June 13th, only 5 weeks after Mama A chose us, we got the call we were waiting for:
“Mama wants you to come now to meet her…”
Our hearts skipped a million beats and we couldn’t get there fast enough.
Walking into that hospital, we knew we were walking on sacred ground. We tried so hard to step carefully and purposely. We measured each word we spoke and our hearts were positioned to defer to Mama A’s wishes at every moment, which was both perplexing and odd to the hospital staff. Especially when we cringed every time one of them congratulated us or called us Mommy or Daddy.
Being hopeful adoptive parents puts you in a strange position. One where you choose to love hard, holding nothing back, all while fully knowing that nothing is guaranteed.
It felt very strange to be in a hospital room meant for Mamas who had just labored, and courageously given birth, holding a baby that wasn’t ours. It is a place for parents to breathe in their first moments with their child, to recover, to become a family, and we were painfully aware that we didn’t belong in that room. We were guests, mere visitors, even strangers to this sweet 9lb bundle that we had just met. She was ours to love in those moments only because every moment given to us was a selfless gift from her Mama.
As the hours passed on, nurses walked the halls in-between our two rooms with this precious little girl. Neither of us slept. Her Mama would hold and love on her, and I would feed, burp and change her. I counted all of her rolls and marveled in wonder at the depth of her deep brown eyes. I literally memorized every single inch of her… She was so beautiful. So perfect. So fascinating. We were enamored. We were falling in love.
But she wasn’t ours …
“There is a situation unfolding right now …I want you to kiss that sweet little girl, hand her to her nurse, leave all your stuff and go to the beach or somewhere to walk …”
My entire body went numb and everything that followed became a blur. I honestly don’t think my heart and mind could reconcile with each other what was happening and just how quickly things were changing.
We knew the possibility of this happening. Even braced ourselves for it. We said yes to this Mama anyways, knowing that at any moment she could change her adoption plan and we would 100% support her. We said yes to her knowing that our calling in adoption was not for the sole purpose of growing our family – but to love her and her babe as long as she needed us to.
We were no longer needed and it was time for us to bravely step out of their equation.
I hung up the phone and passed that sweet little bundle to her nurse. My tear- filled eyes met the nurses compassionate and pity-filled eyes, but I didn’t want her to see how broken I was. I couldn’t. I knew I needed to be strong. So instead of falling apart – I squared my chin and smiled. Because even in that painful moment I wanted the nurse to know that we supported and stood by whatever Mama’s decision was. In a world where expectant Mamas wishes often get dismissed or silenced, we were going to be her advocates.
There were two clear thoughts racing over and over in my mind as we made our way down the hall to the elevator.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
And
“Jesus. Help me walk this through with grace.”
I’ve struggled with what parts of this story to share. To tell it all would be to expose the most broken, weakest and messiest parts of me. Like how I wailed in the elevator like a wounded animal. Or how stood in the shower later that night and uncontrollably cried because I realized I was washing her scent off of me. The sob that escaped when I opened up my suitcase to see all the tiny little outfits, perfectly folded. How when we returned home it was a struggle to be present for days, difficult to get out of bed, painful to move on without her. I wanted to be stronger, and braver for the two of them.
But I wasn’t. Not always.
I had to fight to hold perspective in the palm of my hand. I wrestled hard. Sometimes perspective slipped out of my grasp and it became a deliberate battle to remember why we were on this journey.
Not for us – but for her. And for all women in similar situations who need to be heard, respected and known.
Mama A needed us July 13th. So we showed up… We loved hard. We did exactly what we were suppose to do. We have zero regrets. We didn’t experience a “failed adoption”. Rather we were participants and witnesses to a love so big that it was overwhelming.
Love is beautiful but sometimes messy and complex. So is adoption.
I can’t explain how we became so deeply attached in such a short amount of time. We just did. It just was. But that love was not just for one soul – but two A daughter and a mother.
Somehow we made it to the beach and watched the storm roll in. We cried and prayed. Even though we were wrestling with our own heavy emotions, our prayers were not for us… but for this sweet Mama.
I needed her voice to rise up and be louder than anyone else’s, especially mine.
When the rain forced us back into the car, we returned to the hospital to gather our things. Mama was so gracious to allow us to say goodbye to her daughter in privacy. I’ll forever be grateful for that gift. She had already shared so many hours and firsts with us, so the fact that she willingly gave us more time still brings me to tears.
Such a love undeserved.
We held her close, whispered words I now don’t remember in her sweet little ears, wrapped her up one last time, and kissed her goodbye. In the hallway I asked a nurse to take good care of them both. And then the maternity doors opened up, we walked through them and that was it.
Or so one would think.
But it wasn’t. When that sweet Mama chose us to love her in May. She unknowingly chose us to love her forever. Fight for her forever. Cheer her on always.
Our love towards her was not conditional and it was so important to me that she knew that. So when our suitcases were unpacked, I sat down and wrote to her. This time I didn’t measure my words and let my heart flow through every pen stroke. I told her how thankful we were to her and our time with her girl, how much we loved them both and how we honored her decisions and will forever support her choices. How she is brave and strong and every bit what a good Mama is. How we were proud of her.
Before sealing the envelope I slipped in the rest of the pictures we had taken of her girl. I wanted to give back all those precious moments in the hospital that she so selflessly shared with us. She is her Mama and those grainy and poorly exposed images are every bit hers. They belong to her. And I knew she would want them.
It’s been a month since we left that hospital by the sea. This experience broke us . But it didn’t destroy us. Rather it gave us a deeper conviction to love better. It solidified who and what we are fighting for in our adoption journey. And validated why we would risk it all again tenfold if it meant that a Mama ‘s voice was heard and she was loved well.
It taught us that love has a greater depth than we can ever possibly understand.
It showed us how love is contradicting. It’s incredibly hard, but so incredibly easy. And so worth it all.
Written by Cari Dugan. Cari is a lifestyle photographer and writer in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She writes candidly about everyday life and experiences on being a wife and a Mama on her blog: Olivedore. You can also keep up with her on Instagram. Her husband, and four children make life what it is – A Beautiful Mess.
