I can’t count how many times I have cried for the child I have waited two years to adopt. This is the child I am afraid to meet because once I see and hold him, I will not be able to forget his place in my arms, or be able to ever let him go.
Seeing updated photos of him creates intense joy and grief as his changed face reminds me of the passing of time. Some days, the only way to keep my head above my emotions longing for him is to put him to the back of my mind. But the endless list of unknowns- wondering who he’ll be when he is in our family and what he might be doing right now takes over, and I break.
There are no givens in the world of adoption. Not for the first families, for waiting parents and especially for the children. We can’t manipulate how our children function in our absence, or even if they will ever make it to our homes. Nothing is predictable, nothing is certain. The journey is laid out before us, for good or bad, months or years; and our only choice is how we’ll fill our days. These following seven points have been my (sometimes) coping mechanisms during the last two years.
I have prayed. You may choose to do something different whether it is whom you pray to, or if you sit quietly in your emotions, trying to find peace. For me I have prayed, and begged God from the very news of this baby who was to be born. I went into the room that will be his, and touched the door handles that he would touch, prayed in front of the window he will one day look out. I cried out for God to see fit, we could find a way to one day see this child sleeping in that room.
I have shared my news with only a trusted circle. I made a conscious effort to keep the birth of this boy very close to me. Having been through international adoption before, and one that had some real ups and downs I knew this was going to be tough. We faced a closed government on our side and a transitioning adoption process in our country of choice. The knowledge that our son’s Haitian Momma had asked for us was one of great importance to us, but irrelevant to the adoption process. To face questions from friend’s and loved ones, all of which I have no answers for, is surely a way to drive a person into depression.
I have cried. Holding in my sadness, disappointment, and frustration is not healthy. I try to rise above it for my daughter and my husband but the reality is sometimes I can’t. The more I pretend, the less stable I feel, some days it’s a continuous rollercoaster of emotions. Life still happens and it’s good, but it doesn’t negate the need to occasionally pour out the pain.
I disappear. In a good way, I get lost in magazines, a bath, or a great book. I love a good mystery, and Netflix exists for me to binge watch a show during the moments my daughter is asleep or at school. The time I could spend thinking too much about what I cannot control is when I distract myself.
I let go of what I can. I refuse the urge to get online and delve into the groups that exist for families in process of adoption. The problem with that is their information may not be accurate, and it can send you into a state of panic. As well, their good news can bring up feelings mixed with happiness and jealously. When I’m the most desperate is the very time I ignore the adoptive groups and I choose to call a fellow adoptive mom instead.
I don’t compare. This is not my first adoption journey. The process is not the same; timelines are not realistic as the country is making changes to the steps. My journey is different from that of other families in process, even though we are with the same orphanage. Our dossiers may have gone in at the same time, but there will always be families who process faster, and some slower. The bottom line is there is no rhyme of reason, and we cannot look to someone else to be a guideline for what to expect.
I accept this. All of it, the good, bad and the ugly. I am a mother by way of adoption and nothing about it is easy; not for me, the first families and least of all our children. I give myself permission to be happy with good news, and broken over the let down’s. There is nothing I can do to change this, speed it up or make it smoother, it’s out of my hands.
I want to walk this journey in such a way where I don’t regret my grief or deny it exists. My son could be bringing his own trauma and I need to be healthy enough to walk him through it. I want him to know that I was strong enough to make this journey. I would like to say I didn’t stop living, some days I struggled with it, but I didn’t stop.