“If you love someone, you must be prepared to set them free.”

-Paul Coelho.

On a winter Tuesday morning, in January 2001, I was at the office desk preparing my notebooks for the new semester and my return to graduate studies.  When the phone rang, I was able to grab it on the first ring to avoid waking up a napping toddler.  It was the adoption agency, and there were two life-changing statements: a birthmother of a baby boy has chosen your family and Abbie’s paternal birth family wants to open the door for a relationship.  The school binders will remain closed for a later time in my life. 

Just as every live birth has a different story, so does every adoption story.  The Birthmother wanted to meet us. When we arrived at the same agency parking lot a couple years later, it had a different kind of anticipation.  Will she like us?  Will she be ok with her decision?  I walked through the door with a huge and open heart, and I met a woman who was experiencing robust emotions and a young teenager holding her baby brother.  When they put that baby boy in my arms, I locked eyes with him, and he imprinted on my heart.  The birthmother struggled and began to cry and went for a walk with the caseworker, the daughter stayed with us and we got to share a few minutes.  Alex took up residence in my heart too.  

The next two days flurried and flew and settled, like snowflakes in a storm, as we prepared and celebrated and planned for another homecoming. An hour before pickup, as I was folding the freshly laundered baby boy clothing, the phone rang. My stomach dropped and my heart lurched.  I knew before I answered it.  This was not going to be easy.

The birthmother had called to say she was going to be late. The agency would ring us back with an update.  I knew then that there was heartbreak ahead.   I was thrown back into the same uncertainty of infertility. Will the lab results show the pregnancy is progressing? Or, will the phone call reveal that we were back on Miscarriage Main Street? The minutes felt like hours.

 I sludged through the early afternoon forcing myself to maintain a glimmer of optimistic hope that she simply had a flat tire or a dead battery for her ride to sign her legal termination papers.  That was not the case. She never showed up that Friday afternoon. When the agency called at the end of the business day, my bruised soul bubbled with a slow burning stew of uncertainty and confusion.  I had been to this place before, but I had not prepared myself.  I thought the days of my body betraying me were over.  I had not planned for this treachery. This loss of a child hurt more. I had held his warm body and felt his weight in my arms.  

When our case worker called on Saturday with a report it went like this: She showed up with a friend who did all the talking and declared: “She has decided to parent and Alex and I will help her.”  What She failed to share with her helper and 13-year-old daughter is that the baby was a ward of the state.  She and the baby tested positive for a variety of drugs at the birth, so She would have to go to court to petition to regain her parental rights.  The baby would leave the receiving care family and go to Child Haven, a county facility, until further notice. Our case worker did not believe that this story was over and delivered me an IV drip of hope, to be trickled into me, until the court hearing.  She inquired: “Are you done with this birthmother, or if this goes a different way, are you and Tom still open to this adoption?”  There was not a second of hesitation; “he will always be a part of our family”.   My response begins my healing journey.  

Over that weekend, I reflected on maternal love and I gained deeper gratitude for my gift of motherhood.  Although this moment mimicked my previous miscarriages, this time I had a 2-year-old daughter to fill my arms and our busy life passed the time much differently than our other losses.  I was confident there would be another child in our life.  

After packing up the infant layette, I chose a stuffed animal from Abbie’s menagerie and drafted a letter to the birthmother to create space for the future.  My message was simple and vulnerable.  I fully supported her decision and reinforced that the best place for her children will always be with her.  I thanked her for the opportunity to be part of her life.  I closed with a pure and open-hearted message that her son would always have us loving him from afar.   As I dropped it off at the agency door, I released any remaining negativity and looked forward. 

My circle of support was there for me.  I caught them up at our bi-monthly gathering and shared the vast amount of growth and clarity I had gained in a few days.  I felt transformed and illuminated with a peaceful glow.  When I turned my cell phone back on there was a message.  We were told to come pick up our son the next day.

She went to court and the judge was not forgiving.  It would have been a minimum of nine months before she could petition to bring him home, until then he would remain a ward of the state.  Alex would now be observed by the authorities and be subject to the same requirements to maintain custody.  She asked the adoption agency if Tom and Mary would be willing to parent and when she went to sign the papers she was given my letter.  Our case worker reported that after she read it she burst into tears, of relief, and shared that my simple note gave her peace in her decision to choose us.  It is my belief that my feelings were only temporary discomfort compared to the excruciating pain of her journey.  She knew that going to court for him would put her daughter’s future in jeopardy. In reflection, It is easy for me to see now, that a short window of time for me, provided her a path filled with fewer regrets.  

Luke Canyon was born on January 2, 2001 and weighed 7 pounds and 9 ounces.  The three of us brought him home on January 26^th and we became a family of four. Luke, in Latin, translates to “bringer of light – luminous”.  His coming home story ignited a part of my heart and it shines brighter.  His birthmother gave him the name Canyon.  Finding our home was a collaborative effort of unselfish love and trust by all.  By letting go and having faith, I learned to keep a spotlight on the here and now. Be Present. Value the chrysalis. Like an iridescent butterfly, the future will unfold and free itself when it is ready