Another ONE

Yes, another miscarriage. 

I simultaneously feel shock, awe.  And an odd, numbing familiarity.

I feel tears stuck in my throat. An odd resignation.

No surprise.  Confirmation of current knowledge.

Anger at the brokenness of our bodies, nonetheless.

I hear babies crying.  (Well, figuratively, just so you don't send me to the loonie bin.)

It's different to find out you're having a miscarriage before you found out you were pregnant.

Malia is the miracle.

Thank God for her.

Hope lives for a life grown in another womb, to join our family.  Someday.

Thanksgiving

What motivates you?  What keeps you going through challenges?  How do you embrace the moment while you wait?  What pushes you forward, spurs you on?

On this Canadian Thanksgiving weekend I'm thankful for:

Music.  All types.  These are just some of my favorites, old and new.  Sinead O'Connor.  Sara Bareilles.  Music Together.  Beastie Boys.  Public Enemy.  

Support systems.  They are fabulous.  They are not for the weak, but for the strong.  We were created to crave community, belonging, speaking and listening.  Caring.  Helping.

Nature.  Thank you God for it.  Its complexity, its fragility, its intricacies, its beauty.  

Family and community.  Thank you for thriving cities, art, dance, concerts, teachers, and all people that improve communities, care for others, provide encouragement and bring about improvement.

Quotes are bits of shared wisdom.  These quotes have been particular meaningful to me within this last week:

I am thankful that I am parenting.  I love being a mother.  Exhaustion.  Overwhelming joy.  Peace.  Chaos.  Laughter.  I love the bliss of experiencing a new body and soul growing into herself.

I love being an educator.  There is always something more to learn, some assistance to provide, another way to listen, to share, to collaborate.  I love electronic tools and new ways of thinking that increase efficiency and effectiveness for students and teachers every day.  I am motivated by turning data into information to inform instruction and increase learning.  

I love life.  This messy, painful, joyous existence.  It surely is a gift.  

I am thankful.

Three Matches....No Baby...Yet

This adoption process is not for the faint of heart.

Persevering through this is a marathon.  Muscles burning, expending all energy for just one more step.  The next moment almost flying through the air.  These are mountainous peaks and valleys.

Most adoptive families experience more than one match before a permanent placement and finalized adoption. We are zero for three.  "Match" describes a wide range of situations, from a mom choosing an adoptive family but never meeting, to developing a close, multi-month relationship of going to doctor visits, planning names and bonding.  We have not met any of the moms that have chosen our family in any of our three matches. 

First, we were matched September 2010 with a mom that was making an adoption plan for her one year old and her three year old.  A family member of the mom chose to adopt her children.

In June 2011 we were chosen by a mom who was using Michigan's safe delivery law to relinquish her child to protect herself and her baby from an abusive partner.  Horrifically IMHO, the hospital chose another family for this baby with no input from the mom.  Nor was she allowed to send a love letter with her child as s/he began life with his/her new family.

Two days ago we were matched with/chosen by a mom and dad in Florida whose baby is due in January.  We were asked to fly to Florida this weekend to meet with the couple. They need money now to get the mom out of homelessness. Can you say red flag? This situation, for many reasons, does not work for us. How did we say no to this baby?  How?  Simply. Heart. Wrenching. 

Should we have chosen differently?  I don't know.  Should we have said yes?  Flown half way across the US?  I have no idea.  My brain hemispheres speak different languages; One side screaming a different message than the other, peaceful, quiet side.

We will continue to wait...and live fully.  Embracing the present.  We grow stronger.

I have never felt God's presence, guidance, love, and comfort like this.  Surely God is "one crafty mother" (as Anne Lamott writes.)  Yet confusion is sneaky.  Only strong marriages can survive this, I'm sure.  Steadfast friendships help immeasurably.

Dear friends of ours, that have been waiting to adopt since last summer as well, are bringing their bundle of joy home today; they were matched two days ago.  We rejoice with them beyond word expression.  Yet as my knees slammed into the 125-year-old wood floor of our kitchen, I wept.  I wept with immeasurable joy for our dear friends; happy tears.  I wept in pain; momentarily afraid it will never happen for us.  The dichotomy of pain and joy.

I've never been more sure that our pain pales in comparison to the experience of a mother/father making an adoption plan.  Not that different pain can be measured by placement on a scale.

I have never felt as peaceful.  I'm sure that there is a baby for us.  I can't wait to fold the little soul close to my chest in a baby wrap. 

I'm praying for the mothers in all of the situations mentioned above.  I'm praying for the mom considering an adoption plan that will choose us...someday.

I'm pretty sure I might be certifiably insane.  Or I'm just your typical, special, soon-to-be adoptive mom.  Maybe wearing an Elvis costume through this marathon would help?

Learning While Waiting

To combat the challenge of waiting to adopt, I've been working on flexing my mental muscle to focus on the positive.  I do still, definitely, allow myself little pity parties too.

I'm learning to care for myself by prioritizing exercise.  Primarily through RUNNING!  Seriously, it has never felt so great.  Getting treated for asthma recently helped just a tad.  I ran five miles last night: woohoo!

I breathe deeply.  

I enjoy eating healthy foods that fuel my body.  (This is a HUGE change!)  For the first time in my 37 years I'm losing weight by caring for myself.  Not shaming, blaming, despising, hating.  Geneen Roth's work has resonated and taught me that caring for myself comes BEFORE losing weight, NOT after. 

I'm learning to exist in now.  Enjoy the moment I'm in.  Not dwelling on past moments or wishing myself into an unknown future.

I'm giving up control, over and over and over.  Anne Lamott claims the two best prayers she knows are: "Help me, help me, help me" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She has a friend whose morning prayer each day is "Whatever," and whose evening prayer is "Oh, well." Anne describes God as "one crafty mother."  I like this...a lot.

I'm contemplating this adoption journey.  Anticipating.  Praying for birth parents everywhere.  Learning about relinquishment.  Thinking about phrases and words that describe adoption.  Contemplating the adopted child's grief and loss.  Thinking about inefficiencies of the whole adoption system.  Hoping that we'll have open adoption(s).  Learning a lot about transracial adoption.  Praying for wisdom for all adoptive parents, including us...someday. 

I'm learning to live vibrantly, even while embracing grief.  Multiple years of infertility and three miscarriages have not only taken.  They have molded, impacted.  Added depth. 

Although not a new concept to me, I am beyond-words-thankful for loving, listening, joyful and authentic husband, friends, family and community.  The joy of embracing new friends into our lives is pretty darn amazing as well!

I'm learning who I am, and gently feeling my way to who I want to be.

I'm leaning into life.

Open heart.  Open mind.  Thankful.  Loving.  Learning.

Sometimes This Journey is Too Much for Us

I'm so thankful for the people in our church: a place where we humans share our sorrow and joy.  Pastor David has a gift for preaching, for sharing stories, for bringing us along, for providing words and deeds that are salve for our wounds.  God's comfort is shared in community.  Healing and hope result.

Today the sermon was about this earthly journey being too much for us.  From 1 Kings 19, David spoke about Elijah: "while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, LORD,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.”  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

The son of a couple in our church was stillborn on July 10.  An amazing woman of faith, who has lived a full, rich, servant life recently died unexpectedly.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

People hurt.  People suffer.  We stumble along this journey, experiencing its stellar joys and deep sorrows.   Sometimes this journey is too much for us.

So many children are in foster care.  Birthparents lose parental rights.  Children age out of foster care with no family of their own.  Children spent birthdays and Christmases alone.  Some children do not even have their own pair of cozy pajamas.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

So many parents do not have support, money, resources to support a child, so they make an adoption plan for their flesh and blood.  They live with that relinquishment.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

We have miscarriages.  We have still births.  We are matched with a child/family; the match falls through.  We wait gracefully.  We wait without any patience at all.  We wait.  And wait.  And wait.

This is an achingly beautiful, broken, blessed life.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

But the story doesn't end there.  "All at once an angel touched him [Elijah] and said, “Get up and eat.” ⁶ He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again.  ⁷ The angel of the LORD came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” ⁸ So he got up and ate and drank. Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God."

Thank God we live in a community that cares for and supports others.  I'm thankful for sustenance.  For bread and water on this journey.  I'm thankful for shared strength.  I'm thankful for other families waiting to adopt and for families that have already adopted.  I'm thankful for friends and family that listen, ask and care.  Together we provide comfort, hope and sustenance.  Bread and water for this journey. 

It's true.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us.  I remember that I just have to face today.  And we are not alone.

Songs for Sorrow

Recently I have been holding my own little memorials by listening to these songs from the Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack.  It came out last year at this time and I saw Eclipse at least four times in the theater.  By myself.

Heavy in Your Arms by Florence and the Machine
Chop and Change by The Black Keys
and With you in My Head by UNKLE

It's true; they may not sound like memorial songs.  The movie and music helped me escape or experience my searing pain, anger and sorrow, depending on what I needed at the time.

And lately I sing this song to myself frequently: Precious Lord Take My Hand.

This may sound incongruous, but that's the story of the human experience.  Well, it's the story of mine, anyway.

Last year at this time Kevin and I were:
Worried
Excited
PREGNANT.

One year ago yesterday our baby died.  I floated in the deepest ocean of sorrow.  Her name is Lily.  She lived a short time, but our hopes and dreams for her were beyond measure.  She would have been five months old right now.

And her other sister that went to heaven far too early would now be 1 1/2; her name is Eva (eh-vah).

Some people call them angel babies.  All I know is that they were our children.  And I know it is the purest love.

I'm thankful.
I remember.
I'm pensive about what could have been.

Let's Talk (AND LEARN) About It: Transracial Adoption

I met a woman at the mall kids' play area recently.  We started chatting about her grandson and little M, watching fondly as they played.  I told her that we are waiting to adopt; that we're learning a lot.  She said, in a positive voice, "I was adopted!" 

I inquired, "and how was that experience for you?"  She was shocked at that question.  I dare bet she'd never been asked.  She stared at me, speechless.  I quickly said "you don't have to share, if it's too personal."

She paused.  And started.  And stopped.  Then the floodgates opened.  "I was adopted into a white family; they thought I was white," she said.  "Look at this picture of my daughter; does she look like me?"  (I didn't say anything because I didn't want to assume anything.  But after a George Costanza moment, I later wished I'd said something about families being made in a lot of different ways and looking different.  Not that her question required a "Comback," but I often find myself wishing my brain and mouth had a closer connection.)

She went on:  "I was raised in the Netherlands Reformed Church.  The pastor told me when I was very young that I am a bastard and I am going to hell.  So I tried to be good.  But I ran away at fifteen.  My family disowned me because I married a black man."

"I didn't have any idea what my background was.  I joined the army at 18.  A woman I didn't know identified me on a form as white.  Later, a drill seargent told me that people may look on that as trying to pass for white.  So from then on I identified myself as multiracial."

"And now I have my own rainbow family.  I don't need my adoptive family."  I felt a stab of her pain via the look in her eyes.

We chatted a bit more, shook hands, exchanged names, wished eachother well and parted ways, each of us with our sweaty and exhausted kiddo.

It gives me a lot to think about.  I appreciate learning.

I'm livid with that pastor.  I'm angry at her parents for not accepting her, supporting her, preparing her.  It may demonstrate the vast change in transracial adoption in the United States in the last fifty years. 

It's a shame that her family wasn't able to help her.  That the adoption agency didn't help the family.  That she didn't even know her own race.  That she didn't have loving people, of many races/ethnicities to hold her hand, encourage her, teach her to be a multiracial person in a racist society and to love her for who she is.  Through Rhonda Roorda's work, I have learned much from adult transracial adopees.  They say that they welcome their parents boundless love, but transracial adoptees need role models at church, at school, and in their neighborhoods that look like them, take them under their wings, teach them, support them.  Love them too.

I hope to have many more such opportunities to connect, learn, open my mind. 

I'm reminded of this quote that I appreciate; I first encountered it hanging in my friend Brandy's office:

"The world in which you were born is just one model of reality.
Other cultures are not failed attempts at being you; they are unique manifestations of the human spirit." --Wade Davis