Adoption - Day 413

Happy Almost-Autumn everyone. Boy, summer went out with a serious bang last weekend with temperatures in the 90s. My plants were dancing in the sunlight all weekend long. I, for one, do not care much for heat, so I was thrilled it was packed into a single weekend where I could enjoy the warmth in a brief stint. Now, welcome autumn. The best season of the year, in my opinion of course.

Time to dust off the leafy decor, pumpkin candles, funky gords and light sweaters. I love autumn. I also thoroughly enjoy the anticipation of autumn. The next few weeks left of "summer" are the weeks to get things done before the weather says, "And we're all done here for outdoor projects until July of 2012." I've got a lengthy list, but all sorts of ambition. Not the least of which is, drum roll, starting to venture into what I'll just call "Writing a Book Because I Feel Inspired and also Because I Have Always Wanted To But I'm Real Scared My Writing Isn't All That Fabulous or Interesting" project. It's a working title.

It seems insurmountable, but I have put it on my goals sheet for the year and you all can hold me accountable. Because, what good are goals if you don't have someone asking you about them? My goal is to make "significant progress" on writing the book. I've left the description of my goal a little ambiguous for a reason.

So, I suppose, in lieu of of this goal, I have written an essay. Perhaps it is really this essay that has been the catalyst for my commitment to writing a book. In any case, I've written one. I wrote an essay for the Real Simple magazine essay contest. Today was the last day to submit the essay, so it feels nice to finally have it out of my hands. It will be what it will be. Oh, how I love useless and meaningless statements. I've decided to share it all with you. Since I was an editing and revising lunatic, many of you have already read this. But for those of you who haven't, here you go.

I wrote in the body of my email that even if this essay doesn't amount to a winning piece (or even come close) it has brought tremendous healing just to write it. Each time I read it aloud or to myself, the pain of the experience would slightly dim, as the lessons would illuminate brighter and brighter. I mention briefly that there are days where I wonder if I will ever truly be grateful for this experience. I can honestly say that I am. I can only really thank Jesus for his grace to heal me through something simple but special: writing an essay.

I hope you enjoy!

An Unexpected Gift
By: Ashley N. Ainley


“Thursday?” I asked.
“Thursday. The day after tomorrow,” she replied.

This was the call my husband and I had been waiting nearly seven months for. We had a match. A birth mother had selected us to adopt her baby and she was scheduled for induced labor in two days. Since Georgia law allows the birth mother ten days to change her mind before the adoption is finalized, we had about twelve days to prepare for our baby girl’s arrival.

It is near impossible to describe that tender moment when something you have been yearning for becomes tangible. Real. I suppose it is something like unscrewing a water bottle upside down. It chugs out, followed by gasps of air and more chugging–moments of sheer joy, followed by moments of disbelief, followed by more moments of joy.

We began the adoption process in the summer of 2010. We chose an African-American infant program with an agency based in Georgia. We officially landed on the waiting list in January and were given an estimated match time of three to six months–a process where the birth mother selects us as the forever family for her baby.

August 18th was the day she would be induced–a day I spent getting better acquainted with antacids. The evening crawled by as my mind paced anxious for the news of our little one’s birth. No news. Not until the next morning. Our little girl had been born just after midnight. As the caseworker explained what details she had of the birth, she calmed our fears by saying this birth mother was ready to move forward with the adoption and would sign the surrender paperwork within a day or two.

We were bursting with joy. The door of my heart had flung open to the world of motherhood, as I leaped from tortured patience to eager anticipation. I was going to be a mother. We hugged each other and kept shaking our heads in disbelief. A whirlwind of emotion swirled around us–were we ready to be parents in less than two weeks? As my heart quickened, I had to remember to take deep breaths. I can do this. Right?

The truth is, we have been ready for over three years. After fruitless efforts to become pregnant, we decided to channel our longing for children into the passion we have for adoption. Adoption runs deep in our family. My husband’s mother is adopted and so is mine. He also has five adopted Korean aunts and uncles. Our extensive history combined with our love for children meant it was a topic of discussion even before I had a ring on my finger.

As I sat on the bed thinking of the words I wanted to say to our baby girl in her very first birthday card, I got another call. My breath caught in my throat. It had not been two hours since the last call. The birth mother had changed her mind. All of the emotion, joy and anticipation dissolved into nothing but a vapor.

I collapsed physically and emotionally. My husband held me as I sobbed at the heart-wrenching news. It felt like a tender gift had been snatched from my heart. My mind reacted in disbelief, racing to protect my heart from this sadness still ringing in my ears. It was too late. I was shattered.

It has been less than a month since the bottle cap unscrewed leaving us empty, drained. I have spent many days pondering what it was I went through, am going through, and how I am supposed to continue on with a new sadness in my chest. Many days I have inexplicable nausea. Other days I wonder if I will ever truly be grateful for this experience.

Several months ago I read the question in Real Simple magazine, “When did you first understand the meaning of love?” No single moment came to mind at the time. I have been abundantly blessed by various forms of love throughout my life, but I could not isolate a moment of epiphany for the multi-faceted meaning of love. This is not to discredit the deep love I certainly have for my husband and family. It was not until recently I realized how this experience has helped form my answer. I have a new understanding of love–a mother’s love for her child.

Throughout this waiting process, I’ve been searching for something, anything to make this experience of becoming a mother seem more real. Women who become pregnant have the reality on display after a few months, as they watch their bellies swell with their little gift. As for me, I launched into preparing the nursery and thinking of creative ways to remember and savor each moment along the way. I want to be able to give my child something special to hold onto, to know they are loved, cherished and wanted.

I have been given a fresh perspective. It isn’t that I lost hope, but I had latched onto a specific child who was never intended to be mine at all. If I hadn’t gone through the joy and anticipation of that little girl, I would not have had the opportunity to feel the pulse of motherhood flow through my veins–the love that goes beyond comprehension and mere emotion. This little girl has given me a peek at the tender moment when we will at last hold our baby in our arms, knowing this little one is ours, is home. This experience allowed me to dip my fingers into the depthless joy of motherhood awaiting me.

Although I still ache from the pain that rocked us not so long ago, I have tossed my nets into the ocean of hope for the day that has always been meant for us. The day when those small fingers wrap around mine and the look of a new father is on my husband’s face. The fear of loss will then be the vapor and pain will be a faded memory as we plunge into the joy this new little life will bring.

I have gained a new appreciation for Lord Alfred Tennyson’s famous excerpt from the poem In Memoriam A.H.H.:

‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

I may have loved and lost, but I have also gained a glimpse of a new love that still awaits me–the love of a mother for her child. Love is a gift. It is greater than me, greater than my husband, greater than all of us. It is God’s greatest gift. I will get to give it away, as a mother, some day. I intend to give this gift to the child that is ours and I intend to never stop.