There is no easy way to talk about this, or to process what is actually going on, but I know that somehow writing can be therapeutic for me, and I know there are some people who would like to know what's going on in our lives, so I will try to explain.
On December 28, just a few weeks ago, I received one of the happiest phone calls of my life. A birthmother working with our agency had chosen Jonathan and I to parent her unborn child, and a little baby boy would be born a week and a half later. We could barely contain our excitement, and were relieved that God was finally answering our prayers. After the birth mothers c-section was rescheduled twice, we were finally given a birth date of January 18th. I took the day off of work, and Jonathan and I paced around waiting to hear that we had finally become parents. We got the phone call and rejoiced over the sweet life that entered this world at 11:13 a.m. weighing 8 lbs and 1 ounce. We named him Isaiah and we instantly loved him. We could not take our eyes off every picture we saw. I found myself waking up in the middle of the night to stare at his little chin and chubby face.
Knowing the birth mother had 10 days from the 19th of January to reverse her decision, we waited, our arms aching to hold our precious child. For 7 days, we joyed over every little detail, memorized every little dimple and chatted non-stop about hearing him hiccup on one of our daily phone calls. The caretaker would call and lay the phone down next to Isaiah, and we would coo his name and tell him we loved him and we were praying for him and that we could not wait to meet him. We were deliriously happy.
Last Thursday, I decided to check in with the case worker to see how the birth mother was doing. The text I got back indicated that the birth mom was having a hard day and asked for prayer. I felt a familiar ache in my heart for this woman as I thought back over how my joy was so completely woven together with her sadness. I prayed and as the day went on, I began to become uncomfortably nervous. The case workers texts began to sound as if the birth mother was not just having a bad day, she was thinking of changing her mind. After nearly 5 hours agonizing over the conversation that was happening between the case worker and birth mother, I got the worst call of my life. The birth mother had changed her mind, and Jonathan and I would no longer be adopting this baby.
I cannot even begin to describe to you what it feels like to have a son, to name him, to be called his mother, to love him so desperately, and then to be told that he is no longer yours.
Grief is not unfamiliar to me. Grieving a baby is also not unfamiliar to me. What is so strange about this time, is that we are not grieving a death, we are grieving the death of a relationship. We are grieving what could have been.
I do not even know what he is called now. Has she renamed him? More than likely Isaiah will never know that I existed, or that I loved him so deeply. Is that fair? Is it worth it? Although we knew in theory that this could happen, we could not prepare for the emotional turmoil it would cause.
As is my tendency, I have to find God in everything. He is there in the good, and He is definitely there in the bad. I do not know how people survive life, and especially trauma, without Jesus. After I miscarried our first child, three and a half years ago, my Bible became tear stained in Lamentations 3. Lament literally means "a cry of sorrow; grief." This weekend I turned to this ever familiar passage to yet again find comfort and meaning amidst the storm of grief. The prophet talks about the anguish the Lord has caused but he does not forget that there is hope...
18 And I said, “My strength and my hope
Have perished from the Lord.”
19 Remember my affliction and roaming,
The wormwood and the gall.
20 My soul still remembers
And sinks within me.
21 This I recall to my mind,
Therefore I have hope.
22 Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed,
Because His compassions fail not.
23 They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.
24 “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“Therefore I hope in Him!”
25 The Lord is good to those who wait for Him,
To the soul who seeks Him.
26 It is good that one should hope and wait quietly
For the salvation of the Lord.
27 It is good for a man to bear
The yoke in his youth.
28 Let him sit alone and keep silent,
Because God has laid it on him;
29 Let him put his mouth in the dust—
There may yet be hope.
30 Let him give his cheek to the one who strikes him,
And be full of reproach.
31 For the Lord will not cast off forever.
32 Though He causes grief,
Yet He will show compassion
According to the multitude of His mercies.
33 For He does not afflict willingly,
Nor grieve the children of men.
34 To crush under one’s feet
All the prisoners of the earth,
35 To turn aside the justice due a man
Before the face of the Most High,
36 Or subvert a man in his cause—
The Lord does not approve.
37 Who is he who speaks and it comes to pass,
When the Lord has not commanded it?
38 Is it not from the mouth of the Most High
That woe and well-being proceed?
I do not really know where we go from here. As grief takes it's course, I feel old. I feel like I have been hit hard in the stomach, and my vision is still blurry. So I think we do what we have to do. We press on. In my heart, I had to give Isaiah back to his birth mother. He was never truly mine. I know that the Lord will heal my heart in time. So, I will return to my knees, because His mercies are new every morning.
