Gap
The other day, I picked the kids up at afterschool to see a sad little face on Ciera greet me. By the time we got into the car, it was clear something had gone wrong. On the way home, from the backseat, Ciera shared that she did not have such a good day....and began to cry. It was all I could do to not pull over and get the whole story. When we pulled in to the garage, I knelt down and held this little person. On the playground, a little boy, who Ciera has mentioned before as a friend, apparently asked Ciera a bunch of questions about adoption, among them "did your real parents not want you anymore?" Ciera was so hurt, and the question opened up a raw wound for her. She and I spent the night together, joined at the hip, while she wept through dinner, homework and was unconsolable. In an effort to end the evening peacefully, I drew a bubble bath for her in my bathtub and chatted with her. After prayers and some reading, my little mermaid was feeling loved, comfortable, and went to bed with a smile.
It wasn't just a few days later, Isaiah came home sad. The class had adopted a new goldfish---and in his own world, he found that the adoption of the fish was sad and he related to it in a way he didn't expect. That evolved into an evening of tough conversations, acknowledgement that he is losing some of his memories of his birthmom now that time has passed, and is pretty sad.
While lots of great topics were covered in our adoption classes, what no one told us was how the loss of a birth parent can truly permeate a home. We knew that there would be hard days, and something awful has to happen in order for an adoption to occur. We knew all that-eyes wide open. However, no one told me how sad I would feel too.
Many days in the past week have had bedtimes with conversation centered around 'missing my birthmom'. With all the grace I can muster, I hold the kids, tell them that I can't even begin to imagine how sad they must feel, let them know they are loved, and that while adoption has happy parts, it's a really sad reality as well. Once Saturday morning came, I looked at Bob and told him my ability to be graceful was exhausted and I'd love him to handle the next birth mom conversation without me. The kids have no inkling about how what they say cuts so deep. And I signed up for this. But what no one tells you is that as an adoptive mom, you have to be rejected and consumed by the same person. That the child who'd rather their birth mom were there knows that the person to offer him comfort is adoptive mom-and that's my role. And it's a sad reality that while I wish I were able to fill the gap and take the pain away, that is just not something I can do.
I share this not to discourage anyone from adopting, but to be totally transparent. I love Isaiah and Ciera and have no doubt that the world shifted and we all ended up together. I have faith that we are supposed to be the lovely, dysfunctional mess that we appear to be. Feeling your kids pain is probably something every parent feels. But the rejection and need that is an oddly balanced equation in adoption will never cease to jar me.
It wasn't just a few days later, Isaiah came home sad. The class had adopted a new goldfish---and in his own world, he found that the adoption of the fish was sad and he related to it in a way he didn't expect. That evolved into an evening of tough conversations, acknowledgement that he is losing some of his memories of his birthmom now that time has passed, and is pretty sad.
While lots of great topics were covered in our adoption classes, what no one told us was how the loss of a birth parent can truly permeate a home. We knew that there would be hard days, and something awful has to happen in order for an adoption to occur. We knew all that-eyes wide open. However, no one told me how sad I would feel too.
Many days in the past week have had bedtimes with conversation centered around 'missing my birthmom'. With all the grace I can muster, I hold the kids, tell them that I can't even begin to imagine how sad they must feel, let them know they are loved, and that while adoption has happy parts, it's a really sad reality as well. Once Saturday morning came, I looked at Bob and told him my ability to be graceful was exhausted and I'd love him to handle the next birth mom conversation without me. The kids have no inkling about how what they say cuts so deep. And I signed up for this. But what no one tells you is that as an adoptive mom, you have to be rejected and consumed by the same person. That the child who'd rather their birth mom were there knows that the person to offer him comfort is adoptive mom-and that's my role. And it's a sad reality that while I wish I were able to fill the gap and take the pain away, that is just not something I can do.
I share this not to discourage anyone from adopting, but to be totally transparent. I love Isaiah and Ciera and have no doubt that the world shifted and we all ended up together. I have faith that we are supposed to be the lovely, dysfunctional mess that we appear to be. Feeling your kids pain is probably something every parent feels. But the rejection and need that is an oddly balanced equation in adoption will never cease to jar me.
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