We Have Lift Off!

This weekend I will embark on a new mission.  I will launch my career as a Pro-life speaker.  I never saw this coming from 5 years ago. Who'd have guessed I'd write a book and want to get involved in all the hullabaloo.  As I sit in a hotel lobby, I realize I can't step back from the launching pad. We are all systems go.  The countdown is on.  I will sign in tomorrow at Together For Adoption's National Conference and take my name badge entitled 'Brittany Hudson' Executive Director for The Vessel -For Life and Speaker. 

What on earth possessed me to take on such an endeavor?  It wasn't part of my initial plan at first. I just wanted to write a book and let that be that but as I started looking into the writing world,  I realized that there was so much more to making a statement than penning some pages.  The privilege of author takes a commitment to building a platform.  I got it, you need to be out there promoting your message in order to sell books but what was my message other than sharing my testimony?

I had such a profound experience with my adoption that I never slowed down enough to consider that others might me a lot less fortunate than me.  As I researched blogs written by other birthmothers it became clear, I was not so much the norm as the exception as far as the bloggers out there.  What a hole in my heart, my tears poured through as I read the stories of birthmothers who'd felt coerced, lied to, rejected, dismissed and left to suffer to the scoffing of a public that wanted them to keep quiet and tow the company line, should anyone care to ask.  It shouldn't surprise anyone that as I made myself know out there on Planet Internet that my very experience would make their skin wrinkle.  Obviously I was a religious delusional who'd not been made aware of my harsh reality, poor dear. 
I expected to be embraced by my newly found nation only to be rejected and rather unceremoniously.

So what was different about me?  Why was I doing so well when others suffered seemingly endless grief and loss?  The answer is clear to me.  I understand that my adoption story had amazing purpose.  It was ordained by my Creator, loving handed to me to carry out and I chose to respectfully and reverently bow my knee and take my assignment. 

Do I feel any pain in my adoption even today?  Of course I do.  I pain for my daughters who unwillingly take my choices on as part of their lives.  I regret that they may grieve because of me.  I have times of reflection where I wish this wasn't part of my life, because it isn't easy to live with this story you see. 

I get up every day with a commitment to honor my life assignment. I use my pain to bring hope and healing to others but I am not the message. I am the messenger sent by the only one who can make something like this whole.  Jesus is the Healer and I get to bring His love to every woman and unborn child I touch.  I would cry a river every day to share in the joy for 10 minutes that I have with these woman when they understand that this time, even for the first time, someone loves them unconditionally.  I get to let God's love pour out of me and into the hearts of these beautiful people.  What a joy it is to serve!

Together for Adoption's National Conference will focus on the reality that every adoption involves suffering. The joy that comes through it is promised in James 1:1-4.  Read it and may you understand, what He promises is what is gained in the trial.  If you can't join me at the conference this weekend, please pray for me as I share my story and the ministry's vision for how I bring healing and what needs to be done for better aftercare for women who have placed.  Launch will commence in T-Minus 12 hours...

www.togetherforadoption.org 
www.the-vessel.org

Please Join Us in Atlanta for Together for Adoption's National Conference!

http://vimeo.com/46925221

The Permanent Like Super Glue

Something fills your lungs when you are about to make something permanent.  It's like a gluey coating when you inhale.  Exhaling it makes it all stick in some cosmic way, I am sure of it. 
I felt that way when I got married.  It was exhilarating to get ready for my wedding. I remember having the whole day to primp and celebrate with my bridesmaids.  We sang in the limo 'Chapel of Love' all the way to the church but when I stood with my dad and the doors to the sanctuary as they  opened, I inhaled and the sense of permanence filled my body. I knew I was making a decision for the rest of my life.  But that was a happy kind of sticky. 

Any feelings of more time wafted out the door as soon as my adoption counselor arrived.  Upon her greetings and minutes of small talk, Brett and Kayla were asked to leave the room with Alex and it was time for us to get down to business.  It was time for paperwork.  I tried to slow my breathing as she pulled out the papers.  The weight of anticipation made my whole body feel slow to move.  She tried dutifully and carefully to explain but what was the sense?  Anything I didn't agree to or couldn't sign off on meant the deal was off.  She read and pointed and I had my pen in hand and tried to lightly lift my clammy fingers off of the paper with each sign so they wouldn't stick.

I didn't ask any questions, I just wanted to get through it.  I hadn't changed my mind but I wanted more time.  If I had a thousand years, I still would have wanted a thousand and one.  Sooner or later, I was going to have to say "good bye".  Every page made the decision stick a little more.  The last page and it was done.  A fixed decision in my life.  There is no divorce from this covenant unlike marriage. 

People have asked me what was more painful, having to bury my husband or letting Alex go. The honest answer is that I don't really know.  Both of  them were equally painful but how I feel about those losses are incredibly different.  Although Greg and Alex will never be mine again, I can still see Alex.  In fact, I have had two great visits already.   I didn't have any warning for the day I'd lose Greg.  I had several months to see the day I'd terminate my rights to parent Alex.  That didn't make it any easier though.  Greg is in Heaven with Jesus right now.  Who could ask for him to be anywhere better even if it isn't with me?  Alex is with two of the best parents I could ask for who love her more than their own lives.  Could I have wished for anything more for her? 

In the cases of my widowhood and my birthmotherhood I can say one thing about them both. They are both losses, they both hurt sometimes but I have healed by the grace of God and I can see the beauty in it all even though I wish sometimes that it could have been different.  I wouldn't change either one of those covenants.  I can sleep well in that.

The Real Parents

Sitting in a hospital bed watching other people fawn over my daughter was a lot like sitting in sound proof room looking out through anti-bullet glass.  I sat silent, placidly smiling and feeling ashamed of asking to hold her.  There needed to be a full 72 hours from birth to be able to sign any adoption paperwork so legally she was mine.  Was she still my daughter?

I shifted in my bed while they passed her around.  Mom, dad, then adoptive grandma, aunts, would I be able to hold her too?  Do I have to ask for permission?  Times would come and someone would ask if I wanted to hold her.  I'd offer a lazy 'yes' wanting to leap off of the bed to embrace her if only I wasn't recovering from a c-section.  Was it okay that I wanted to see her? 

In the evenings the visitors would eventually go home.  I'd sit in my silence, afraid to ask the nurses to get her for me.  I wanted to be able to feed her, I even asked once but they never returned to either say 'no' or bring Alex to me.  I wanted to care for her in the precious hours that I had left before the sand ran out of my hourglass. Could I do that? 

My last morning came like an unwelcome relative on a Thanksgiving morning.  I didn't want to get up.  I knew it was the last day that I'd see her, see them.  The yellow island sun beamed through my hospital room window with the promise of another day in paradise to everyone in Key West who wasn't me.  Today was the day Brett and Kayla would be bringing Alex home. This was the day they had been waiting for since their adoption journey began.  This was the day I was dreading since the start of mine.  How much longer do I have?

After pushing my breakfast around with my fork I asked for her.  Just a few sweet moments with her alone.  I could finally hold her and look into her cherub-like face all nestled tightly in a newborn swaddle.  She slept as I held her in my lap, cradling her little head in my hands.  I wanted to get a solid look at her, to study her face.  I started talking to her. I wanted her to know that it wasn't that I didn't love her.  I loved her enough to let her go, for her protection, in her best interest.  The all encompassing love of a mother bids her to make the sacrifices she must for her children,  forsaking her own life even. This would be one of those times, so few really ever face, and  I was doing it. 
I told her how much her parents loved her.  I told her of how much I have adored them since the minute I saw their pictures.  I told her about the sweetness her mother has and how much I looked forward to hearing from her about all of her milestones.  Please God, let them tell me about Alex.

Tears spilled forcefully as I wrestled with my emotions.  I wanted to be happy for her.  This little life, having no choice in coming to be, having nothing to do with our separation was going to have to live the life of an adopted child and I was the one making that decision.  I wanted her to know how special we all thought she was.  Would she feel special?  Would she be sad?  Would she be mad at me?

I began to churn with desperation when the door opened to my room. It was Brett and Kayla.  I tried to smile through my grief-stricken face and greet them but they shrunk back from the doorway as they took in my appearance.

"We'll give you some more time." Kayla said, looking apologetically. 

"No, it's okay. Come in."

And Then There Was Me

I lay in my bed in the recovery room staring in dismay at my feet.  "Mind over matter," I thought.  They still wouldn't budge.  When I decided that my brain couldn't over ride my epidural I glazed over, peering at the foot at the bed.  No one.  I could hear faint voices of what I reasoned was recovery room nurses, but other than that and for the first time in nine months, I was utterly alone.  That stark realization struck me in the face. 

My mind drifted to the minutes after Carli, my first daughter, was born.  I had my husband by my side and a flutter of nurses crowding around me, offering congratulations and cooing over my newborn baby.  I thought of the glowing love I had for Carli the second I laid eyes on her.  As I gazed down at my precious child I remember the feeling like I could never let her go. I kissed her sweet head and nuzzled my little girl. Sheer bliss.

I felt a little jealous about being down the basement of the hospital with no windows while Brett and Kayla held Alex in her first minutes. As I lay in silence, they had the attention of the maternity floor, my family, their family and her. It is such a bummer to feel like you are missing your own party.

I came around to my feet again.  They were my only company.  Eventually a nurse came by and took my vital signs, asked how I felt and offered me pain medication.  I readily accepted.  I wasn't in much pain but I wanted to be a little zoned out for when I went upstairs. I didn't mind something taking the edge off of the emotions.  I swallowed and waited for the comfort of sedation.  I could go upstairs when I could move my feet.  I focused and tried for almost 45 minutes until they agreed to do what I said. 

At last an orderly came to take me upstairs.  I was free of this prison of solitude and I could again join in on the celebration.  I wanted to see her.  I only got a glimpse of her in the OR.  Would she look like Carli?  Me?  Did my mom get to hold her yet?  I thought of more questions while the anxiety of seeing everyone rose into my chest with every ding on the elevator.

I was backed into a large maternity room with a familiar buzz of excitement.  I was now a little sleepy from the pills and the tiredness of an operation.  With everything going on, it was easy to forget that I just had surgery.  My daughter, Carli, met my bedside to see her groggy mom attached to wires and tubes. She started crying.  As she went on she started to panic.  She needed to know that I was okay.  She ran around the bed, back and forth, trying to get to me as I tried to scold her over the noise of everyone in the room, "Carli don't pull that!"  In my exasperation over trying to both protect myself from further injury and fruitless in attempting to soothe my toddler, I yelled out to my mother. "What is she doing here!?"  We had agreed not to bring her to the hospital this day.  I knew this would be confusing for her and she was to leave her with my friend, Angel.  My mother gave an explanation but I think she needed Carli there to help her get through this.  I had to give her that much. This was hard.  I relented and calmed down to explain to Carli to be careful with Mama.  We brought her attention back to the baby, which she wanted little to do with.  Her concerns were for me.  I pained that she had to suffer because of me. 

So powerful to realize that a bad decision made in private can become not only so public but have the ability to hurt a multitude people.  Sin never happens in a vacuum.  After a calm came over the room, I looked over to the corner side of the room to see Brett calmly holding a sweet, sleeping baby dressed in a cute 'yellow duckie' sleeper while his wife quietly smiled and looked on.  A slice of Heaven fell on two wonderful people.  God can do amazing things with sin that is given to Him to make beautiful. 

Happy Birthmother's Day?

A swirl of emails and phone calls, my life is abuzz with my prospective future.   A PR firm interviewed me for promotion of my story.  The anticipation that I might be getting "that call" to say a media outlet would like to bring it forth to the public is what I have dreamed of since I started this journey.  To make Adoption as easy a discussion as any other in the unplanned pregnancy positions, that is my goal.  I am a bit desensitized to the jargon these days.  Adoption is a topic I routinely discuss.

"Why do they want to get your story out?", one asked me as I was heralding what was new in my life.  "It's Birthmother's Day on the Saturday before Mother's Day", I replied with a bit of an excited tweek as if I were sharing a secret.   As a contortion of confusion came to his face, his next question was, "They celebrate that?" 

I stumbled a bit in my posturing but trying to maintain a poker face in response to the last remark, I offered up an affirmative with a weak smile.  I know why he said what he did and it was by no means an insult or trying to demean what I'd been through. The fact of the matter is, the Birthmother is largely closeted in the discussions of Adoption with most agencies and ministries firmly founded on the mantra of Child and Adoptive Family.  There is nothing wrong with that.  I do find it comical though that most would prefer to think of the child just materializing into the arms of the adoption counselor to dispatch to the adoptive family like these children are harvested out of a parentless cabbage patch.

While others on Sunday will get flowers, cards and spa gift certificates, the mother who has so lovingly and purposefully chosen for her child that a life apart from her's would be best,  Mother's Day can be a tearful reminder of her covenant with her adoptive family.  How does one honor the sacrifice but also give room for the grieving that takes place so often on this weekend?  Personally, I think a Metal of Valor would be grand but no one gives those out to us.  Our awards can't be seen and our stories, for the most part, are never even heard outside of a close knit circle of those with the inside information.  That doesn't make them less valid. 

If one seeks to be understood, one must seek to understand.  Why is the Birthmother so hush, hush?  Why wouldn't a person who, aside from dying, made the ultimate sacrifice be out there for others to see?  Doesn't being a good mom mean we make the best choices for our children no matter what the cost is to us?  When someone does something extraordinary, don't people love to share it that others may benefit? 

I counted the costs in my decision and decided that Adoption was the most loving thing that I could do for everyone involved.  I haven't regretted my choice.  I have a great relationship with Alex's adoptive parents and that is just icing on my cake for Birthmother's Day.  She will live a life in love from her adoptive parents and her birth family.  How can that not be worth a celebration?

Alex's Adoptive Mom Shares on the Birth Story

I often wondered what it was like to witness Alex's birth from Kayla's perspective.  I asked her to write about the birth story from the perspective of the Adoptive Mother. Here is her powerful and personally touching story:

"I laid in bed in a dark hotel room waiting for the alarm clock to signal it was time- time to go to the hospital, time to meet my daughter.  The thought made me giddy and anxious at the same time.  Was this really happening?? 

The events of the previous four years played in my mind, and I was reminded of the hope, pain, disappointment, joy, depression, and longing that had kept me on an emotional roller-coaster with no end in sight.  But there I was at the end, and it was only the beginning.

Before I knew it, I was in a pre-op room dressed from head-to-toe in blue scrubs and holding the hand of the most beautiful pregnant woman I had ever seen.  Just two months before, I met her for the first time feeling so blessed that she chose life for the baby girl growing inside her and chose us to be the parents.  That day she told us that she knew she was “the vessel that God was using to carry the answer to someone else’s prayers.” 

I will never forget those words.  Ever.

The nurses wheeled her into the operating room and told me they would come get me when it was time.  My husband and I held hands and prayed for a safe delivery, a healthy baby, and peace for our daughter’s birth mother. 

A few minutes later, a young nurse with an excited grin appeared in the doorway and led me toward the operating room.  We walked down the long, sterile hallway and tears welled up my eyes.  Surreal.

Not all adoptive mothers are in the delivery room.  Since Brittany was having a c-section, she was only allowed to have one person in the operating room with her.  Her mother?  Her best friend?  No, she selflessly invited me to witness the birth of my daughter.  Words cannot describe how grateful I will always be for that gift. 

When we entered the brightly lit room, Brittany was on the operating table and all I could see was her beautiful belly.  I quickly moved to the other side of the curtain where I found her face – calm and reassuring.  I felt so guilty that her demeanor was reassuring me when I wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay.  I did the only thing I could possibly do to help bring her peace- I placed my head next to hers and whispered a prayer in her ear.  I knew our Heavenly Father orchestrated every step of this journey, and I knew He was there with us now. 

In keeping with the laid back vibe of the Florida Keys, the doctor and anesthesiologist made small talk and dished out clever jabs at each other, making the rest of us chuckle and wonder if they were focused enough on the task at hand.

 After a few minutes, the nurse told me I could move to the foot of the bed to have a clear view of the first moment of my baby girl’s life.  An intern had my camera, and I was armed with my cell phone camera – ready to capture the beauty and perfection of life.  Briefly, the mood in the room changed, the small talk and jabs subsided, and my heart sank.  The doctor asked for a vacuum and I prayed again. 

Then she was here.  There in front of me was a perfect, crying, pink, beautiful baby girl.  Tears flowed and the love that I already had for her multiplied infinitely in my heart. 

I wanted so badly to hold her, to kiss her nose, to snuggle her into the curve of my neck.  But the nurses took over and began cleaning, suctioning, and checking every inch of her little body.  I stuck my pointer finger out and let her wrap her tiny hand around it.  I was smitten.

I turned around and saw Brittany with a tear rolling down her cheek.  Was it joy?  Was is sorrow?  Was it fear?  I went to her, held her head in my hands and repeated the same words I had said to her many times before: “thank you.”  Those two words do not even come close to expressing the feeling in my heart.  You say “thank you” to the cashier at the grocery store, you say “thank you” to your hair dresser when you leave the salon, you say “thank you” to a stranger who holds the door open.  There should be something more significant to say to the woman who gave you the gift of motherhood- who, through the will of God, blessed you with a child.  But all I could say was, “Thank you!”

The nurses finished cleaning and examining the baby, wrapped her up like a burrito, and took her to Brittany’s face.  She said how beautiful she was and we exchanged smiles.  Then the nurse put the baby into an incubator and got ready to head out of the OR. 

I wanted to hold her.  My heart was aching, I wanted to hold her so badly. 

I followed as the nurse pushed the rolling incubator towards the door.  My heart was overjoyed at what was before me, but breaking with what was behind.  Brittany had cared for, talked to, and bonded with the child that grew in her womb.  How did she feel laying on the operating table, cord cut, and physically separated from her baby for the first time in nine months?  Lord, give her peace.  Please Lord, please fill her heart with peace.

I put my hand on the incubator and headed toward the waiting room where a new father was waiting to meet his baby girl.  After years or prayerful faith, we were finally a family of three."

The Delivery and the Hero

My underlying panic over having abdominal surgery started to rise as my hospital bed was backed up into the elevator.  In a reaction, I struggled not to put my arms out and yell “NO!”  Couldn’t this baby be born any other way?  The thought of the pain and slow healing process made me want to stop everything but there was no way around it, I was going to go through this today.  My C-section with my first daughter, Carli was a nightmare of nightmares.  A failed epidural and no way to fix what they had started, I spent my fearful moments on the OR table in a daze of morphine as they tried to keep me as comfortable as possible in order to get through what they needed to for the delivery of my daughter.  The shaking from the drugs distracted me from the miserable pain.  It seemed cruel to anticipate that I might have to go through that all over again and I was afraid that maybe this time, in such a tiny little local hospital, it could be even worse.

Kayla was right by my side the entire time.  Her pleasant, anticipating smile were a reminder that we were doing something monumental today.  I tried to shift my mind back to the baby being born for such a remarkable couple to welcome. The agony they’d faced in years of infertility trials and heartbreak would make all of it worth it to her, this day was finally here for Kayla to take in.  This is the day she would hold a precious little baby in her arms and call her “mine”.  I settled on those feelings of helping God accomplish that for her until the waves of anxiety would sweep me out again. 

Like a tide I washed back and forth as nurses and workers asked me questions and stuck this needle in here and prepped that area for the procedure.   Everyone in the little pre-op bays stood a little while longer than they should have to find out what the nature of my relationship was to Kayla.  I offered no explanation; I wanted this to be her day with her new daughter and not a morning of interviews about my decision.  Kayla’s nervous excitement seemed to grow with the minutes closing in on my operation time.  Both of us had the same thought for once, “please let’s get on with it!” was all we could think of.

My anesthesiologist was an answer to my jittery prayers.  My expectations were a barely-passed doctor from some medical school in Guatemala but instead I got an Ivy-Leaguer trained in one the best hospital institutions in Boston.  We quickly settled into talking while he worked about “home” for both of us and what we liked about Boston, where we lived and their proximities to each other.  He went on drizzling information to see if we had any personal connections, I couldn’t think of any but then in my circumstance, I didn’t necessarily want to divulge any either.  I rattled on about my hesitation and previous experiences with epidurals and he half-heartedly laughed as he sighed out “Well, Beth Israel is a teaching hospital.  You probably got a newbie.”   In no time I was completely numb and comfortable.  I was fascinated by the lack of feeling I had from the waist down.  He greeted my doctor as he arrived and everyone exchanged “Good Mornings”.  My doctor asked me a few questions and patted my arm in reassurance that it would be over soon.  Sadness always haloed his voice when he spoke to me.  I am sure I was one of the few, if not the only, birthmother he ever attended to. The whole situation seemed to ring of loss for him.  I suppose a man who mainly makes a living helping parents through one of the most joyous times of their lives was not used to having to keep my relationship to the baby so matter-of-fact  instead of sharing in the wonders of expecting mothers and fathers.  He did his best to try and comfort me and keep off of the subject of parenthood.  “Okay, Lady”, he said in his subtle Cuban accent, “Let’s get this baby out!” That was music to my ears. 

My new best friend was the anesthesiologist.  I lay there in a dazed, numb-limbed haze as he spoke kind and reassuring words to me about the progress of the surgery.  Kayla was with me, holding my head and comforting me as they progressed behind the screen.  Feeling her hands on the sides of my face was such a tender comfort to me.  I focused on the whisper of her voice as she spoke words of thanksgiving and peace.  “Please just let me live to see my Carli”, was all that I could plead with God silently in my mind. I didn’t want to leave her.  Not like this. 

The moment came when they were ready to bring Alex out in the world.  Attendants in the room called out to Kayla to take her position with the camera for Alex’s debut.  My lips trembled for her joy, an emotional tear escaped from the corner of my eye.  This was the big moment, the showstopper.  Kayla would greet her little girl into the world and I wished I was able to take a picture of her face when she saw her. 

A newborn cry let out and I heard Kayla breakdown as the OR erupted into joyous comments from the staff.  I saw the nurses rush by me with the baby to the table where they would examine her and give her the initial APGAR. Kayla was close behind them.  She returned to my head, crying from the amazing event that had just occurred before her eyes.  She became a mother and it wouldn’t have been possible if not for my willingness to submit to giving Alex life. 

Kayla and I formed an unbreakable bond in those moments.  There is an altruistic relationship that forms between Adoptive mother and Birth mother.  Both depend on each other so much to stay true to their covenant.  I have never felt such an unretractable love for someone and yet feel as though it was so completely vulnerable all at the same time.  She depended on me to fulfill the plan.  I depend on her to fulfill the needs that Alex has and will have as she grows.  You would wonder why or how you could put a trust in someone like that, wouldn’t you?  Yet, it is true.  It can be done so beautifully if it is done well. 

My Video Testimony

http://youtu.be/hfsGL1NoEoQ

Now Arriving...

I was met in the lobby by two very wide-eyed people.   I am not sure that Kayla's mouth could have handled a wider smile.  Her pale blue eyes danced and twinkled as she beamed at me.  Brett, with his usual warm smile was a little quieter.  He always seemed like he was trying to be cautiously optimistic.   He wanted things to work out well for Kayla, I know.  The only thing it seemed that he ever wanted was for her to be happy.  Who could fault a guy for that?

We hugged and belly patted and I waddled over to registration with two impending parents in tow.  After a brief mix up over where I was supposed to register, the nurses got me into my room and settled me in my bed and Brett and Kayla found seats off to the side.  The maternity nurse did her usual.  I'd had a baby before so I knew what we'd be doing.  They hooked my belly up to the baby monitor so they could hear her heart beat.  Kayla made her way over to the machine.  She stood in front of the sound of her daughter's heart wooshing in a perfect rhythm.  I saw her face soften and become emotional over the sound.  It was the first time she'd heard Alex's heartbeat.  I fixed on her face and studied as she started to let out a giddy laugh and turn back to Brett who was standing at the foot of the bed watching this all happen.

Nurses, attendants, and doctors came in and out.  They greeted and checked things, blood pressures and such. We were periodically updated as to when I would be prepped for surgery.  We made some excited chit-chat between the three of us as we waited.  They were nervous with anticipation and I was trying not to focus on my impending abdominal surgery.  I wasn't looking forward to the recovery and I was especially on edge because my last epidural with my first daughter didn't take and I was miserable and doped up so full of morphine that I thought that I was going to shake off the table.  It was a harrowing and disappointing experience and I was hoping that this one would not be part two.

The talk came around to some other couples they met recently that had adopted within months.  They had kept in contact with other couples at the agency who had gone through prep courses at the same time.  I thought that was kind of neat.  Like a kinship.  I am sure the process and waiting can be agonizing. It must be nice to have others around you who can relate.  Last they brought up a couple who's birthmother changed her mind after the delivery.  There was a brief silence.  I was heartbroken to think about this amazing couple, awaiting the answer to prayer only to go home empty handed.  I assured them that I had made my decision and that I knew that this baby was meant for them and a blessing by God.  After that elephant left the room we could get back to settling in on Alex's arrival.

Kayla brought sweet little outfits for her and told me all about her baby shower back home.  She recounted the nice things that her family and friends had done for them and what they got.  She pulled things out of a bag to show me.  I patted my belly as I looked on. It wasn't just a couple adopting a baby.  It was a family welcoming a great gift into their midst and in their hearts.

Our last visit by a nurse was followed by two orderlies who'd be driving my bed down to the OR.  It was show time.  They got me all wrapped up for the travel and we said our good byes to Brett.  Kayla would be joining me in the operating room this morning.  An honor I was so glad to bestow on her.  I heard the release of the brake on the bed and we were wheeling toward the door.

Was the Gift Worth the Cost?

A birthday party for Jesus at my house this afternoon got me thinking about gifts.  We had a cake, sang 'Happy Birthday' and went around the table and told Jesus what we'd like to give Him.  I gave my plans.  I have lots of things going on and I like to think I can anticipate His next move in my life.  He keeps trying to let me know that He can outwit me with out so much as a blink of an eyelash but I like to frustrate myself by playing the game anyway.  This year, I'd like the plans to be solely His.  My 5 year old daughter wanted to give Jesus a telescope so He  could see all the stars.

"Don't you think He can see all the stars from Heaven, Honey?"

"Yes, if He closes one eye.", she replied squinting and contorting her little face to show me how.

As we wound down the party I started to think of who wasn't there. My late husband was one.  He would have liked the tradition.  Carli was too young when he died to start it but we did talk about it one night.  Next I thought of Alex.  I thought of what a gift she was to her parents and how much they must have realized that last year, which was their first Christmas with her.  I thought about what traditions that she would have with her parents and would they maybe have a birthday party for Jesus as well?  It's been a while since I've heard from Alex's parents.  Maybe 4 weeks or so. I've been so wrapped up in Christmas chaos that I hardly noticed, until today.  I've been evenly keeled about everything but emotions sneak up on me once in a while.  I run at too fast a pace for anything to catch up usually.

After everyone left I decided that I needed to head to the gym.  My brain was going too fast for comfort and a good workout always does the trick for me.  I loaded myself and Carli into the car and headed for the 'Y'.  As I drove, I noticed the twinkling Christmas lights adorning the neighborhood houses and shrubs.  My mind recalled a recent picture of Alex. She is 14 months now.  She was sitting on a hillside in the grass.  Her mother had dressed her a prim purple pleated skirt with grey knit tights and brown riding boots.  Her hair swept back and to the side by a matching plum colored bow.  I focused on her face.  Her round chubby face has the sweetest cheeks.  I thought of what it would be like to sit her on my lap like I used to do with Carli and kiss her baby little face over and over again.  As I continued to daydream, I could almost smell baby lotion and feel her skin on my lips.  Before I could bring myself around, I was sobbing in the driver's seat trying to contain myself so I didn't upset Carli.

How am I going to workout like this?  I wanted to turn the car around and come back tomorrow.  Thankfully my sensibility took over and I resigned to the fact that the workout may be just what I needed.  I could cry later.  I tried to get the images out of my mind as I checked Carli into KidWatch and walked onto the gym floor.  In my distraction and disorganization from being lost in thought, I put everything every where and just sat down in the stretching area to try to get myself warmed up.  As I leaned this way and that, I wandered through my social networking sites on my phone and glanced at posts.  I came across a post from a man that I highly respect.  It was shorter than most of his usual and it didn't look funny so I clicked to see what needed reflection.  "God...Your love makes it worth it all" came off of the screen at me.  I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds.  My mind started rifling through images of what 'it all' was to me.  Was His love worth it?  Yes!  I don't even recognize my relationship with God.  I thought I had God all figured out and stored in a tidy box before Greg died. My pregnancy and adoption journey with Alex was what drew me near to Him and got me to ask the one question He was waiting to hear from me, "Who are you, really?".  I could never have what I have in Christ today if not for those trials. I didn't choose this but I am strangely grateful for what I gained in the endurance.

I typed a reply but I heard myself say "and I lost a spouse and a child in the same life" most find it puzzling who don't know Jesus to hear me say that I would do it again to have what I have in Him.  I wanted to reply again when I was struck by a recollection of a conversation that he and I had in my car in the summer.  He had lost a child and a spouse too.  The events weren't the same but the pain was.  He knows what I mean.  I have some idea as to what makes makes him post that statement and know that he can stand behind what he said.  Because it's true.

The Final Countdown

Tests, final paperwork, phone calls to make arrangements and my mother's arrival signaled that I was really at the crest of this wave.  Save any early contractions, I had a date and a time for the arrival of Alex.  Her parents were deliriously happy.  Why wouldn't they be? The end of 5 years of waiting was almost over for them.  They were at a crest too.  For me, it wasn't as happy as I was waiting my wave to come in to shore.  I'd been riding this one for 9 months and I was frankly anxious to get off my board.

I picked up my mom at the airport. The Arrivals area at the Key West International Airport is about the size of a finished basement in a large split level house.  You can't miss the luggage carousel, it's the only one they have not mention, it is right next to the door as soon as you walk in from the tarmac.  I knew she wouldn't miss me.  I was the size of blue whale.  I sat and waited until I saw her come through the automatic doors.  We hugged and chatted about her trip but it wasn't a happy greeting.  We both knew what was coming.  It wasn't so much what was happening but the anticipation of the unknown when something big is about to go down.

I wanted to put it out of my mind and just focus on the fact that soon, Alex's father would be out of my life.  No more drunken phone calls, tirades, threats, sobbing pleads, and frustration.  The idea that I would never have to speak to him again should have made me giddy.  When ever I'd get sad, I'd talk out loud to my mom about how happy I was for Brett and Kayla.  It was a happy time.  Two people were going to become parents!  No one was forcing me to do anything, it was my decision so why was I so sad?  No matter what I tried to do to rationalize that being sad was selfish, my heart wouldn't have it.  I had to accept what I was feeling.

The morning came when it was time for me to go to the hospital.  I had to report at 5AM for my c-section.  Brett and Kayla would be meeting me there for the big arrival.  The plan went that my mom would stay home with my daughter until later and my wonderful miracle of a friend, Angel would drive me to the hospital.  I had my bags packed for the hospital from the night before.  I sat on my bed in the dark and waiting for Angel's text message to let me know that she'd be downstairs waiting for me.  I couldn't help but think of my first pregnancy.  The contrast was polar.  Carli was not only planned but prayed for.  My late husband and I were so thrilled to await her arrival.  My onset of contractions kept us up all night and the excitement was tangible between us as my body let us know that our little girl would be joining our family in a matter of hours.  It was such a special moment as we drove together in the car to the hospital.  He was by my side the whole time and his face let me know that he was elated to share in this and didn't want to miss a moment.  This morning, I never felt so alone.  I wasn't going  to welcome a new baby with her father and bring her home.  I wasn't fantasizing about what it would be like to take her into her new room and rock my new little precious as I placidly stared down at her.  I was going to deliver a child that would be leave with someone else.  The sadness and the reality covered over me like a canopy.

I lumbered down the stairs with my bag after briefly waking my mother to tell her that I was leaving.  I made my way into the car and we drove to the hospital.  It was still dark and and silent on the island.  The revelers and bar staff were all gone.  Just me, Angel and her car.

We pulled up to the front door and the bright lights of the main lobby beckoned us from the black of the empty parking lot.  I hugged Angel good bye and walked toward the light as the doors parted for me.

Waiting Room Jitters

After my trip to Disney the only thing left to do was wait.  I had to sit around for a whole three weeks and think about what was going to happen next.  My mother would be coming to stay with me in a few days. She wanted to be there to support me but also to help me care for my daughter.  I had an extraordinary church family at Fifth Street Baptist, but I needed more hands on deck than the occasional sitting.  More than that, I needed my mom like you do when you are sick in the middle of the night as a kid.  I remember my mom sitting next to me, right up close when I would wake with a fever.  She'd rub my back and help me get to sleep. The slow, rhythmic stroking, with a warm, light pressure that let you know that she cared. That is the kind of comfort only someone who loves you uncontrollably can give you.  I was desperate for soothing.

The days went on like months. I was sometimes counting days by the half day just so I could feel like I was accomplishing something in the waiting.  I did have a lot of appointments to keep me busy.  Those were also markers of progression.  Blood work, pre-registration, doctor's visit, all lined up for the countdown.  Out of curiosity I drove across the island to get a view of the hospital.  I drove down a long winding road that wrapped around a golf course until I reached a much-smaller-than-expected building that looked dated and lacking in expertise.  "I'm gonna die here", was what I surmised after my inspection.  My perspective of what a community hospital should be like was off.  I am from Boston where you can throw a rock in any direction in the city and hit a world-class medical facility.  It is a near impossibility to not get great health care and access to a renowned specialist there.  At this hospital, I would was certain that most of the staff had likely just passed their board certifications.  I drove home wrought with anxiety over what my care would be like.

My first one appointment on the list was the pre-registration.  I needed to go to the hospital and give them all the gory details of who I was and what was going to happen.  My counselor prepped me over the phone and sent along paperwork ahead of me so that, hopefully, they would have some semblance of what to do in my case.  I was pleasantly surprised at how the inside of the hospital differed from the outside.   The inside was clean and new.  The staff was smiley and helpful, cheerfully directing me to where I needed to go.  I got to the Maternity desk and found a nurse who sweetly directed me to the room that someone would do my interview in and asked me if I wanted something to drink.  "Water would be fine", I didn't know what else to ask for anyway.

I dark haired, well groomed nurse, about my age, announced herself and pulled the curtain back as she stated her name and sat down, promptly fluffing the papers and inspecting everything before she turned her eyes to me.  I sat blankly, wondering what she would say when she finally stopped her organizing.
She slowly read the information that my adoption counselor faxed over.  "Oh, you are going to give the baby up for adoption", she trailed off as she kept reading.  I hate that term, "give the baby up".  It sounds so much easier than it actually is and I wasn't giving a kitten away because I was moving into a new apartment, I was deciding the fate of a child!  Isn't there a better way of putting it than what most people would say?  I struggle with it still.  Sometimes I say, "processed for adoption" that just sounds so clerical.  I sometimes also say, "surrendered for adoption" but that sounds legal.  How do you state it in terms that people can understand the gravity but the love that was involved in the decision?  I tried to respond to confirm her realization but instead I heard myself gasp as the rushing heat of tears warmed cheeks.  My ears burned from embarrassment.  She made sympathetic faces as she reached over for tissues.  I didn't know what to say. I didn't owe her an explanation but I wanted to plead my case that I wasn't some aimless screw up that couldn't get her head on straight.  Instead, I rallied in silence as she patiently waited for me to compose.

Once we got over the adoption hump of the interview, it was a lot easier. The usual stuff, my medical history, the father's history.  "Will he be joining you?", I tried not to explode into laughter.  I did list his name as a potential visitor but with a caveat that if he showed up intoxicated that he'd need to be escorted out of the building and he would, under no circumstances, be allowed to be alone with the baby or leave my room with her.  I made her write it down.  I just couldn't underestimate the craziness of a raging, desperate alcoholic.  

The Brethren

Everyone loves a good solid friendship.  The kind of friend who will listen to you for hours and doesn't mind overlooking your flaws.  The Brethren are different.  They are committed.  They are in it for the long haul, no matter where the adventure of life takes you.  They know the road gets messy and they've got their hip-waders on.  You know the ones, you say I need you and they come running, no matter where or what time.  They are like the Special Forces that God sends in when you are in it up to your ears.  He sends them to either coach you out of the pit or drag you from it.  You have to appreciate another human being who is that willing to invest in you, I found a whole church full of them. 

Lest I even dare not to mention the Fifth Street Baptist Church in Key West, Florida, the heart and the love of Jesus billows out of their windows.  I walked into their church with my little one in tow and barely showing my trial.  I wanted to slide into a pew unnoticed but God had other plans.  Within seconds, I found strangers approaching me with warm smiles and outstretched hands.  Women gathered around me to direct me to where my daughter would have Sunday School and another asked to me join her family for service so I wouldn't have to sit alone. 

It didn't take long before I had gotten to know a few and with my impending breach of belly from my baggy clothes, I felt the need to confide in one, to let them in on my secret.  I was met with a wonderful, compassionate reception and a kindness I hadn't felt in years.  I needed to be loved and to feel accepted and there were 4 key women in the church who wanted to love me with all they had.  Who couldn't be just speechless when you recieve such compassion.  I felt more open to letting them in on my hidden life down on their island.  I was waiting for someone to give some kind of reaction, a sign that I didn't sit well with them but it never happened.  I wondered if they would think that someone in my situation shouldn't still call themselves a Christian but no one ever questioned my faith.  I kept waiting for my own judgements against me to materialize in the faces and out the mouths of this congregation but they refused to oblige.  I felt cared for.  I was desperate for it.

Here it was, after 8 long months with them seeing me every week, loving me through my hurt and my decision and it was winding down to my due date and everyone knew it.  There was a little sadness in the air and an uneasy feeling of 'what comes next?'.  I was approached by a dear friend there one morning.  She gently told me that she was asked to see if I would be okay with the ladies in my congregation throwing a baby shower for Alex's parents.  They wanted to bless this couple with gifts to show that they loved me and this child all this time and that this was there way of showing it.  They wanted them to know what a gift it was for them to share in this experience with me.  I was silent for a lot longer than I should have and her eyes started to dart and her shoulders rolled in as a sign that she was afraid that she'd injured me.  I just didn't know how to put to words the awesome sense of gratitude and humility I was feeling that they'd want to do something like this for them.  I agreed and we worked out the details of gift giving and how they would get to Brett and Kayla.  I couldn't wait to email Kayla to let her know what this sweet group of ladies wanted to do for her.  I was bursting with pride over the outpouring of love from my Sisters. 

Such and amazing experience, to see these women love on me unconditionally and every bit like the love of Christ.  My most humbling and confirming moment in these women came as I was substitute teaching bible study on Sunday.  I had finished up and one of my favorites raised her hand and said, "It has been such a blessing to see you live out your testimony".  My tears wanted to flow.  I had come to that church just hoping I could fade into the crowd, ashamed of what I'd become and completely unaware how greatly I'd be blessed.  I couldn't have ever fathomed that I'd be a blessing to others.  

The Pregnant Elephant In The Room

If you are expecting my story to be all smiles and smooth sailing, stop reading right now.  When you are in a situation like this, there are many facets to the problem.  I was lulled into a sense of isolated eutopia in Key West.  No one really knew what was happening outside of my family and a few scant church members from home.  I never ran into anyone unexpectedly.  There were no awkward meetings with people who hadn't seen me in a while.  I was anonymous on my southernmost island and I rather liked it that way, that is until I drove up to Orlando to see my friend and her family. 

She was very supportive, I had filled her in early on in my journey so there were no surprises.  It wasn't the conversation that I was hesitating on, it was the body language and the awkwardness of her seeing me face-to-face that I was dreading.  People can give away much more in their posturing and facial expressions than they can ever realize.  I spent 10 years in sales negotiations as a career.  I was paid to translate the unspoken conversation and I was exceptional at at it.  Most of my successes in business transactions were because I positioned against what was never said.  It was great for my commission checks but it can be a bummer in real life.  Sometimes, I lament that I notice so much more than everyone else.  This was one of those times I that wished my eccentric talent would vanish.

The time came for our meeting.  I drove to her parents' house and Carli and I piled out of the car after 9 long hours on the road.  There it came.  Not from my friend, from her husband.  The painted smile.  It was something more of a grimace.  That 'No, I don't notice anything' smile that lets you that they don't know what to do with the situation.  She greeted me with a warm smile and compassionate hug.  I'd later find out that her kids were verbally threatened against asking and questions or making comments.  The children said nothing but they avoided me like I had a scary disease they might catch.  I wasn't hoping for much more than that.  I settled in and hoped that the weekend would go by faster than I could wish it away.  I wanted to go home already. I longed for my island bubble that I could hide in until Alex was born.  It was safe there and free from judgement. 

Her parents arrived a few hours later from work. Everyone avoided the one topic that would usually garner it's own conversation, my giant belly.  Women who are great with child can usually command a room.  It is a nice jumping off point with a person whom you don't know.  Talk about the baby.  When are you due?  What are you having?  Do you have a name?  Easy things to start with but not if you know that the mother-to-be isn't keeping her child.  Where do you go from there?  You avoid the conversation all together.  It's kind of like pretending not to notice that someone has a prosthetic limb.  You know it's there, they know it's there.  You know it's diffferent, they know it's different.  Everyone tries to avoid looking at it or pointing it out.  I know how amputees feel now. 

I played along with the long pauses while everyone asked how my drive was and if I'd been to Orlando before.  I think we were all glad that I was staying at a hotel that weekend.  There was only so much you can say when you'd rather have another conversation instead.  Carli played with her long lost friends from home, completely unaware of the sorrow that I was enduring in order to make her birthday special.  I emailed Kayla to say that I'd made it safely.  I was desperate to hear from someone who was in my corner.  I became alarmingly aware of how alone I felt in all of this. 

The Second Meeting

Circumstances were going to bring me north of Key West again.  I was going to visit with a friend of mine and her family from my home town. They were traveling to Orlando for a trip to Disney and asked Carli and me if we'd like to join them.  I had to consider carefully.  I wanted to take advantage of my proximity to Disney World while I was in Florida.  I didn't know when I'd be able to take Carli again.  I wanted to bless her with this trip for her birthday.  When I asked her if she'd like to visit with Terri and her family instead of having a birthday party, she exploded into 'Hooray' and lept up and down with excitement.  My thoughts turned to my condition and whether or not it would be feasible for me to walk around an amusement park all day.  The trip would be three weeks from my delivery.  I wondered if the stress on my body, not to mention my size, would cause any complications.  I decided that Orlando probably had hospitals and chuckled a little about how funny a story it would be to deliver this little princess at the threshold of Cinderella's castle.  I wanted to make it happen for Carli.  I told Terri that we'd be joining her and her family for the trip. 

As I reviewed maps online to plot our trip, I realized that I would be passing within miles of Brett and Kayla.  We had made a promise on the last visit to make every attempt to see each other once more before Alex's delivery.  I wanted to make good on that.  I panged when I went to doctor's visits, knowing that Kayla would have loved to have been there but distance just made it impossible to really share in my pregnancy aside from emails.  I would have felt comforted by more of her presence.  Thinking of her always brought me so much peace.   I asked them in an email if they could meet me for lunch.  I thought it would be nice to get some personal time in, just the 5 of us.  We were about to embark on such an important union between our families.  It seemed a shame not to give it more effort if we could.  They quickly agreed and we settled on a shopping mall that we both could locate and that was not far from their home.

I think I was more excited about the lunch than I was Disney.  I wanted to see them again.  In my mind, every email or invite was assurance to them that I was as committed as they were and that I wasn't going to back out.  I needed them to feel safe in that I had made my decision and it was final. 

Carli and I entered the mall that day and walked toward the restaurant that we agreed on.  I waddled down the long, echoing hall towards the eatery with a blathering toddler, asking a question every second about why we were and what we were going to do.  I was trying to spot them and her yammering was distracting me.  As we got closer, they stood up from the bench that they were sitting on. I saw their heads pop up from behind the greenery of the planters.  I was grateful that they'd located me first.  Their beaming smiles made me emotional as I choked back tears and just tried to look happy.  It was another reminder of the realness of what I was taking on.  It could feel so heavy on my heart sometimes.  The burden seemed to weigh down at inappropriate times.  I didn't want them to think that I was sad.   We hugged and paused for them to make small talk with Carli.  We made our way into the Rainforest-themed eatery that we thought we could tolerate and that my daughter would enjoy.  We were wrong.  Carli recoiled at the mechanical animals that would suddenly come to life following thunder and a pretend rainstorm. She coward in my lap with each episode.  I felt sorry for us all, we tried to make this fun for her but to little avail.  Brett was able to mildly entertain her with his attention and her ruffled feathers seemed to smooth so we could continue our visit. 

We finished up our meals and Brett had to return to work.  Kayla and I could sit together and visit as Alex's mothers.  I felt like I was floating as we strolled the outdoor shopping concourses and talked about motherhood.  We reviewed our first meeting.  It was fun for us to recall our thoughts and feelings on what that was like.  It went better than either of us had dreamed it would.  I offered to see if we could get Alex to kick.  I was desperate to have her experience what it felt like to feel her move.  I tried walking, sitting, pushing, poking, ice cream, but alas our little bundle was content to relax.  I was disappointed.  I knew it would be my only opportunity to try. 

The time came and we both had to leave.  I needed to have Carli and me up to Orlando by sundown.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted more time with her.  I wondered what it would be like to be her friend.  I wished that I could hear what this journey was like before she met me.  I thought that it was probably a long and painful story.  I wanted to fully understand how joyful it to receive this gift. 

Wandering in the Desert

Alex's parents continued to email me.  I was desperate to hear from them and prayed that we'd keep our connection.  There were moments in the quiet, barren emotional places where I'd hear whispers that they didn't care about me.  I was a means to an end and they'd do whatever they had to in order to apease me so they could have what they wanted.  The whispers wanted to make me something of little value in all of this.  I'd cry thinking that I was being used. I was a means to and end and the whole adoption industry was out to take advantage of people like me.  I would be stripped of what was priceless and tossed in the garbage like wrapping paper on Christmas morning.  Thankfully, there would be a great fortitude that would rise up in those moments where I just couldn't accept that this was the truth.  I'd rally and carry on, especially when I would get another sweet message from Kayla.

I continued to enlarge. There were moments when I wondered if I'd just burst at the seams.  My walk became a waddle and my feet started to swell.  My toes looked like little pork sausages.  Despite my doctor's warnings, I wanted to wear flip flops every day.  I couldn't tolerate shoes on my feet any more. 
People started to ask questions.  Carli's classmates at pre-school asked her if I was having a baby while I was standing there.  I would answer plainly and hope that it would end the conversation.  It usually did.  The adults in my midst hardly said anything at all.  I would imagine that was because I never said anything about it.  I kept my pregnancy and my plans to myself and avoided discussing it outside my circles unless it was something that I just couldn't avoid.  There was always the random old lady in the grocery store who would ask the usual questions.  The occasional "congratulations" always felt strange.  Who would want to be congratulated for getting herself into this mess?  I would weakly smile and pat my belly, trying to get out of the situation as quickly as possible.  Carli would always remain silent at my side.

I thought that Carli was just unobservant of my pregnancy.  For an astute child, she seemed quite oblivious that anything was different about her mother.  I wondered about it.  I had actually tried to explain how my belly had gotten bigger one evening as we were watching television but she quickly hushed me and changed the topic.  I swung between relief and concern for her.  I was glad to not have to deal with any negative emotions but concerned that she might be harboring something that would explode later.  I tried to pay as much attention to her moods as possible but she refused to let on. 

The truth started to materialize when Carli came to my bedside one night.  She would do this on occasion and my usual routine was to flap the covers back and let her crawl in, pressing up next to me in a little ball.  I would cover her, tuck her in snugly and rub her back until we both fell asleep.  I cherished these moments.  That night turned into a few times a week, then every night.  I started to wonder what was going on.  One night she crawled in to bed with me but this time she wouldn't settle.  I tried to calm her and tell her it was night time but she wouldn't stop talking.  I threatened a return to her own bed if she didn't stop but she just kept right on going.  Something came to me as I lay in frustration over my interrupted sleep. 

"Carli, do you have something you want to talk to Mama about?"

"Yes." Like a dam breaking, she started to sob.

"Are you sad?"

"Yes, Mama!"

"What are you sad about?"

"You!"

Her sobs turned to wailing as I pulled her close to me and wiped her tears.  I was heartbroken for her.  I had hurt her and I couldn't fix it.  As we sat talking in my bed, I gleaned from 3 year old speak that she was upset with me and didn't know how to tell me. She thought something was wrong with me and she wanted to doctor to fix it.  I reassured her that Mama wasn't sick. I needed to go to the doctor because there was a baby in Mama's belly.  My lack of talking to her about the situation had injured her and I felt so guilty about that.  I fell short of knowing how to approach her with as little damage as possible so I didn't say anything.  I cuddled my little one close to me and prayed that I could redeem myself with her and that God could make her understand.  I didn't have the ability to communicate in her language, but He did.  He was my only hope for her. 

I explained to her the next morning that God had put a baby in my belly for Brett and Kayla.  The baby was not for us and she wouldn't be staying with us.  I went on to say that sometimes God puts babies in Mommies bellies so that He can give them to a Mama who can't have a baby.  I told her that Kayla couldn't have a baby so I was having the baby for her.  It seemed to smooth over what ever scariness at this had to her.  It also made me feel better.  I was on a special mission for God and even though it was hard, it was for a great purpose.  I felt special and hand picked by Him to do this for such a beautiful and deserving couple.  In my moments of doubt, when the whispers would try to speak, I hushed them by thinking of myself as someone set apart for something truly remarkable. 

The Dark Side

I wish I could tell you that everything was sunshine and roses from the moment I met Alex's parents.  I wanted things to go smoothly but there were forces at work who had other plans.  I knew what I was getting into. When you turn your back to the dark side, they tend to let you know how little they appreciate it.  The other thing I had to get my mind around was the the fact that sin does not happen in a vacuum and no matter what you do or how sincere your repentence, there will be casualties.  It is the same in every war.

I came back to the hotel, high on my experience in the coffee shop, to my silly little girl bundled up with Angel on the sofa at the condo.  They had just come back from their third trip to the splash park near the pool.  Carli's hair was still soggy from her afternoon of fun.  Her big sapphire-blue eyes smiled as wide as her lipstick rose grin.  I am always so impressed by how enthusiastically she can beam as she exclaims, "Mama!" when I come in the door.  I hugged Carli who had now hopped out of her spot to run up to me and hug my legs.  I heard the report of the good day that Angel and Carli had shared.  Angel asked very simple questions about the meeting, knowing that after Carli went to bed she'd get better details. 

I took Carli down to the park so I could watch her play at her behest and call my mother who had sent no less than 20 text messages the whole time I was gone.  I knew she was eager but I didn't want to be rude and start typing on my phone during our meeting time!  She picked it up on the first ring and started hammering me about why it had taken so long to get back to her when she only wanted to know if I was okay.  I pleaded my case but I was cut off by the barrage of questions that she rapid-fired at me about every last detail of their lives.  When the questions deteriorated to the ridiculous I got annoyed. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a day and I was not appreciating her seeming lack of sensitivity to my state of mind.  "What is there denomination?" I heard.  I honestly didn't know and for what it was worth, I didn't care.  We had been over their statements of faith and spoke at length in letters, through counselors and now in person about where they were at spiritually.  Baptist, Pentecostal, Lutheran, who cares?  When I didn't know, I was berated as if I'd not given any thought at all to who I was about to place in the care of this child.

When my nerves and emotions got the better of me, I rose up and hissed like a cobra into the phone.  "I am sorry if this got a little too real for you today but this is my decision not yours!"  I didn't think I could stop myself from unloading on her so I cut the conversation short.  I felt so rejected by my mother for not considering me at all in the conversation.  Didn't she know the weight that this carried?  Why couldn't she be there for me emotionally?  I was grateful for Angel's company.  She was the gentle and encouraging sounding board when things with Mom got heated. 

Sorry to say that as far as my dad was concerned, he was MIA from this whole experience.  My first encounter with him on hearing my unplanned news was that I was an embarrassment and a disappointment.  The second was just a text message that he loved me.  I felt better when I received that but when you cut someone with your words, no amount of smoothing over is going to erase the scar it leaves.  I only have comfort in knowing that my Heavenly Father was there to hold me and tell me that it wasn't true.  He was proud of my bravery in what He'd ordained for my life.  I clung to that with all that I could in the moments where the enemy wanted to make me 'not good enough' and thing of shame.

What could have been a very joyous day ended in frustration and anxiety over how I would get through this with my family opposing me.  I dreaded the thought of having to fight them with every breath until the day she was born but I was willing to do it if God was on my side. 

Meeting Day

I was surprised by my own nervousness.  After all, I was the one holding all of the cards, wasn't I?  I wanted them to like me, why I don't know.  In my own mind, I needed them to not look on me like some poor screwed up mess. I wanted them to realize that they weren't doing me and this child a favor by taking her off of my hands.  It was more than that.  They needed to understand.  How I thought all of that would get across in an hour long meeting, I have no idea.  Blame it on the hormones.  I went out to Ross to find the nicest prego-sized top and shorts that my now gargantuan frame could pull off.  I knew one thing going in, they would know exactly who I was as soon as they saw my belly come in the door five minutes before me. 

My friend Angel came with me for support and to help watch Carli while I was at the meeting.  Actually, Angel very graciously booked a swanky condo through her timeshare for us to stay in for two nights.  I felt like I was treated to a mini-vacation at the Four Seasons with an en suite bathroom and lap pool for a bathtub in the master bedroom.  It had a water park that Angel could keep Carli entertained at for however long I'd be gone.  She was apologetic that the condo was a bit of a ride from Miami where I was supposed to meet Brett and Kayla but I was grateful for the ride there with some time to clear my head and settle my nerves.  I knew I'd be hyped up in the morning, first encounter and all, so I warned her that I might come across as sharp.  That's usually what happens when I have high expectations of an outstanding outcome and low expectations of my pulling that off.  She nodded in agreement and told me that she'd take care of Carli in the morning and my job was to just get myself ready and head out the door. 

I slept very little that night.  As if on cue, the baby's father started texting me at 1:00AM.  He was overtly communicating his sorrow over how he'd treated me, repeating "I'm sorry" over and over.  He was trying to express himself but the extensive typos on my screen let me know that in person, he'd be slurring his words.  He is oft a sobbing, emotional wreck when he's drunk.   He called and I, for better lack of judgement, answered the phone.  His soggy sentiments turned to rage when I informed him of where I was and what I'd be doing the next morning.  As if scripted, his anger escalated when I showed no sign of being able to bend to his manipulations so I terminated the call without a final word.  I tried to put it all out of my mind but with my anticipation and the phone call, not to mention the discomfort of sleeping while 'baby's on board', made for a restless night.

I headed out early as I could, with extra time to get lost, or so I thought.  Responsibly, I put my GPS on for the destination but the closer I got to the coffee shop, the more it added on minutes to my arrival time.  Morning traffic in Miami was nothing to tangle with unbeknownst to me.  I frantically called my adoption counselor to let her know we'd be late.  She simply answered "we'll be here" and ended the call.  I know that there was no major issue with my being a few minutes late but in the business world where I came from just months ago, showing up late to a meeting was a sign of disrespect and a lack of interest. I didn't want to leave either of those as a first impression.  I had hoped to seem eager to meet them. 

I was praying as I drove that they wouldn't be too nervous.  I could only imagine what it would be like, particularly for Kayla, to get this far in the process.  The anxiety of the possibility of meeting me, only to be turned down.  I don't know if I could take it had the situation been in reverse.  I had to admire their courage.  To be told that I was going to be late had to add to that.  Them counting down the minutes on their watches, only hear that the countdown had to start again, for another fifteen.  I could only hope that God could squelch the pangs. 

In I came, waddling with a big smile over to the table.  I saw Kayla first.  I will never forget her face.  She looked like someone told her she'd won a million dollars but she wasn't sure if what they were telling her was real yet.  Brett looked desperate for this to be a good experience, I am sure for her sake and his.  You could tell by his face that this had been a long road and he was eager for it to end.  We did our best to make small talk, discussing sports teams and my home town while we ordered.  The emotion surged through the air like an electrical current.  The faint smell of sweat was evident. The noisy buzz of the coffee shop almost made me laugh at the idea that something so important was happening right in this very room and no one but us had any idea there was anything more than coffee and breakfast.

We settled and my adoption counselor broke the ice for the actual conversation by asking me to share my story of the box of books.  I quickly got out tissues and recounted my encounter with their picture book and how we got to this stage in the process.  Not a dry eye around the table, I was glad that they got to hear how much care went into them sharing breakfast with me.  They asked questions about me but that ended when I said to Kayla, "So what are you going to name her?"  I don't have words to express the non-verbal exchange between Alex's mothers.  I don't think we spoke. Tears flowed heavily with sighs of joy and relief.  I looked at her face for what seemed like a long time.  She now understood that I was carrying her daughter.  I felt so honored that God picked me to deliver to Kayla and Brett such a precious gift. 

I took out a plastic sandwich bag of Alex's ultrasound photos and we poured over each picture.  It is at that moment that I could see the emotional transition taking place between me and Alex, watching her mother smile and cry over the images.  I let her take them home.  I kept one from myself, just because.  We left each other with big hugs, more tears and a promise to see each other one more time before her birth.  I got into my car and drove off, smiling from ear to ear thinking about what it would be like to be a fly on the wall in theirs.  

The Box

When I left the counselor in Miami, I wished I was leaving with the picture books of prospective parents in hand.  The agony of waiting for the box to arrive in the mail was daunting.  I was painfully aware that God's timeline and mine were grossly out of sync.  I was in a rush to be done, much like my grief with my husband, which was why I was in this position in the first place.  Over and over, I'd count down days, weeks, months.  I'd make milestone after milestone on the calendar, all in an effort to get through to my due date.  I had to see in ink that I would not be in this forever.

While I was waiting, I had to make a trip up to Miami to a genetics counseling clinic.  I was not too jazzed about the idea of an amniocentesis but given my age group of late thirties and the fact that this child would be raised by other parents, I thought it only fair for them to know if any health problems were on the horizon.  I also wanted to know the sex.  I didn't see the need for any holdouts or surprises and it would help me to keep things in a better perspective if I knew who was holding residence in my belly.  I had called the baby 'Alex' because it was unisex and I wanted to identify my multi-dimensional frame with a person instead of just feeling fat and clumsy.  Feeling a little nostalgic, I reached out to the baby's father to see if he'd like to come but alas, he was too busy.  I don't know what other response I expected but it made my blood boil anyway to be going through this completely without his support.  It solidified my decision.  This kind of involvement is what it would always be for us.  The baby deserved better.  I arrived the next day with Carli in tow and after much fanfare about tests, odds, statistics, paper signing and risks being related to me the procedure went much less painfully than I anticipated and it was fast.  The results on ultrasound were very conclusive.  I was having a girl.  The call came days later, no health risks were detected.  So now I knew that Alex, or rather, Alex Ruth was healthy.  That would be good news for her parents.  I also would have ultrasound pictures for them.

To me, it took so long to get them that I nearly forgot all about the box coming but just another sunny day on the island, I was returning to my second floor condo in the afternoon and was surprised by a FedEx box sitting on my welcome mat.  It was leaning lazily on the door, as if to say "where 've you been?  I've been sitting here waiting for you".  My heart skipped.  I picked up the box and looked at the return address label.  Sure enough, Bethany Christian Services of Orlando.  I gripped it in both hands and tried to slow my breathing.  My daughter was jumping up and down at the thought of a present arriving and gleefully chirped as I held on to it, "Mama, is it a present from Nana?  Is it a present from Nana?"

I didn't know what to do.  Open it now?  Wait until Carli went to bed?  As I was making up my mind to put the box away and wait until after my daughter's bed time, I sat down and ripped back the tab on the box. It zipped open readily.  I stared down at the opening as I contemplated whether or not this was a good idea.  Maybe just a peek.  Would it hurt to just see how many were in there?  I pried open the flaps like something would jump out at me.  Carli kept asking to see inside.  I shooed her away from the box at my feet and pushed her sidewalk chalk that I always kept next to my rattan chair in her direction to draw on the balcony's cement floor while I fixed my attention on what was inside the package.

My eyes zeroed in on two names neatly typed on a blue on blue picture book, Brett and Kayla.  I was overcome with emotion seeing their names on a spine in the middle of a stack of five picture books.  I pulled their book from the bunch and looked at the picture on the cover.  They were embracing each other, smiling at the camera. The background was a dewy mountain view.  Kayla looked like she could be any member of my family.  Her features were very similar to all the women on my mother's side.  We are all unmistakably related whenever we are together.  She would blend into a family photo as easily as any one of us.  Brett looked like a calm, gentle man with the kind of lines that looked like he smiled a lot.  Both young and attractive with warm faces and love in their eyes.

Tears poured as I read their letters about each other and the qualities they saw that they thought would make their mate a great parent and most importantly, what they loved so much about being together.  Brett had such a genuine appreciation and adoration for his wife. You could read the pain in his words about not being able to heal his wife's longing.  Kayla was head over heals for her husband. That was my opinion from her gushing letter of the man of her dreams.  They were both teachers.  This comforted me.  I felt that they had a natural inclination to want to be around children with Kayla having a position as a grade school teacher and Brett being a Physical Education teacher and a baseball coach. 

I fumbled amongst the overflow of emotion and found a personal letter they wrote, to me.  If ever there was a letter that had touched me so deeply, I can only think of the Valentine that my late husband made for me the first year we were together.  Their letter was one of the hope of a promise that they'd make to me to be the committed, loving parents that my baby deserved, wholly devoted to being raised to know The Lord.  I turned and studied every page of their book.  I noted their smiles, studied their words.  I liked knowing what they liked to do.  I admired how they looked at each other.  I fell in love with them from page one.

To be fair, I had to read the other four.  None of the other books struck me like Brett and Kayla's.  I tried to hush my sobbing as Carli had notice her mother crying and became quite concerned.  I assured her that Mama was just happy and that sometimes when Mamas are happy, they cry.  She wasn't convinced which is fine because I wasn't being a good actress.  My tears were mingled with relief, joy and sorrow.  I was starting to understand that the child I was carrying was going to belong to someone else. I had been so wrapped up in just wanting this to be over that I had distracted myself from fully comprehending what I was about to take on. 

I wanted to be sure that this couple was the one for me.  I took the stack over to a dear friend's house.  She was a fast friend that I made at the church I was attending.  We spent a lot of long conversations sharing deeply about each other's lives.  I trusted her impression implicitly.  I mixed up the books and asked her to read them all and tell me which couple she'd pick. She carefully studied each book and page, commenting on the faces, the lives and the stories.  I listened patiently and watched her face for tell signs. She really didn't give any.  After all the books were poured over, she sifted the pile and pulled out Brett and Kayla's.  I knew this was from God.  We both cried together and read their book again.  It felt right, but wanting a solid and unanimous opinion, my mother was coming for a visit so I did the same thing with her the day after she arrived.  I was not surprised that she too, had picked my parents.  The decision was final.  Unless Brett and Kayla turned out to be squirrely when I met them, they'd be meeting their birth mother within weeks.

I called up my counselor and gave her my names.  I wanted to meet them as soon as possible.  She said she'd make the arrangements.  They agreed and we made plans to meet at the same coffee shop that I'd met her at before in two weeks time.  Adrenaline raced through my veins when I thought of what it would be like to see them face-to-face.  I couldn't wait to give them a big smile and share the good news.