Like many young women, I dreamed of having my own children. But my topsy-turvy world caused me to put it off for a long time.
You see, if I had been a child today, I would have been placed in a foster home due to all the things that I, and my two siblings, experienced: alcoholism, mental illness, and some abuse and neglect. Given this, my dream of having children became somewhat of a nightmare. I worried that I would treat my children as my own parents had treated me. I refused to put a child of mine through that kind of life, so I told myself I would put off having kids until I was emotionally healthy.
In one way, that turned out to be a good thing, because I had a lot of growing up to do. But the flip side of that coin is that I waited so long that having biological children wasn’t possible.
I married my husband late in life, but we were determined to have children right away. Still, as any doctor will tell you, 38 is a bit old to begin a family. Despite this, I got pregnant immediately—then miscarried the baby at five months. Any miscarriage is awful, but to deliver a child who is not alive is probably the most painful thing I have ever experienced. Our son’s name was Justin Jameson. We were able to hold him to say good-bye.
Another dream of having children slipped away.
We refused to let it dissolve entirely, though; we immediately tried again to have a baby. Regretfully, I experienced two more miscarriages—nothing so late as five months, but huge losses nonetheless.
Needless to say, my husband and I were devastated. I was so tired of taking my temperature, raging at God, and trying to keep a dream alive when it kept getting dashed.
Maybe my original inclination was right: maybe I would be an awful parent and that was why we could not have kids.
My husband and I decided to take a break from baby-making. I stopped taking my temperature every day, doing acupuncture, and reading how-to-get-pregnant books. We went to a grief group. We traveled and gave ourselves time to heal.
But the dream of having children remained with us.
At some point we began to talk about adoption. This may seem like the natural progression of things for people who can’t have biological children, but it’s not. In fact, when our doctor originally recommended that we consider adoption, it felt like he was asking me to do something immoral. I was offended. It wasn’t something I wanted to consider.
Time took care of that feeling.
My husband and I began exploring different ways to adopt: international adoption, private adoption, foster care adoption. We went to classes, searched websites, read books, and talked to many people. Each option had its pluses and minuses for us: I loved the idea of international adoption, but I wanted a child who looked like us; private adoption could get us a child who looked like us, but was too expensive.
Then, one Saturday morning, we found ourselves in a foster care training program. There were huge binders sitting on all of the tables, each one stuffed with children who needed to be adopted. I don’t mind telling you that the binders were very difficult to look at. It wasn’t just the pictures of child after child who needed a home, but also the long lists of medications and other special needs each child had.
As we looked at the binders, we weren’t sure whether we could handle taking care of an older child. Honestly, we wanted the experience of raising an infant. But with each flip of the page, we saw how many children right here in the United States desperately needed a home and this encouraged us to decide to adopt from foster care. We began the process immediately.
I was a bit surprised by the adoption process: It’s long, involved, and very thorough. We had a home study, which entails someone coming into your house and literally “studying” you. It feels a lot like you’re under a microscope, which, in many ways, you are. We took myriad classes —first aid, child CPR, behavioral modification—locked-up our medicines, got a safety and health inspection, and so many other things they all blurred together. I remember feeling offended that I had to jump through those hoops in order to adopt a child, but now I realize they helped me to be a much better, more aware and flexible parent!
Eventually we faced the difficult question: what kind of child did we want?
It felt like I was standing at the counter at Burger King, deciding the toppings for my Whopper: at once ridiculously trivial and painfully self-centered. But again, in hindsight, I realize how important this question is to ensuring your success as a parent. You have to consider deeply what kinds of abuse or neglect you can deal with; whether you feel comfortable raising a child of a different race or ethnicity. Pondering these questions was one of the most spiritual experiences I’ve ever gone through—and I am a minister.
Once we’d cleared all of the hurdles and answered all of the questions, we were told that we would receive a call about a child—and have only minutes to make a decision, perhaps with very little information about the child.
I will never forget the day the call came. Our social worker asked if we were open not only to an infant, but a sibling as well. My husband and I had talked about one day having two children, but never in our wildest dreams did we think they’d pop into our lives that quickly. We were both at work, so we had little time to talk. I remember saying “yes” at 2 p.m.; at 6 p.m., an infant boy and his big sister arrived at our house.
The social worker instantly placed the little boy in my arms, as though I had always been his mother. It was the most natural, yet scary, experience I had ever been through. I was taken aback by the innocence, beauty, and joy of both children.
I would like to say that the story ends here, that we all lived happily ever after. But that happens only in fairytales. And we were not destined to ride blissfully into the sunset.
Those two beautiful children could not be ours until a judge’s gavel hit the desk in a courtroom. And that would not happen for some time.
In the interim, we did everything we could to become a “normal” family. Yes, we had to take the children to visit their biological parents each week, and write down every medication we gave them, and do background checks on babysitters, and meet with social workers, and fill-out treatment plans. But apart from that, we were adjusting as a family.
We lived this way for eight months — eight months of diaper changes and holiday celebrations and court dates. Eight months of being a family.
Then, as quickly as the children came, they left: a judge decided that they should be returned to their parents.
To say that my husband and I were devastated would be an understatement. Saying goodbye to those children was the most lonely, depressing, and hopeless day of my life. I was a mother, yet I no longer had my children. I couldn’t stop crying.
At this point, my husband and I decided to adopt privately. We once again underwent the background checks and home studies. We had no idea where we’d come up with the $20,000, but we knew we couldn’t face having a child removed from our home again.
Then, on the eve of placing money with another adoption agency, we received a call. Again, it was our social worker. It seemed the children had been returned to their parents, but the parents were unable to care for the baby. Did we want to adopt him?
I did not even need to call my husband. I said yes, of course, absolutely, without a moment’s hesitation.
And once again, in the blink of an eye, we were parents again.
My husband and I were deeply saddened that our little boy’s sister would not be joining our family, but we pushed that sadness to the back of our minds to concentrate on our joy. This time our little boy would remain with us: his biological parents had terminated their parental rights, clearing the way for us to adopt.
The three of us once again began the journey of becoming a “normal” family. Then, five months later, our social worker called us with surprising news: our son’s biological parents were again having trouble and his older sister needed a foster family. Would we be interested? We immediately said yes.
The little girl came to live with us a second time and we were overjoyed. We fervently hoped that the courts would agree to allow us to adopt her in an effort to keep the siblings together. We clung to this hope for four months — that’s when the court decided that she should return to her biological family: her parents had refused to terminate their parental rights.
Three years later, we still miss her. Professionals have advised us not to visit her —saying it would be confusing to her and to our son—so we don’t. But it goes against everything we believe in to have our son and his sister separated. Sadly, our son does not even remember his sister. I have pictures of her, though, so I can share them with him as he grows. I want him to know he has a sister and that we loved her.
Adopting our son has put us through a roller coaster ride of emotions. Given this, you may be surprised to hear that we’re planning to adopt another child — from foster care.
Sure, our labor for our son was a long and sometimes painful one, but if you ask women who have birthed children whether they’d do it all over again, most would say yes. I hear that’s because you forget all abut the labor and delivery once you hold your child. It is no different adopting from foster care. My son is my child; I am his mommy. I have never been so proud of anything in my whole life. Every time I put him to bed, I tell him how proud I am of him. I know that he is a direct gift from God. Whatever we went through to have him was worth it.
True, adopting from foster care was the most heart stretching process I have ever experienced. But it also was a journey that fortified me spiritually and encouraged me to grow and become stronger as a person — and, of course, as a parent. Key to this growth was knowing that we were going to be of service to a child in need — and trusting that we would eventually become parents.
Our little family will move into a new house this month. We are looking forward to the transition with mixed emotions: sad that our son’s sister is not with us, but happy to have an extra room already painted pink and waiting — as long as we keep our hearts and minds open and ready for the next mystery of life: children.
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