My hands were wrapped around my mug of coffee when she asked. I remember feeling confident in my answer.
“How would you feel if the expectant mom who makes an adoption plan with your family, chooses to parent her child at birth?”
We’d already talked about this one and Patrick and I agreed wholeheartedly. We told her we’d be happy.
We understood adoption was born from loss and though our hope was to add a child to our family, our deepest desire was for family unity.
I’m fairly certain she was skeptical of our answer at best. Our hearts were full of hope and our heads were in the clouds, but I know we meant it. At least I hoped I could still be happy if it happened.
We didn’t know it would happen, twice, in the next two years. Twice we bonded with expectant mama’s over lunch, phone calls, text messages, ultrasounds, baby names and a shared love for two different baby boys. Twice tiny onesies were washed and muslin swaddles were packed. Twice we chose names, outfits for going home, and clung to hope. And twice, when the time came, two mama’s found a way. Two mama’s fought for family and unity. Two mama’s chose to bring two tiny son’s home.
I felt like I’d lied. Honestly, I felt crushed, broken, isolated. I was just overwhelmingly sad. There were small reminders like wrapped presents under the tree for “our Christmas baby” and an ultrasound picture of the named baby who would never sleep in our empty crib. There were big reminders like an empty nursery and passing due dates and my dear 6 and 8-year old boys who were ready to share their brotherhood.
It was my then six-year-old who reminded me that it was not only going to be ok (for us) but that it was good. And right. And happy. We told our boys the news over donuts that friends dropped off on our porch early the next morning. My fractured heart started to heal when he replied, “that’s good! He will get to stay with his mom. And brothers.”
He got it.
The kind of love we have to enter into adoption with is open-handed. Love that says, I’m here with you and for you for as long as you choose for me to be. When we as adoptive parents put our yes on the table, we do it with open hands. And then we get to show up for a mama, root for her, and love her whatever the future holds. It’s the kind of love that carried me through those two failed placements. We had grown to love those mama’s and wanted the best for each of them and their babies. Of course it took time; counseling, supportive family and friends, lots of prayer. Love split my heart wide open and hope propelled me forward; hope that our baby wouldn’t pass us by.
At the time, those losses felt like the end. But they weren’t. There was more to the story. And there’s more to yours too. If you’re waiting today, whatever you’re waiting on, your story isn’t over. There’s more to it, and you might rename this chapter of waiting when you look back on it. I might have called that chapter “the end” but now it has a whole new name. Our waiting brought us to this beautiful brotherhood.
