It was May 6th, just over two weeks after we had found out that our dreams of adoption had been nothing but a delusion. We had been deceived. Defrauded. We had spent thousands of dollars to bring two sweet babies home.
Only those babies had never existed.
The
We could not believe that we had been so deceived.
After months of preparation for adoption, first through foster care, and then from a birth mother who had approached us at church, we were within days of our twins being born. Only there were no twins. There were no babies at all. The birth mother was not even pregnant. We had been robbed, deceived, heartbroken.
Grief. The dark hole of the soul that seems to have no limits to its depth. My plans, my dreams, my joys, were ripped out from under me and my heart tumbled in a free fall into the murky pit of grief.
I mourned the children that never were. Though they had names, they had never existed. How do you grieve someone who never existed?
I grieved motherhood. For years, I had prayed that God would make me a mother, and I had believed that I was at last realizing that dream, only to have that dream snatched away.
I mourned my plans. My plans were to spend the first half of the summer devoted to being home. Though I knew the crazy schedules and sleeplessness would be exhausting, those disruptions were desired and loved. Now, I would have to take on a tremendous load of work