A Mother's Story

June 9th is an important day in our family. It’s Adoption Day. What does that mean? Well, for us, it’s a celebration of the day my husband, my son and I sat before a judge as she finalized our adoption process. It’s a reminder of the day we legally became a family. And it’s a day when I take a moment to remember our story.

For us, the decision to adopt was not easy. Like a lot of couples, we’d struggled with infertility and spent months trying to conceive with fertility drugs. But the process was tough; financially, emotionally, even physically, and eventually we decided to stop. It took months for me to grieve the loss of the biological children I would never have. Months to move past the guilt that my body had failed me and months to get past the rage I felt about my situation. But the day came when I realized we could still have the family we’d always wanted. We just had to come up with Plan B.

Plan B turned out to be adoption. After finding an agency we felt comfortable with, we waited 8 long months for a birthmother to select us. And in March 2005, it finally happened. A young, single woman picked us. Over the next few months there were e-mails and awkward phone conversations as we slowly got to know each other. She was just 20 years old, in college and already raising a two year old. And she was quite sure she could not financially or emotionally handle another child. Her family disagreed, but supported her. We all anxiously awaited her due date.

July 19, 2005 was the day our son was born. My memories from that day are a blur of joy, panic, gratitude and heartbreak. I’d developed an incredible respect for my son’s birthmother. Her selfless love for him deeply impressed me and her family’s genuine concern for my husband and I just touched my heart. For 24 hours we were one big happy family, taking turns with the baby, shuffling between hospital rooms and sharing visitors. But then it was time to go our separate ways.

When it was time to say goodbye, I stood in front of this young woman I’d come to admire, not quite sure what to do. We hugged, she looked me in the eyes, and with tears streaming down both our faces, she handed me her baby. I leaned in to take him as she whispered, “take good care of him”, and she turned and walked out. I stood holding my new son, both overjoyed to have him and absolutely devastated that my wish for a child had brought such pain to someone else. It didn’t matter to me that she’d made the decision to put him up for adoption. Watching her walk out of the room was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do and one of the bravest things I’ve ever witnessed.

Now that baby boy is about to turn three. He’s a charming and content little boy who knows he’s adopted and, more importantly, knows he’s loved.

As for his biological family, I still send them pictures and updates every few months, as I will for years to come. And I hope one day my son will want to meet the woman who loved him enough to walk away.

I am still amazed how such a heartbreaking start turned into such a beautiful experience. That’s the magic of adoption.