05 August 2013

The End (Happy Father's Day)

This post is from a series I wrote between January and July of this year. You can click HERE to start from the first post of the series.

It was Father’s Day Sunday and we hadn't heard from Alice in a week. I kept checking our email, checki but there was nothing. Our caseworker didn't know what was going on but said there were some very worrisome signs. We had nothing! She just disappeared! Our caseworker also said she made it clear to Alice’s caseworker that any news of a change of plan had to come directly from Alice, not from a game of telephone. (My words, not hers, and good for her! Our caseworker is the best. She shouldn't have to be the bearer of crushing news.)

On our way out the door to church I hung back a second to check our email one more time. There was FINALLY a message but it wasn't a response to our messages and the preview line wasn't reassuring…

“C Family, There is no easy way to write this email…”

I couldn't handle it. I knew I couldn't handle reading that email. I told Daniel we had an email from her but that I couldn't read it until after church. I was teaching one of the nursery classes in our ward and I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it together through church if I read her email before. We decided to have Daniel read the email from his phone once we got there and just give me the gist, is she parenting or picking another couple?

We found seats at church, Daniel read the email and put his phone away, looked at me and said, “She picked another family.”

Another. Family. I held it together. "I can't believe this is happening..."

The first thing I did was text our caseworker to let her know and ask how soon she could get our profile back out there. If our child wasn't coming through Alice then we wanted to do everything we could to reopen the door for someone else to find us. When Alice started looking for a new couple she and her caseworker were supposed to take our profile off “hold”. They didn't and our profile was kept hidden, locked up, from any other expectant mothers finding our family.

Daniel and I sat there holding hands, trying to process the news. “Our son” wouldn't be coming home with us. The baby we had been reassured countless times was "meant for" our family, was going home with another family. The little heartbeat recording we had listened to over and over again, was someone else’s son. The ultrasound images we fell in love with are the only time we will ever see him. He will never know us. He will never know Aurelia. We will never get to hug him, kiss him or love him any more than we have. The little boy we were so in love with was gone.

I could feel my eyes start to well and my throat start to tighten. I told Daniel I needed to go get some tissue, made it to the hall and might have been able to make it all the way through had I not run into my friend Heather. Heather is lovely and she could tell something was very wrong. I lost it, tears pouring down my face and she hugged me tightly. For five months we had told almost no one about this adoption. I told Heather everything that happened, that we had JUST found out but that I didn't want to go home because I needed to teach nursery. “There are plenty of people who can teach nursery. Go home,” she told me.

What could we do? Nothing. There was absolutely nothing we could do aside from getting our profile back out there. The only thing we could do was start over from the beginning. Start over from the very beginning. 

The next day (June 17th)...

So here we are.

I’m dreading going through all of this again. I’m dreading having to weed out scammers, to reestablish a relationship with someone we HOPE will be the answer to our prayers and make us parents again. We don’t even know if someone will pick us again.

We’re at a point where we need to take a serious look at our situation and where our hearts really want to go from here. After the miscarriages, the baby seller, the scammers and now this I don't know that I can keep trying to add to our family. Daniel said to me “we’re getting pretty good at getting kicked in the nuts and getting back up for more” but I don’t know how many more times I can get back up. My first reaction to all of this is “keep going. Get back out there. Someone will find us. We will be parents again.” But the beaten down part of me just wants to stay down. Call it. Game over. I give up.

I’m sure in a few more days I’ll feel a bit more optimistic and a little less heartbroken, but for now it just hurts. It hurts, it’s disappointing and I’m emotionally exhausted.

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