A Sacred Gift

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.