportunity to love and minister to a mom in need. It wasn’t easy. We sat beside our son’s birth mom in the hospital during two long days of labor and delivery. Everything in me wanted to run. I didn’t want to invest in her, to hear her story, to tell her what name we’d been thinking of for the baby. I was so afraid she would hurt me. But I also knew if I stayed guarded and distant, she wouldn’t trust me any more than I trusted her. I had to swallow my fear and show her I was ready to be the mom she couldn’t; that I would love her baby so unconditionally and I was ready to give him my whole heart. My husband jumped in with all that he had, solidifying a beautiful relationship with this young woman who had never met a man she could trust before. It was so worth it.
Our children are 9 and 5 years old now. We still get asked lots of questions about their adoption stories. We never tire of sharing. We know our experience was unique, rare even. But we hope it encourages those who are feeling tired of the waiting, tired of the loss, just as we were. We hope it shines a light at the end of the tunnel and spurs others to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep looking for opportunities to see the good. We encountered so many women that we never would have if it weren’t for our perseverance. We loved, prayed for, and encouraged women, regardless of their decision in the end. It was such an honor and a gift. Our children each have gifts of compassion that run deep because they know their story. They understand what impossible choice birth moms have. They love better because of it, and so do we.
*I found comfort in keeping a blog throughout our adoption journey. You can read it at www.azfamily.tree.blogspot.com