There are some things you read and they wreck you. Forever. Sometime before we were matched with our first son, Titus, I read this story about a baby girl found abandoned at a park and the lengthy note left by her heart-wrenched parents. And it cut to the very core of my mama's heart. We had lived in China and knew in theory why children with special needs were abandoned. (See my post here for more information.) But for the first time, as I bawled through these heart-broken parents' letter, I caught a glimmer of the other side of abandonment. The thousands of tears, the cripplingly guilt, the agonizing pain. And, for the first time, a horrific question took root in my mind that to this day I cannot honestly answer: "If I were in this same situation, could I selflessly give up my precious child, knowing it was the only way to maybe save her life?"
I've thought about these grief-stricken parents so much these past two years, just as I think about our sons' birth parents. My mind cannot help but add flesh to these bare facts and my heart cannot help but to grieve for their profound loss. I've replayed their story a thousand times in my head, imagining the months, days, and moments leading up to them placing their precious daughter in a garden to be found.
Please understand, I am not trying in any way to embellish an orphan's story or create a romanticized account of what happened to this precious girl or any other children abandoned. We strive to only tell our sons the facts we know about their stories. Period. Also, I am in no what saying I know what happened or understand these or any other parents' heartache. I just think that if we can pull back the curtain and put ourselves in their story, our hearts will break with compassion and empathy.
Now, let me ask you one question as you read this fictional account based on a real note left: "How will you make sure that these and thousand of other heart-broken parents' sacrifice does not go in vain?" May your compassion turn into courage: to adopt. To support others who adopt. To give to organizations that help preserve family units. And above all, to pray, that families will be able to stay together, that children in orphanage will have forever families, and that hearts who have been broken by inexplicable loss will somehow be healed.
"It must be tonight," my husband softly whispered to me.
"Why tonight?" My eyes and heart pleaded.
"It's the warmest night of the week. We've talked about this. We've waited. The medicine is running low. It has to be tonight." I could see tears form in his eyes too.
I wanted to be angry with him. I wanted to yell at him, "No!" But I knew he was right. I knew he wanted to do what was best for our baby girl. Just like me.
"Let's let her sleep a little longer. We can have dinner, give her a bottle, and then..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I couldn't even let my mind finish the sentence, think about what tonight would hold for us all.
I wrote this letter at the end of 2018, as I reflected on how far we'd come in a year. I'm sharing it again, as we are knee-deep in the adoption journey once more and battling the very same fears of the unknowns and knowns.Dear Year-Ago Self,It is the end of 2017 and you are staring at a new year full of unknowns. You are elbows-deep into dossier paperwork and up to your eyeballs in emails. You don’t know which paper to start working on, which appointment to start making, and which email to start responding to. And you are afraid. Afraid of the unknowns, like your son’s possible medical needs, and the knowns, like the dollar amounts next to each step in the adoption process. But, oh self, I wish I could fast forward time to let you see a glimpse of December 2018! I wish I could tell you that you will literally laugh at your fears in twelve months from now and that your only regret is that you wasted so much precious time and energy fearing the ominous “Goliath” you’ve concocted in your mind. And I wish you could know you that this “Goliath” will turn into the most adorable little boy you’ve ever seen. As you kiss his cheeks every day and hear his sweet little voice say “mama,” you’ll just smile and ask yourself, “Why in the world was I afraid of this?” But right now, right now you are consumed with an almost paralyzing fear. Fear that this unknown“Goliath” will somehow destroy your finances, your family, and yourself. But, just hang on, you don’t want to miss this.
"Mom, can we adopt the loneliest boy or girl in China?"
I turned from making dinner a few months ago and ran over to our precious daughter coloring at the table. There will be so many moments I'll forget about this adoption journey, but that question. Never.
"Yes, of course sweet girl. God will show us who the loneliest little boy or girl is and He'll bring him or her into our family."
"Pregnancy brain" is hitting hard these days. In the last month or so, I've forgotten...
...to write a church event on the calendar (and scheduled to work instead!)
...a doctor's appointment (and then realized I wrote it on the wrong day anyways!)
...a meeting for work (that I was supposed to speak at!)
...what I really needed at the grocery store (but leave with a cart full of everything else!).
...to write a check for notarizing important documents (Praise God, I remembered right before the envelope was sealed and sent!)
And these are just a few of the things I realize I have forgotten lately! Who knows what other balls have been dropped the past few months as we journey on this adoption road again, with all the papers and deadlines and appointments and important information we need to juggle! I distinctly remember about a week before we flew to China to bring our son home opening our refrigerator one bleary-eyed morning and being perplexed why an ice cream container was sitting in there (insert face palm and then sad face!). Yep, adoptive moms crave ice cream and accidentally put it in the fridge too!
But there's one thing I honestly forget every day and I'm OK with it.
What's the scariest word in the English language?
Sky-diving. Bungee-jumping. Crocodile-wrestling (or "wrastling" for our Texan friends).
Yes, these might be some scary feats, but we believe that the scariest word in the English language is also one of the shortest and simplest: yes.
Y.E.S. Yes. Really?