We sat in my family room reminiscing about the "pioneer days"...those days nearly 30 years ago when we set out on an unknown journey of the heart, creating a new paradigm of family building.
Last night my Son-One's birthmother came for a visit. She was in the area for a Spring Break vacation with her 12 year-old. Son-One and his family spent the day with them at the zoo, then all came here for dinner.
Sound strange? Not to us. Not any more. But there was a time...oh yes, there was a time when I would not have believed my own story.
After six years of infertility treatments (with no diagnosis, ever), Hub and I decided we were not really into re-creating ourselves in some DNA-induced duplication of genes. We just wanted to be parents. We looked into adoption and found a program called "Open Adoption Services". Huh? "Open"? What the hell was that?
What it was, was a new idea in adoption circles where the woman experiencing an unplanned pregnancy could make an adoption plan for her baby BY CHOOSING THE ADOPTIVE PARENTS! Radical, empowering, liberating, and terrifying.
What it was, was a new idea in adoption circles where prospective adoptive parents were not just moving up the list of names in some social worker's desk file, but CREATING A BIOGRAPHICAL PORTFOLIO OF INFORMATION AND PHOTOS FOR THE BIRTHMOTHER TO REVIEW! Radical, empowering, liberating, and terrifying.
Based on the portfolios presented her, "our" birthmother chose us. The Social Worker arranged for us to meet her and her mom in a beautiful park in the city where she lived. I was a total wreck of nerves, self-doubt, and dread. Immediately all those feelings fell away. We talked and laughed and felt like we'd known each other forever. A cosmic connection of epic proportions, made in some other lifetime perhaps.
A little over a month later, our precious son was born. He and his birthmom and her extended family spent 10 days together until she knew it was time for us to visit again...this time to take Son-One home. We drove to their city and pulled up in front of their house, and again I was a bit of a wreck. I will never forget knocking on the door, and having her answer, newborn in her arms, holding him out to me saying, "Here is your son." We all dissolved into a circle of hugs and tears. And spent a few hours together sharing our collective awe and admiration for this tiny, perfect being who was born of love and would be raised in devotion and gratitude for all of his days.
Over the intervening years we've kept in touch, with letters, cards, photos, occasional visits, with Son-One always knowing the story of his birth and adoption and accepting it as a matter of fact, not so strange or scary or different from the way many families are formed. There are no divided loyalties...everyone knows, accepts, and embraces our roles in this "extended family of the heart".
These days Open Adoption is the norm. But not everyone retains a connection. Not all families are compatible or comfortable together. I feel like I have friends, not obligations, when we meet. I don't think this is luck. I think this is Providence.
At least, that's the view from here...©.
Oh, Ivy. I was trying hard not to cry, but then I decided these tears were appropriate and I let them flow.
ReplyDeleteI know I have told you countless times, ad nauseum, what you and your family mean to me and my family. Anything I say here will be a repeat of all those sentiments. However, just in case somebody else reads this and does not know my side of the story, I need to reiterate a few things.
My precious daughter was the birth mom of Son One. She and I guided each other through the journey as she made her decisions regarding that new life. The day we met his family was one of the most nerve-wracking, wonderful, marvelous days of my life. I think my daughter would agree. We began to wonder about what kind of title you give to friends you finally meet who become family. (I refer to them as my grandson's Mom, Dad, and/or Brother and that always opens a conversation about open adoption.)
Back to my story...the day his new Mommy and Daddy came to our home so they could take him to his new home was scary for me. How was I going to let him go? How was I going to stand by and watch my daughter let him go? We all loved him so much. It was that love that strengthened us to make this happen for him. And, what an amazing moment it was for me to hear my baby say, "Here is your son." I have never stopped hearing it. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. It was perfect.
We celebrated every photo and video that they sent to us in the ensuing years. Watching that baby grow was a precious thing for my daughter and I.
And, this is my favorite episode that points to the rightness of this whole story for me: Fast forward about four or five years...I had a dream one night that my daughter and Ivy's son were sitting on the rock wall next door to our house, swinging their legs, talking, and comparing the little physical similarities they shared (a freckle here, a cowlick there, etc.). It was a beautiful dream and I woke up feeling so close to him and his family. It was one of those dreams that was so clear and lucid and stuck with me as I went about my day.
A few hours later I got a phone call from Ivy, the first phone connection we had made (as prescribed by the adoption agency, all our contacts were made as them serving as intermediary; we had finally decided that was no longer necessary). She told me that her son wanted to meet his birth mom and would it be okay if they came to visit. OMG!!! I could hardly breathe. I was so excited. It was as perfect as I had always fantasized it would be.
I have a photograph of the two of them sitting on the dock at my parent's lake house, legs swinging over the edge, talking intently, saying things meant for their ears only. I cherish that picture and my heart smiles just thinking about it.
And, I have a friend in Ivy. I like to think that we are sympatico and will always be good friends.
All our lives have progressed just like they should have and my little grandson has a big brother whom he delights in talking about. Just to hear him say, "I'm going to go see my brother" puts frosting all over this story.