The Journey

Adoption was presented to us almost immediately after we lost Wyatt. Our Pastor did a sermon on adoption, foster care and sponsorship. It wasn’t “for” us. It’s just that the timing of this fell within our season of grief. I was totally put off by it. If I remember right, Tyler was open to it, but I thought “No way. That’s for people who can’t have kids. Besides I want them to look like us.” I love the smell of my newborn babies. There’s just something about it that makes me gently massage their heads with my cheek all day. Someone else’s baby is sure to smell funny. And then there are features. I’m not saying my babies were the most beautiful (even though they were) but I tend to like even our worst family features. Because they are, in fact, ours. Tyler has the largest cheek bones I’ve ever seen on a man. Unless of course I was looking at his father, or cousins, who all seem to inherit the “Stef cheeks”. I don’t think most people would find this feature attractive. But I do, and I do on my children because they are his. What kind of weird features would I be facing in an adoption? Tyler was ready to go grab a few babies from Africa. What? Not Africa! I looked at him and said “I’m never going to Africa”. Nope. No thank you.

Months after this we began to sponsor a few children in Peru. At first I was picky; I wanted one with Wyatt’s birthday. But there were so many faces that needed help we ended up with three. For just a little money a month they can get medical care and food. We write them letters and send them pictures. They get a chance to have birthday parties and a Christmas through our sponsorship. We get SO excited when we get letters from them and get to see their drawings. We get a chance to tell them that Jesus loves them and that, despite their circumstances, they are so very special.  

Not long after this I looked in surrogacy. I figured this was a good alternative to giving birth again. Not that a doctor ever said I couldn’t. But the pain from the surgery, that lingers even 19 months later, has left me knowing I could never survive another one. It’s a no-brainer for me. If I ever heard “You need a c-section” again, I would refuse to the point of my fatality. Let me die, then take the baby however you need to. Extreme? Yeah, it probably sounds it. But you try living with barbed-wire in your pelvis, that never goes away and never gets better, for two years, and then tell me how you would feel. I thought that with surrogacy at least it would be “ours”. Adoption continued to come up. A couple from church brought home two boys from the Congo. Another couple had three from India. The topic was sprinkled throughout the year in our conversations but never really got in depth.  One of us was never interested.

All this passing time was spent watching Lexi get bigger and bigger. The void became larger. She is definitely a child who needed a younger sibling. She loves her older brother and sister but they are so much older! We go through the typical, “She’s bugging me. She says my toys are hers. Can’t I be alone?” My heart breaks for them all because I know what it’s like to be tormented by a younger sibling without the maturity to understand that they are just young. Lexi just loves people. She and Wyatt would’ve been inseparable.

Shortly after getting to Las Vegas, things started to get better. The sun is out constantly (just as it should be, of course) and there’s excellent physical therapy. I seem to be making progress with pain. Three steps forward, two steps back. Pain cycles come and go but at least they are ‘going’, even if it’s just a little bit. Tyler is home more. Ok, a lot. Eight hour days and he can actually answer his phone. He’s taken a lot of vacation time and we’ve reunited as a family. Lexi actually notices when he’s gone now and I consider that a huge step in a good direction. Our short happiness has brought on the talks of the emptiness I’ve been feeling: another child. Can we? Too risky. I can’t imagine feeling another being inside of me and just waiting for them to stop breathing. Or moving. I can’t imagine that feeling of being attached to someone who you are helpless to save, even though you are mom. That would be the longest nine months of torture….and then the birth. I mourn the fact that we’ve lost the ability to plan a child the way they are supposed to be planned. ‘We’re having a baby! Oh, look at the little clothes! I wonder if it’s a boy or girl.” When we think of getting pregnant the “baby” part practically gets left out. “100 grams of protein a day and a gallon of water. Vitamin E for a good placental bed. Do we homebirth? Can we find a midwife here who would take me? Do we just fly to Texas to the Doctor who was going to let me VBAC? I need to read those unassisted books. And affirmations, I need daily affirmations so I don’t lose my mind. Then prayer, so much prayer I’ll spend six hours a day with my face in the carpet. Would God listen? Surely He’s seen what we’ve been through and have mercy….but God doesn’t exactly work that way does He?” It’s hard to remember the wonderful smelling baby with high cheek bones that would be the result of it all. I confided in a friend about my desires and fears. Her response: Fear is from the enemy. And there are more ways to have a child than to give birth. You can adopt.  

A few weeks after moving I attended lunch with some fellow home schooling moms. One of them sat a little toddler on her lap, clearly of Asian descent. I asked her about it. They just adopted from Thailand. It was easy, and they received grants to help. It only took 9 months. Now adoption to me had a face. This sweet little girl sat playing with her other siblings and they were a great family. This wasn’t what I had envisioned adoption as. Suddenly it seems possible. Could we? Maybe? I went home and talked Tyler to death. We could. It could close the age gap. Lexi would have a playmate. It might be financially possible. We have plenty of space. I just want to hold a baby again. I was getting excited as I rambled on for several days. Then I noticed Tyler wasn’t talking. I asked him and he said he was ‘thinking about it’. “Oh.” My brain shut down mid-stream. Never mind. You were always the one on board so I just assumed you still were. I don’t have the energy to convince you so never mind.

But the thoughts didn’t exactly leave like I wanted them to. I found myself researching. Thailand has stopped all adoptions, so has Vietnam. In China you have to be 30 (and my poor husband is not yet). India you can’t have more than two kids at home. Korea might make an exception for a Special Needs child. Maybe we could, we have good healthcare, so maybe if it can be corrected? There are many warnings against anywhere in South America. They’ll just take your money. I really really didn’t want Africa. And I didn’t want to make Africa a choice just because it was all we had. I read an article that said you should be interested in the country your child comes from. For me that ruled out Africa and Russia. For no reasons that I can articulate, I’m just not interested in those countries. So I started scanning waiting child lists. There are SO MANY. All the faces. All the children who are crammed in orphanages. My heart grew bigger than my brain. I want to help them all. I know I can’t. But helping one just doesn’t seem like enough.

Tyler looked with me one night at an agency that is just down the road. They only have an Ethiopian program. We read the pages and watched the videos. I didn’t know anything about Ethiopia but we got very excited. The babies were gorgeous and the country was unique. Situated between the Middle East and Africa it has some of the oldest records of civilization. It was a dynasty until the 70’s when Civil War tore it apart. There are 80 different languages and 10% of the population are orphans. Wow. This might be it. We were both happy and excited and even crying a little. This might be it. We might be adding to our family.

I asked for all the paperwork and started processing things. There are a lot of documents we have to get together and it will take some time. Looking at the money I have no idea how this will all come together. Ethiopia requires two trips, one to make the adoption legal and then another to come and take the child home. That’s a lot of money, never mind the fifteen thousand that just paperwork will cost. We don’t have it, but there are grants. We can try.

We spent a little while being very excited. I took every book out on adoption from the library and researched Ethiopia in depth. Then a few days ago I started to have doubts. I didn’t want Africa, what makes me think I can take care of an African child? I know there are differences, like hair care. There are special soaps and you can only wash it so often, I think, or it dries out? There are things to know and I don’t know them. Can I handle an interracial family? With outsider criticism and possibly family criticism? As I put one of my own kids in time out I had to wonder “I’m not very nice. Not as nice as I want to be. Why would I drag another child into this family?” I’m never the mom I want to be. I never wake up wanting to give a lecture or yell or get frustrated. I want to giggle and play at the park and teach reading, writing, and arithmetic. I haven’t gotten one of those perfect days yet. Someone doesn’t listen. Someone almost gets hit by a car and I yell. No one cleans up after themselves so I lecture and make them. There are tears from all sides. I’m not a fun mom. What would I do with one more? I struggle to teach my three kids to love Jesus and desire a relationship with him. To love others and God above all else, and yet I can’t even act with the grace that Jesus wants us to give. I’m afraid my teaching will fall on deaf ears and they’ll just follow how Mamma acts and not what she says. Why would I bring another child into this? Especially a child with medical needs that I was possibly considering. No, I can’t. I am not good. It would be too much. I’m such a horrible person, if the child smelled funny that would be it. No cheek massaging, no bonding, just annoyance. The berating of myself has gotten worse over the days and I’ve put all the paperwork away. I couldn’t help another child. There are better parents out there than me.

After a day spent in self-degradation, I sit in my room doing my stretches for therapy and it dawns on me: I had a son. I have a son. I had a fourth child. He was here. But he’s not now. He’s gone. He smelled beautiful. He had high cheek bones. I rubbed his hair on my cheek all day one day. It was a long time ago. There’s a picture somewhere….where is it? I need to see it. Right now. I’ve almost forgotten. It’s on the floor. He’s on the floor. Waiting for the walls to be painted, why would I put you on the floor? I’m so sorry. You do look just like Lexi. And just like your daddy. And now all that’s left is the pain, physical and mental. The physical pain can be so excruciating it consumes the reason it is there to begin with. My son. We tried to save you. We tried so hard. I wish you were here. There’s a giant hole in the family and I can’t shake it and I can’t fill it. Another baby would never be as beautiful as you. And now I’m crying as hard as if it just happened. Crying on the floor until I’m exhausted.

Maybe this is just the “ups and downs” of the adoption process. Maybe it’s life after losing a child. I don’t know, but this might be a very short “adoption journey”.