Adoption. The concept, the process, the idea,
the beautiful child… It is something that has been a part of our every waking
moment for the past two years. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when I was
invited to participate in the intimate details of a dear friend’s delivery and
subsequent adoption that the reality of what adoption is truly began to sink
in.
I had met with my friend, let’s call her Kate,
throughout her pregnancy. For reasons that I will not go into in order to
protect her privacy, Kate was adamant that adoption was the best thing for the
child growing inside her. She never wavered. She never once considered abortion
for her baby. We discussed her options. I was aware of a few families who I
knew would love this child. Finally, Kate selected the family who she was most
comfortable with.
I was honored to be by Kate’s side when she delivered.
The doctor instructed me to stand at ground zero and hold her leg. I cheered
for her as she pushed. Having never been a part of an actual delivery before, I
was awestruck when Baby J left the safety of Kate’s womb and joined this world.
The nurse expertly cleaned him and placed him on Kate’s chest. It was then that
my heart began to break. I cut the cord with trembling hands. The last thing
that physically tethered him to his birth mother. I still remember the feel of
the scissors in my fingers and the sensation that shot through my hand as they
slowly severed the rubbery cord.
He was beautiful. He was perfect.
Of course, we say that about every baby. We
have to. There was something almost otherworldly about Baby J. Something beyond
beautiful. Beyond precious.
The adoptive family, also very close friends
of ours, were not able to fly in until the following day. The doctor finished
attending to Kate’s immediate postnatal care while Baby J was weighed, measured
and checked out by NICU staff due to his slight prematurity. They confirmed
what we already knew. Baby J was perfect in every way.
Kate made the decision to pump to give Baby J the
benefit of the colostrum that only she could provide. Her face beamed with adoration
as she took him in. Kate would keep Baby J with her that night. Their first and
only night together before the adoptive family would assume his care. I exited
the room quietly and sobbed all the way home.
Kate was all smiles when I greeted her the
next morning. Baby J’s first night had been wonderful and uneventful. He cried
only when he was hungry or in need of a fresh diaper. Kate held him comfortably
and glowed with pride.
For perhaps the hundredth time, I asked if she
was sure. Was this really what she
wanted? Her answer was the same. Yes. Not because Kate did not love Baby J.
Actually, because she loved him with
every fiber of her being, she needed to know that he was safe. Because of her
situation, she could not be sure that he would be protected. She continued to
nest and smile and admire her son. It wasn’t until a mutual friend who had
agreed to privately shoot some pictures for Kate and the adoptive family arrived that I
saw the dam of emotion break.
The photographer, Kate, myself… none of us
could speak. So we didn’t. Our sobs and the camera shutter were the only sounds
for a long time. The photographer, a lovely woman who had regrettably made a
different choice when faced with an unplanned pregnancy years ago, sat on the
edge of Kate’s bed and tried to relay a message of encouragement.
“You are so brave,” were the only words that
she could manage to say.
Then came the moment of truth. The adoptive
mother, Abby, had finally arrived at the hospital ready to meet her baby. While
Kate was also eager to meet Abby, I noticed that she clutched Baby J a little
closer at the news of her arrival. The photographer did her best to blend in
with the background and capture the moment when birth mother and adoptive
mother met.
I had no idea that sorrow and joy could be
experienced simultaneously. Kate, Baby J still in her arms, and Abby embraced,
their bodies shook uncontrollably as they wept. Abby finally sat next to
Kate and took her hand.
“Are you sure?” Abby asked. “If you want to
raise him, we will help you.”
The tears continued to roll as Kate answered. “I
am sure. He needs to be safe.”
The next few days were full of joy and turmoil
and emotion so deep that I don’t have words to attach to them. When it was
finally time to leave the hospital, I watched as Kate slowly dressed Baby J in
his adorable going home outfit. Her tears fell on him like a steady rain,
baptizing him with her love.
I have never seen such love. Sacrificial.
Selfless. Noble.
I have asked for prayers for Kate throughout
her pregnancy. To those of you who prayed for her during this difficult time, I
am so grateful. Some have sent cards and gifts anonymously. I can assure you
that your gifts and words of encouragement have meant so much to her.
Unfortunately, there have been some negative
responses as well.
“I could never do that,” is a common response.
I get that. There were also comments demeaning birth mothers that I
won’t mention. I do feel compelled to say this. If we do not provide support and encouragement to these selfless women who
choose to give life to their babies, then what we are really saying is that
abortion is a better option. A more comfortable option, at least for those
of us on the outside looking in. We MUST change our attitudes and develop
hearts of compassion and sensitivity toward birth mothers if we call ourselves
pro-life.
Thankfully, Abby and Kate have decided on a
very open adoption. Baby J will grow up to know the woman who carried him and
made the best decision for him. Abby feels that her family has grown not only
by one, but that Kate has been grafted in as well.
I don’t know if adoption has touched your life
at all. It has been a part of our lives for the last two years, but until my
experience a few weeks ago, I don’t think I truly got it.
Adoption is painful.
Adoption is beautiful.
That moment when a birth mother places her
child into the arms of an adoptive mother is sacred.
I hate to over spiritualize things, but so
many times my thoughts were drawn to God. How he gave his one and only truly
perfect son. He did not give him into the arms of a loving family, but handed
him over to be brutalized and murdered for a world that had nothing but hatred
in their hearts. He did this so that WE could be adopted. So that we could be
his sons and daughters.
What an honor it was to be a small part of
Baby J’s life. What a joy to call the God who created him my Dad through the miracle of adoption.
