One thought leads to another

As I was laying in bed last night, my mind was racing with things to do. One of the things I want to do soon is ask Ethan's birthfamily to send him a letter (subsequent posts on Abby and Ethan's birthfamilies to follow). I thought to myself, I should send them some self-addressed stamped envelopes to make it easy for them.

Suddenly, I had a flashback to a different time where I had made self-addressed stamped envelopes. In some ways, that time seems like a million years ago. In others, it feels like yesterday.

We don't talk much about our failed adoption any more. We seem so busy with our two children that it rarely comes into conversation. But it creeps into my thoughts at the most unexpected moments, and can bring me to tears in a second.

The first year and a half of our adoption pursuits were busy. I spent my time working on finding the adoption situation that was right for us. My days were filled with networking ("if you know of anyone considering adoption, please let them know about us"), adoption tear-sheets set up at grocery stores, a Val-Pak advertisement, a 1-800 birthmother line, and advertisements in local newspapers promising a "loving couple who looks forward to lots of fun with a baby." It was one of these ads that lead birthmother C. to us.

C. was 5 months pregnant at the time, and was looking at adoption because she could not afford another child. She knew it would be a tremendous financial burden and would require more emotional resources than she had at the time, in order to raise another baby. She was a single mom with 5 other children from 14 years to 18 months. She realized that her youngest children were almost being raised by her 14 year old (in fact, C. had held her out of school for a year to help with the kids). She didn't want that life for her 14 year old, and didn't want that life for another baby.

She was looking through the adoption ads in the paper, and reading them out loud. She read ours, and the baby kicked. "It must be a sign!" she said when she called me that day. And soon enough, I believed in the sign, too.

Over the next 4 months, C. and I got to know each other. I spoke with her almost daily on the phone. I came to sympathize with her troubles: a 16 year relationship with a man who drank too much and was rarely available for his 5 children (and was currently not living with them because of his drinking); a child who was in trouble almost daily at school which resulted in suspensions; a mother who thought C. was doing a bad job with her children; her loss of job because of her pregnancy; and the list went on. She seemed to have sound reasons for choosing adoption, and seemed to realize that the best place for her child was probably not in her family.

Mark and I got to know C.'s family well. Her children loved Mark's sense of humor and always wanted to play with him. Her mother really appeared to like us, as did her sister. They supported her adoption decision.

Along the way, there were red flags that the adoption may not happen. Her reluctance to deal with an adoption professional. Her claim that the birthfather was in agreement about the plan, but yet his paperwork got "lost in the mail" on the way to the adoption attorney. Her children (2 in particular) were against the adoption plan and were very vocal about it. There were definitely some questions we had leading up to the birth, but we remained hopeful.

2 days before C.'s labor was to be induced, we got together with her family. A last hurrah before everyone's lives were to change. We finally met C.'s boyfriend. It was a really nice day. At the end, C. told me that she had been so worried about the actual adoption over the last week, but our evening had affirmed her decision to place the baby for adoption. She felt no worries about it, and loved us so very much. We drove away feeling pretty sure the adoption would happen, and we would be parents in 2 short days - July 8, 2003.

On the 8th, Mark and I got to the hospital first and waited for C. to arrive with her mom and 14 year old daughter. We had our diaper bag, camera bag, bag of things to do while C. was laboring. We were prepared, darn it! When the 3 arrived, I immediately knew something was wrong. C. looked like she hadn't slept a wink and didn't smile. While she was being admitted, her mom said that C. was having a hard time with the adoption plan, and she wasn't sure how it would turn out. We sat in the waiting room, and awhile later the hospital social worker came to talk to us. She had spoken with C., and reiterated that C. was having a hard time handling her decision. But, C. really wanted us at the hospital that day while she tried to make her decision.

I wanted to run away. I wanted to go home and get in bed and cry myself to sleep. I didn't want to have to wait all day feeling so crushed while C. made up her mind. But, Mark and I decided to stay, even if it meant suffering.

A lot happened that day. It was emotionally draining for us. We tried to keep our interactions with C. positive, and tried to give her space to make her important decision. I cried tons in the parking lot and the bathroom. Mark became numb to the situation, becoming seemingly emotionless. We waited for what seemed like years. And finally, late in the afternoon, C. gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

After the baby was born, C.'s daughter asked us to come to see C. and the baby. I didn't want to. C.'s daughter insisted that C. wanted us there. So we reluctantly went. The room was filled with C.'s friends and family. I couldn't even look at the baby who was being bathed by the nurse - I knew it would be too painful for me. C. looked tired, and in no mood to talk. I went to her and told her that we were going to leave and that she could call our cell phone.

I talked to C. a few times during her hospital stay. She kept telling me that she knew that adoption was the right decision, but it was just so hard. She was obviously struggling. I ended every conversation telling her to get in touch with her adoption attorney if she wanted to choose adoption. I always hung up unsure of her next actions.

After 2 days, C. finally went home with her baby, telling her social worker that she was just going to take him home for a couple days to see how the baby would work in her family. We never heard from her again.

A week later, I found the self-addressed stamped envelopes I had prepared for C.'s family to write to our son. I remember being so hopeful when I put them together. They were going to be included in our first update packet to her family, with pictures of our baby. They were going to help keep our families in communication with one another in the open adoption situation that we both wanted.

I had no way of knowing that 7 weeks later, Abby would become our "meant-to-be" daughter. I just knew that this baby was not our "meant-to-be" son, and it hurt. I think of him sometimes, wondering what his life is like now. When he turned 2 this summer, I remembered him. I pray for his health and happiness and hope that he will become all that God wants for him to be.

I miss the boy I never knew.