I look out the window at the night sky seeing a blur lights
off in the distance, listening to the wind as it rattles windows and I feel my
heart being blown to pieces, as my mind races trying to understand what has
happened over the past 36 hours, as tears soak my shirt.
Indescribable pain, my heart hurts deep like the cold-bone-chill
on a blustery winter morning in Wisconsin. The aches don’t go away even though
the air warms. I walk from room to room and see reminders of my pain, the items
placed to help explain to a sweet 20 month old girl what having a little sister
might be like. When babies don’t grow in your tummy it is other ways you must
prepare: ultra sound pictures, cradle, baby swing, bottles, formula, clothes,
bedroom, and even a name to help put something so abstract into concrete terms.
All swept away instantly, without warning, turning our world upside down.
A question that was asked during the beginning stages of our
adoption was “Can you love a child that you don’t give birth to?” Of course was
always my answer; however, now I can answer I loved a child that I have never
met.
Adoption is like the lottery in a lot of ways, (although I
have never played) you must take a chance. Often people buy a number of
tickets, pay a lot of money, and often times come away empty handed. We won the
adoption lottery once, when we had Emme. I will never forget those moments when
I saw her for the first time, when I held her, heard her cry, gave her, her
first bath, and fed her, her first bottle. Joy, joy that cannot be described in
words, we had won the lottery, so to speak. At that same moment in a room down
the hall was the bravest women I have ever met. A women who had carried this
sweet baby for 9 months, who loved this sweet girl, who was shedding tears of anguish
as we shed tears of joy. A pain that 20 months ago I don’t think I fully
understood. But today…tonight…this minute… I have a clearer picture of that
deep wrenching pain Kayla must have felt and I imagine continues to feel. My
respect for her grew tonight as I grasp at straws to understand.
The past 7 or so months have been another roller coaster in
our life. This one was filled with more turns, more twist and more upside down
loops than we’ve been on in the past. We boarded the coaster in early October
when we began discussing the idea of adoption a second child. Shortly into our
thoughts we were told of a birth mom and started up the long hill of paper work
and putting together a profile. The first hill was fast as she was “leaning
towards us” our case worker said. We were to have our first meeting the
following week. Anticipation filled our hearts as we wondered if we would be
blessed with another sweet little one. Instead of getting a call to schedule an
appointment we got a call that she had matched with another family. Hurt, sad, disappointed
we slowly moved on. The coaster ride for the moment came to an end.
Several weeks later in early December we were meeting with
this same birth mom, Maria. The family she selected had not followed through.
She wanted to meet us, yet again. Meeting one…December 10th. It went
well, she was meeting another family later in the week. We waited, we prayed,
we hoped, and on December 17th we had a second meeting. It was then
that we were matched and given a sweet gift…ultra sound pictures telling us
that “it was a girl”. Tears of joy, we were excited for April. We were going to
be parents and Emme was going to be a big sister. We started to love this little girl.
Many prayers were offered, names were tossed around, we
began discussing the idea of being a sister with Emme. We began to fall in love
with this little baby that was not yet born. We knew the risk of adoption, and
although we were excited we tried to hold a piece of our heart out incase Maria
changed her mind. Doctor appointments, ultra sounds, counseling sessions,
phones calls, Maria was still placing. She had never had a second thought we were told. Our
case worker felt confident, we felt confident. Maria felt like she was making
the right choice for her baby and for her, she told her case worker.
April came, our anticipation grew, our love grew, Emme
walked around the house pointing to the baby things saying “baby, baby Sofi.”
Although the due date was April 26th we were told
she was likely to deliver early. I saw
my phone flash on April 15th as my 26 first graders walked into my
class from lunch my heart started beating. Was this the phone call that Maria
was headed to the hospital, we were going to be parents again…
I quickly started my kids on an activity and rushed to send
an e-mail…do I need to call…can it wait? Do we have a baby coming? I was so
excited. I couldn’t wait to meet Sofi, to hold her, love her, all the things
that we had done with Emme.
The response… “It can wait until recess!” Ok,
that is only 1 hour and 45 minutes away. The slowest… longest time…the minutes
seemed to take hours…I thought I was going to be going to the hospital after
work. There was an exclamation point, it must be good, right?
I lined my kids up a minute early, got their coats on, and
sent them outside and quickly dialed the number. I began walking up the
hallway, slowly my heart stopped beating, my eyes filled with tears as the
unthinkable was happening… “Maria wants to parent, will you come meet with us
at 5:30" our case worker said “umm yeah we will make it work, bye”
Numb…confused…heartbroken…I found an office shut the door
and tears flowed. My heart was torn, I was in shock. I knew this could happen,
I just hadn’t prepared enough. Shaking I tried to dial Brandon’s work number…crying
I shared the horrible news…
Recess over…how was I going to face 26 bright eyed 6 & 7
year olds? I was a mess, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t move. Even though I have
never seen, and will never see, Sofi, I felt like she had died. I loved her and
yet I wasn’t going to get that chance.
Angry, scared, sad, lost, confused, heartbroken, shocked I
asked for someone to cover my class as I tried to wrap my head around what had
just transpired. Emotions I didn’t know I had overcame me, I couldn’t speak, I
couldn’t move, I could only cry, and cry, and cry.
I had a couple of email exchanges with my case worker…no
answers, just more anger, sadness…I splashed water on my face, blew my nose,
and walked into a classroom and taught for the last hour of the day.
I followed my kids out, Brandon parked in the parking lot,
we hugged, we cried, we questioned. Then we had to be parents. We picked up
Emme from the sitter and we played, we laughed, and we cherished every moment
with her. We didn’t make her go to bed on time, but we held her close, we didn’t
care that there were dishes to be done, toys to be picked up, laundry to be
folded, we just were a family of three. Emme continued to point to the baby
items in the house and say “baby, baby Sofi” and we said “yes, but she isn’t
coming home.”
A day has passed, I am still numb, not really sure what will
happen. Yes life continues, and I am grateful for Brandon and Emme and the rest
of our family and the many wonderful friends. I am grateful for my Savior and the comfort he provides. I am grateful for the kind words
of compassion, the chocolate, the flowers, the hugs, the tears, the texts, the
FB messages, but tonight at 3:08 am the pain is still here. I don’t imagine it
will go away soon.
I pray.
I hope.
I cry.
I love.
