Updated: May 13, 2020
Originally Published: March 23, 2020
At 45, I find myself reflecting on the many blessings in my life. I have an incredible 11-year-old daughter, whom I cherish beyond words. My husband, whom I adore, and I have been happily married for 21 years. I enjoy a fulfilling career as a university professor and lead my program with pride. Yet, despite all this happiness, a part of me feels a void. I yearn for another child—a sibling for my daughter and a companion on our family’s journey through life. It’s not a sense of sadness or loneliness, but rather a genuine desire for our family to grow.
The path to welcoming a second child has been fraught with challenges—natural fertility treatments, heartbreaking miscarriages, and unsuccessful adoption attempts. The emotional aftermath of discovering the absence of a heartbeat during a routine appointment was something I was not prepared for. Losing a baby before birth is a profound trauma, and society often hesitates to acknowledge it as such. But what else can you call the sudden stop of a human heart?
I thought I had steeled myself against loss when our first adoption fell through. By that time, I had grappled with not only the miscarriage but also the sudden passing of my mother and my father’s recovery from a serious injury. Loss had become a familiar thread in my life’s fabric, but as many have experienced, past grief offers little preparation for new heartache.
In February 2018, I was navigating the emotions surrounding my father’s remarriage. While his new wife is wonderful and cares for him deeply, watching him say “I do” felt like saying goodbye to my mother all over again. As I processed this confusing blend of emotions, we received a life-changing call: a birth grandmother had chosen us to adopt her daughter’s newborn son. The biological mother, just starting her college journey, felt unprepared for motherhood.
Joy flooded our hearts. Kevin was home when the call came, and Ashley and I were still with my dad post-wedding. He quickly booked a flight, while Ashley and I embarked on a 14-hour drive to meet our new son and brother. We opted for the road trip to avoid exposing the baby’s sensitive ears and immune system to the airplane environment.
The following day, we met with the baby’s grandparents, who were incredibly kind. We spent hours together, sharing tears over their difficult decision to let go of their first grandchild. The plan was for an open adoption, but the reality of them saying goodbye weighed heavily on us. We left with Sean in his car seat, overwhelmed yet ecstatic.
The waiting game for the ICPC paperwork, which would finalize the adoption, lasted nearly two weeks. During this time, we bonded as a family, filled with laughter and love. The Winter Olympics provided a perfect backdrop as Ashley and I cheered on our favorites while Kevin took blissful naps with Sean nestled on his chest. The joy of those days was palpable.
However, getting back home proved trickier than we anticipated. Ashley had school commitments that didn’t align with our timeline. We devised a plan: she and I would fly home early, while Kevin and my mother-in-law would bring Sean back later. Ultimately, a judge signed the ICPC papers, and Sean was ready to join us for good.
Once home, Sean quickly became the center of our universe. But just six weeks later, our attorney called with devastating news: his biological mother wanted to raise him after all. My heart sank, and tears streamed down my face. We faced yet another loss. This time, it was especially hard on Ashley, who bore the brunt of the emotional upheaval. Her capacity to love was pure and uncomplicated.
Our close bond made it all the more surprising when she withdrew from discussing Sean’s departure. Her teacher was wonderfully supportive, encouraging her to write notes to him, yet I worried Ashley felt I was to blame for his return to his biological family.
What I learned through this experience is that sometimes the most supportive act is to embrace silence. As I stopped probing Ashley about her feelings and simply sat with her, she began to share her sadness and disappointment. We navigated our grief together, recognizing the importance of allowing those emotions to be expressed.
My fifteen years in attachment research had not equipped me for the complexities of real-life attachment. It’s not merely about primary caregivers or partners; it’s a web of connections across our social networks. No matter how much we try, we cannot shield ourselves or our children from the inevitable vulnerabilities that come with love and attachment.
Despite the heartaches, we remain committed to expanding our family through adoption. We’re currently hoping to adopt a baby girl due on April 27. This journey has tested us but also reaffirmed our dedication. Welcoming Sean into our lives underscored our commitment to this path.
Update: Our daughter arrived early, and as of yesterday, we became proud adoptive parents to a beautiful baby girl. Our family is overjoyed! The ups and downs of the adoption journey have connected us with remarkable families and led us to this wonderful new chapter.
For those considering their own paths to parenthood, you can find helpful information on fertility treatments at March of Dimes. Additionally, if you’re exploring home insemination options, check out Make A Mom for expert advice. And for a tasty twist, explore Mediterranean food ideas at Home Insemination Kit.
In summary, navigating the complexities of adoption and loss can be incredibly challenging. Through resilience, compassion, and open communication, families can come together to heal and grow.
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