Strength of Spirit

I’m constantly surrounded by people who amaze me.  I stand in awe, most of the time, of people and the strength of spirit that they possess.  I’m asked, more than I can say, how I do what I do.  Parents ask me.  Inquisitive people ask me.  They think I’m special because I work with sick kids.  I think I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to work with sick kids.  It doesn’t really take a special person to do what I do.  It’s not for everyone, but neither is engineering, teaching, coaching, retail, etc.  Everyone has their thing.  But, while I’m busy doing “my thing”, I see strength and courage and unbelievable spirit.  The thing is, these are ordinary people doing extraordinary things because they have to, not because they want to.  They don’t choose illness.  It chooses them, or it’s chosen for them, depending on your belief system.  They’re just doing what they need to do to get through it.  What other option is there?  There’s always another option, I suppose.  They could sit in a corner and rock back and forth, as I’m sure they’d like to do sometimes.  They can give up and just let illness rule their lives.  Or they can fight back, and not allow it to determine the way they live their lives in general.  They usually choose to fight it out.  I’ve come to see, very clearly, that if someone dies from their disease, that they have not “lost” the fight as we so often hear people say.  They fought and lost.  No.  I don’t believe this.  There’s no losing here, even if cancer takes over...even if it takes control.  I think the way that person lived their life, with cancer, or in spite of cancer, says so much.  To keep on going, to not let it get the best of you, to keep putting one foot in front of the other and to learn some important lessons and really live life… that’s winning, even if life is shorter than we’d hoped or prayed for.  I see this stuff every single day.  Some days, it really bothers me and gets me down.  Why this person or that person?  Why anyone?  Why can’t someone find a cure for this disgusting and cruel disease?  Why should good people, young children, deal with such harsh realities, such devastating illnesses?  Other days, I’m inspired.  I’m grateful.  I’m thankful.  I’m honored.  I’m completely and utterly amazed by the people that deal with this.  I’m challenged.  Challenged to be a better person, to live with intention, to always pay it forward, to love like there’s no tomorrow.  As I sit here tonight thinking of these things, several people are coming into my mind.  Kids, families, friends… people who’ve dealt or are dealing with it, and my sorrows and disappoints seem minimal.   My mind is flooded with thoughts of a better tomorrow.  My sadness and pain feel close in heart, but also far away.  It certainly puts things into perspective.  Always worrying about the future is not doing much for the present.  I know that things will work out for me, for us, in the way that we want them to.  I know that our baby is on his or her way to us as I type this, but I just don’t know when it’ll happen.  That’s an unknown that I can live with.  I wish, with all of my being, that everyone I know and love could know the same with such certain…that the thing they pray for will happen, will work out in the way that they hope, that their greatest dreams will be fulfilled, that there’ll be time to enjoy it, appreciate it, and be with it.

"Have you heard anything yet?"

Seems to be the question on everyone’s mind … have we heard anything?  It’s on our minds, too. The answer is a sad and frustrating, no.  We haven’t heard.  I don’t think we will… The way it often works is that the “potential” adoptive family gets an unexpected call saying they’ve been matched and the baby’s here.  Not always.  Sometimes, people get matched prior to the birth.  If this happens, and if you ask us if we’ve heard, our answer will still be no, we haven’t heard.  Not because we want to lie to you, or shut you out, but because we’re trying to protect ourselves, and the people we love, from potential heartbreak.  You see, even if we’re matched with a birthmother prior to the birth, that woman isn’t actually a “birth mother” yet.  She’s a mother.  She hasn’t signed any papers.  She may end up choosing to parent.  And, if the baby is from PA, and if the “birthmother” signs her rights away at 72 hours (she can’t sign any sooner than 72 hours), she still has a 30 day time period in which she can change her mind and take the baby back.  We don’t like to think about that scenario… we choose to believe that this will never happen, and should it happen, we’ll deal with it then.  But the hard truth is that it COULD happen.  So we’re going to be tight lipped and protective for awhile, until things are “safe”.  All that being said, the absolute truth right now is that we have not gotten a call.  We have not been matched, and we don’t know when it’ll happen.  I’m not opposed to being asked.  I’m ok with talking about it. I actually LIKE talking about it.  But the answer will likely always be the same… no, we haven’t heard.  Chances are, when our answer is different, you’ll know because we’ll have a baby in tow,(what a cool surprise!) or we would have given you a call.  A very excited, over the moon, ridiculously happy phone call.  We hope that we can make that phone call soon.  We pray we can make it soon.  We’re so excited for this to happen.  We long for it to happen.  Waiting is not fun.  It’s sometimes maddening.  Sometimes frustrating.  Sometimes sad.  Feel free to keep asking... we're ok with questions, and some day, our answer just may be the unexpected one.

We went to a “workshop” offered by Open Arms this past week.  It was only for families that are “waiting”.  It was called “The Weight of the Wait”.  It really was more of a supportive forum, or support group, than anything else.  The two people facilitating were employees of Open Arms;  Stefani, our social worker, and Michele, who runs Coffee Talk.  Both of them have adopted.  Both of them endured long, painful waits.  Both of them are parenting children they’ve adopted.  Both of them really, truly get it.  Both of them understand where we’ve been, where we are now, and where we’re praying to be soon.  They understand the stress of waiting.  They did a great job, providing some comfort food and a safe, secure environment to share anything at all.  It was an intense, emotional night, and one that felt good because we were in a room filled with people who all get it and are in the exact same position we are.  Many, but not all of them, struggled with infertility first, before coming to adoption, and so they understand that there was loss involved, and that we all feel like we’ve been waiting much longer than just the time that’s passed since our home study was completed. Stefani said it best when she said that during the wait, she felt like a mother without a baby.  That's how those of us who have lost pregnancies feel.  Like mother's without babies.  Not to discount fathers without babies... they exist, too.   A couple of the people there that night already have children, through adoption, and are waiting for a second child to come into their lives.  But they all understand the stress of the wait; that sometimes, certain days trigger emotions we didn’t know were lurking there, below the surface.  Stefani and Michele shared a few things with us.  This essay is one of them, written by a waiting future dad.

“In the Eye of the Beholder”.  Should I change my shirt?  My hair? My religion?  When you’re waiting to be picked by a birthmother, you question every aspect of yourself.  By Scott Hollowell. 

Is it my hairline?  Should I have worn a different outfit for the picture?  When you’re waiting to be matched with a birthmother, each day that passes without a call makes you question every part of yourself and your life.  You may have had this feeling during fifth grade gym class.  But, back then, even the kids who were picked last were picked within five minutes.  After all, gym class lasts only an hour.  This is more like a police lineup, and the birthmother is behind the two way mirror.  She might see me, but I don’t see her.  All I can see is… me.  And after staring at myself long enough, all I notice are imperfections: My clothes aren’t stylish enough; my skin is marked with blemishes.  Most of all, I see my soul, and I wrestle with the desire to bare it and the fear of revealing too much.  Some days, I wonder if anyone’s even looking at me through the mirror.  The Endless Wait.  I meet others in the lineup.  Some become my friends.  Some of us are reserved, while others cope with the wait by talking about their every thought and feeling.  But unlike those in a police lineup, we aren’t whispering to ourselves “Pick him”.  We are praying “pick me!”  Some leave after a month, others after a week.  “Is that fair?” the rest of us wonder.  “They haven’t served their time yet!”  I know in my heart that they must have been the right parents for a baby- the connection with birthparents is why we chose open adoption, after all- but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.  It only makes me look harder at myself.  Should I submit a different picture?  Are prospective parents rejected because they’re Caucasian?  Because they’re heterosexual?  Or homosexual?  Because someone doesn’t believe in their God?  Or because they don’t believe in someone else’s God?  While the birthmothers’ choices are infinite, I have only one: Wait.  Any Day Now: At some point, we crossed the line- from it could happen any day now to I can’t put my life on hold any longer. So we pass the time like others we’ve met in the pool- in a mix of preparation and insanity.  We have a fully equipped nursery.  Babies-R-Us could practically shoot pictures for its fall catalog at our house.  I know that having the nursery prepared will work in our favor in the long run, especially if we get a last-minute placement, but walking by this room every day makes me wonder if we’ve spent just enough time and money to jinx ourselves.  Life on hold: I’ve learned that it’s nearly impossible to explain the waiting experience to someone who hasn’t gone through it himself.  Our friends and family are universally sympathetic, and they understand our desire to be parents.  What they don’t get is the anxiety involved in calling the adoption agency, yet again, just to see if our profile has been requested by any birthmothers, then hearing, yet again, “Not yet, but keep your spirits up.  Now’s the time to work on things you’ve been meaning to do while you wait.”  I’m waiting for next week’s “Waiting Families” meeting.  I’m waiting for my wife to break down in tears, although I’m afraid I’ll only be able to offer her vague statistics and a reassuring hug.  I’m waiting to share the love that is bottled up inside of me with a son or daughter.  I’m waiting for the phone to ring…

Excerpts reprinted from Adoptive Families Magazine.  Scott Hollowell is a computer consultant who lives with his wife in the Pacific Northwest.  They have been pursuing domestic adoption for the last 10 months.