I started this blog as a way to document our adoption journey. A way to keep in contact with the friends and family who have emotionally, financially and prayerfully supported us. Also, I have this secret hope that we will, in some way, spark in somebody a desire to rescue a baby.
In between losing my second and third child, I made a resolution to feel “out loud” as a way to really process and work through the grief that I was experiencing. I am so thankful that I did. With no apologies, I allowed myself to cry, be angry, laugh, forget, remember, move on, stand still. I knew that I had to feel what I was feeling and not make an excuse or try to fix it in order to heal.
And now, we are walking through this adoption process. And I am finding myself try to cover up what we are really going through at times. Trying to keep the process as happy and rosy and peppy as possible…mainly because I don’t want to be the reason that someone is turned off to adoption…and also, because I feel guilty for struggling with something that has such a beautiful end result.
But, I think it would serve myself and you better if I were to stay honest.
And I have to tell you…
I am incredibly sad. I am watching my sweet little Emara crawl. explore. eat new foods. use her hands to clap and climb. notice the clouds. every day, she is taking in so much and becoming more and more of her own little person. I can’t imagine not being here to experience this with her. Not providing the support that she is looking for in me.
I don’t know if my next little one will have anyone around when new experiences happen to them. It breaks my heart that there is a chance that our baby will learn to sit up alone in a crib. With nobody around to videotape and cry out in excitement. I won’t be there to rock them. Sing to them. Hold them when they are crying. I have no idea if anyone will be there when they fall. When they are hungry. I HATE that for months…possibly the first year of my child’s life…where so much happens…that I…their mommy, will have no part in it. I won’t see their first breath. Hear their first cries. And, the worst part…I can’t protect them. from abuse. from neglect. from malnutrition. from sickness. I can’t protect them. While I am blissfully experiencing my best days here….they could be right in the middle of experiencing their worst ones.
I know that I know that I KNOW my child will be ok. That our love will blossom.. That they will learn to trust and love and grow. That as much as Emara will have no memories of her baby years, neither will any of our other kids.
But, because I am a mom, I can’t shake this deep grief yet. I know that I feel this way because God is continuing to intertwine my heart with this baby. That He is putting a love inside of me for my child. A child I will never even see until mere weeks before we meet. A situation where only a mother’s/father’s love can bridge that kind of gap.
I believe in the beauty of God’s story. I believe that what He is painting for me, my family, is a picture that I cannot even comprehend yet. That it is one of redemption and filled with grace. I know in the end, each one of us will be ok.
This is just that part in the story….the curve of the road….where I need to stop, accept and grieve what is lost…the part of my child’s life that I will never know… And then trust that God will redeem all that needs redeeming.