Monday, March 1, 2010

::adoption reflections::

Last night I dreamed about my son's birthparents.

We were walking the hospital corridors together, preparing to take Isaiah after he was discharged.  His birthfather was telling my husband to buy some pint-sized jerseys for the baby for the college football team he liked.  I was trying to think of something to say to her, but couldn't remember what her daughter's name was.  I knew her name wasn't Danielle, but it was the only name that came to mind.  So I just asked, "How are your other kids?"  She kept walking and stared straight ahead without answering, which is nothing like her personality in real life.  I don't know where Isaiah was.  I didn't see his nearly-two-year-old self toddling around, nor his newborn version that I remember from June, 2008. 

I woke up wondering how they were.  Did they get our last few letters?  What did they think of the most recent pictures, the set of personalized photo valentines we sent?  What did they think of his haircut? Were they interested in getting together like I asked?  Do they miss our son every day of their life?  Our son--her son, his son, my husband's son, my son. 

The dream, of course, invoked all sorts of memories surrounding Isaiah's birth.  The moment we said "good-bye" and walked out with our son in the infant carrier.  The moment immediately following where we carried our baby out to our car, me sobbing uncontrollable because I felt like I was stealing her son. 

A tide of emotions mingle together and crash upon the shore of my memories.  I am deeply and profoundly grateful to be his mother.  I grieve when I think of her, his first-mom.  I feel guilty for being the one he calls "Mommy," the one who tucks him in at night and hears his "luz yuuu," the one who kisses his hurts and makes them all better, the one who teaches him about Jesus, the one who tickles him mercilessly and hears his belly-laughing.

I feel guilty and grateful.  I know she is at peace with her decision...she's told us numerous times.  I believe her, but I can't help but hurt for her, for what she's missing.

Why am I so blessed?  I will never cease to wonder at God's sovereignty.

1 comment:

Cathy said...

Could have written this myself - I feel exactly the same.

Great reflection.