As my mind began to process the previous 24 hours, I was mad about a couple things. First, I was kicking myself for diving into it all so quickly. I had always said as we were preparing for adoption that the child we're going to adopt is not ours until a judge says so. Why was I so quick to say things like, "We have a son," and to my mom, "You have a grandson"? Those statements weren't technically true. Adoption is a legal process, and just because a woman says she is planning on giving me her child, that child is legally hers until a judge says otherwise. We could have brought him home from the hospital and, legally, she could have taken him back until her parental rights were terminated. Legally, he was not my son. I hadn't guarded my heart the way I knew I should have. My thoughts and words were not based on what was true. I got ahead of myself.
I heard someone once compare a failed adoption with a miscarriage. I think this is a complete unfair comparison. It's unfair to the child, who is still alive. The child has not died. It is alive and being taken care of by its parents. That's a wonderful thing, especially if the parent is capable of caring for it. It's unfair to the birthmom, who was completely within her rights to change her mind. She's the one that decided to look into adoption, and after looking into it can decide she doesn't want to move forward with it. As I mentioned before, I hadn't lost a child. The child was never mine.
As practical and objective as this sounds, I did have a good cry with Chris. I was sad, and I was disappointed. But there was nothing to mourn. No need to sulk. Our name was still on the distribution list to receive circulars.
Another thing I was mad about was that we had driven back to Michigan and missed out on time with family and friends. My sister had planned her trip to my parents with my nephews based on our schedule. We had friends that we were planning to see and spend time with. And I just hate that drive in general. We had two more weeks set aside for time in Texas, and here we are in Michigan. Yuck!
Liz called later that morning to update us on the birthmom. Liz had met with her to see how she went from saying she wasn't going to be capable of caring for her child to deciding to parent him. It sounded like she had, in a short time, made arrangements to care for him. I was happy the boy was able to grow up with his mom and other family members after all. There was comfort in knowing it was an issue of practical factors {time and money} and not one of substance abuse. He was going to a home where he would be loved.
My best friend called me frequently that day to check up on me. I talked with my family and explained what happened. Chris spoke with his parents too. Chris mentioned to them how bummed we were that we couldn't finish our trip in Texas, and they graciously offered to fly us back down to Houston. Chris asks me, "Would you even want to go back down?"
"Umm YES!"
"When would you want to go down? Maybe this weekend?"
"Umm, why not tomorrow?"
We decided not to tell our best friends we were coming. We couldn't pass up on this opportunity to surprise their pants off. I called my mom and told her I would be there the next day for her birthday after all, and I was going to be able to go to the waterpark with my nephews. Things were looking up. Fantastic! Before Chris let us buy tickets, we had to account for our dog. We had to hunt down a line up of folks to care for him for two weeks. Within an hour, we had three families that were willing to take turns with the pup. A million thanks to those people!
My friend called me one more time that night to check in and encourage us to rest up for the next couple days. He he. Rest up on a plane in the morning! 48 hours after leaving Texas, we were back. What a whirlwind!
More to come,
Amanda
Who wouldn't want this guy in their house for two weeks?
It is so AWESOME that you are sharing your story Amanda!!! A total blessing!!! XO, Aimee
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