We have found the journey towards the start of our family so
far to frame itself in a cyclical pattern. Hope, anxiety, grief, processing. Much like the cycles of nature, this seems to have repeated
itself many times, and an aware person of our story and our documentation of
it, will find that we rarely know what to say during the times of anxiety and
grief.
But today, it is time to write again.
Our last update here had us anticipating and hoping the
arrival of a daughter in the beginning of December. Anxiety came roughly a month before that. In fact, in the
span of a couple weeks, we felt the whole cycle as that adoption went from
expected to lost. In the beginning of November we got a call from our social
worker that birth mom was moving in a different direction. We were heartbroken.
And then, a week or so later we got another message…there was potential
again. Guarding ourselves and our
own emotions, we weren’t as quick to update during that time, but instead chose
to wait until things were a bit more concrete. But we again found ourselves
both hopeful and anxious.
We were able to be at the hospital during birth. That weekend was a feeling extreme
anxiety. We heard baby’s first cry
and spent time holding her. We did
the hospital experience for the first day with no understanding of if we were
holding a child, or if we were holding our child.
And we slept in a hotel that night, anxious.
The next morning we found out that birth mom had decided to
parent. We spoke with her briefly
before heading home—and we grieved.
I always have to make sure to remind people, that a birth mother
deciding to parent is a beautiful choice, and while we want a child of our own,
we do authentically want what is best for each child. We hope this decision proves to be best for that child and
would ask people to refrain from making this birth mother out to be a
villain. We can’t imagine the
emotions and decisions she had to make, and never felt like we were being
disregarded, misunderstood, or undervalued.
The grieving process is an interesting one. It functions very different for the two
of us at almost every point.
Verbal processing at times, and silent processing at others. Blunt and public on occasion, while
reserved and withdrawn at others.
Felt at times by one and not the other, and emotions triggered by the
silliest, smallest, or strangest things.
The grief of a certain hope lost will never disappear completely, and
random things bring it back as felt emotion, but as a standard, we’ve moved to
processing again.
What have we learned?
What comes next? How
attached are we to what kind of process?
How may God be leading us?
Questions that guide us through processing with the aim of returning us
to a hope filled season of life.
We still believe strongly that adoption is the route for us,
and as we’ve processed it, we’ll be continuing to move forward with that in
January. As best as we can tell
right now, we’ll be doing so by re-engaging in the Columbian international
adoption program.
For many people, conversing with us about the start of our
family can be awkward. It can be
hard to read which stage of a cycle we are in, how emotional we might be, or
what particular help or encouragement you can be to us. I understand that. I wouldn’t know how to talk to us either. What I do know is most of you have been
doing a great job. You refrain
from questions when you don’t know how comfortably they may be received. You support any good news you hear and
offer hugs and condolences in times of our anxiety and grief. Many of you anticipate hearing the
results of our processing, but often do so without pressuring us or nagging us
through that time. In short, you
take what could be awkward for all of us and try to make it as natural as
possible. Thank you.
There is a story that travels around about Ernest Hemingway,
that one day he won an awkward bet.
Write a short story in under 10 words. The rumor goes that he considers it one of his finest works,
and while the bet can never be proven, there is a 6 word story accredited to
his name: “For sale: Baby shoes,
never used!”
Because of my (Nate’s) love for baby shoes (my first
purchase and a symbol to us of a hope filled future) a few different people
have told me of this story.
They’ve used it very appropriately to express their condolences as I
grieved. And I get the
sentiment. I imagine many can only
imagine, but do so sympathetically, with the story of baby shoes bought but never
used.
But that was for grief, and grief is only part of our
story. And in our journey so far,
hope has always come after and trumped the grief. So, weirdly, I don’t look at our baby shoes with grief. I look at them with hope. Our child is coming. Our family is growing. Somewhere, in the “secret” place that
God alone knows, our child is being drawn to us. This process is “fearful and wonderful” and we’ll continue
walking through it with hope.
