We got the call on a Friday. Three weeks and three days ago, we first heard about you. You had been born the Sunday before, and you needed a home. I spoke at length to the social worker, and it seemed so perfect. Everything you needed, we were. Everything your birth mom wanted, we were. Even down to your name, which your birth mom wanted you to keep. It was perfect. We were so happy. We so wanted to be your parents, and we thought we would be. We would leave the next day to come and get you. To bring you home.
We went to dinner that night at our friends’ home. Everyone who was there either has adopted or is adopting, and they were so excited. While we were there, I texted with your birth mom a few times. Then she sent me your picture. I was so happy to see you for the first time. You’re beautiful, S. I showed your picture to our friends, and they agreed. The dinner was a joyful, wonderful, happy time. They would have loved to meet you, to hold you.
Late that night we got a call from those same friends. They showed up at our door with diapers, gift cards, sweet baby girl clothes, a blanket, a soft toy. They are such sweet friends to share in our joy that way.
Saturday, we drove the next day to Florida. As we drove, we talked about your name: would we make your birth mom’s choice you first or middle name? What would we call you? We thought about how we’d have to get a luggage rack in order to fit your carseat in the van. We talked about your birth mom, and I she and I texted back and forth all day. We were so happy as we made phone calls, talked to the social worker, told our families what was going on.
Sunday morning, my mom, Laina and I went shopping for a dress for you, to match the shoes in the puzzle picture. We found a sweet one.
Sunday night, we met you…what can I even say about that? Your birth mom is amazing, and you are precious, valuable, priceless.
Tuesday we learned that you weren’t ours.
Wednesday, we returned the dress.
Thursday we came home without you.
I pray for you still, sweet S. I pray that your mommy and daddy know Jesus and teach you about Him. That you are happy and loved. I’m sure you are.
You weren’t our daughter, but we wish you were. I grieve not being your mama; I wanted to be. And I also grieve the loss of relationship with your birth mom. She loves you so much, and she”s so special. I wanted to be in her life.
Someday, we will bring our baby home, and we will understand what I hope you are already experiencing: that this was how it was meant to be. But we won’t forget you or your birth mom. We know already at least one good thing that came out of this: so many people were praying for your birth mom and you, during a time that was probably the hardest in your lives. Our church was praying. Our families were praying. If we had to go through this in order for you and your birth mom to have so many people lifting you up to the Father during this time, it was worth it. She is worth it. You are worth it.
Adoption is such a mix of joy and grief. Right now, ours is the grief. Yours is the joy–and I hope for you that it is always true, that you grow up strong, joy-filled, loving, and loved.
Prayers and blessings, sweet baby.
________________________________________
Allie Brannon
Allie and her husband Jeremy live near Atlanta with their three kids–two terrific bio boys and a sweet daughter adopted a year and a half ago from Rwanda. They are currently in the process of adopting a baby boy domestically due not long from now! They love their family, their church, and their life. Allie writes about adoption, home schooling, family adventures, and funny things her kids say on her blog Notes in the Margins.
2 Replies to “The Failed Adoption”
Allie, this was a beautiful story. I’m sorry for the sorrow you feel, and I’m also inspired by how you view even the prayer that occurred as a ministry of value. I’ve worked with lots of foster and adoptive parents, and I know that the ones who’ve done the best are the ones who view what they’re doing as a ministry. If it’s OK with you, I’d love to share your letter with new and incoming adoptive/foster parents as an example to them of what ministry sounds like when a desired adoption doesn’t happen.
Addison, I’d be happy for you to use my letter to help others. I was inspired by John Piper’s “Don’t Waste Your Cancer” article about how we can turn suffering around for the glory of God and comfort of others. If our failed adoption can do that, it would be my great joy.
Allie, this was a beautiful story. I’m sorry for the sorrow you feel, and I’m also inspired by how you view even the prayer that occurred as a ministry of value. I’ve worked with lots of foster and adoptive parents, and I know that the ones who’ve done the best are the ones who view what they’re doing as a ministry. If it’s OK with you, I’d love to share your letter with new and incoming adoptive/foster parents as an example to them of what ministry sounds like when a desired adoption doesn’t happen.
Addison, I’d be happy for you to use my letter to help others. I was inspired by John Piper’s “Don’t Waste Your Cancer” article about how we can turn suffering around for the glory of God and comfort of others. If our failed adoption can do that, it would be my great joy.