Posted: Jun 22, 08 1:50am
Last year my son, Fred, and his girlfriend had a baby girl. The birth mother was only 16, and her parents pressured the kids into giving the baby up for adoption. Thankfully the kids insisted on an open adoption.
I took a quick picture as the nurse carried my granddaughter from her mother's room to the nursery, then turned and hugged Fred as we both wept. We watched the nurse do all the things they do to newborns, and I took a lot of pictures through the window, knowing they wouldn't turn out very well, but afraid we wouldn't get any more.
After we regained our composure, we walked to the hospital cafeteria, our heads drooped in pain, our steps slow, our hearts broken. Waiting to meet us were Jim and Terri, the couple who would raise this precious little girl. We talked for quite a while: family, values, God, education, discipline, etc. The entire time we were talking, the table was shaking. Janet was excited, nervous, and terrified that the kids would change their minds and they wouldn't get the baby they wanted so badly.
The next day I went to the hospital and was able to hold this precious infant. Rachel was crying when I picked her up, but quickly quieted as I cradled her and cooed to her. My granddaughter. The fifth grandchild, and just as special as each of the previous. How would I survive this? And more important, how would I help my son get through this ordeal?
The papers were signed, phone numbers exchanged, and we waited to see if they would be good to their word. Would they really welcome and include us in her life? Or would they walk away, never to be seen again.
We were lucky. Jim and Terri truly wanted Rachel to know where she came from. To know who she looked like. To know why she liked carrots and cauliflower, but not beets or broccoli. To know why she loved sports but hated to paint. And to know that the family she came from loved her enough to do what was best for her.
Rachel is a year old now. We helped her parents move into their new house, and helped prepare the nursery. We helped her learn to roll over and sit up. They have no family in this area, so Terri calls us to babysit when they want to have a date night. As she learns to talk, she will be taught to call me Grandma, and she will call Fred "Papa."
I see Rachel every two or three weeks, and Fred sees her even more. She knows us; smiles and reaches for us when we walk in the door. But the adoption still has its fist clenched around our hearts. And every once in a while when it relaxes its grip, I realize that my heart is broken into a million pieces; pieces with jagged edges that puncture every bit of my being.
Rachel turned a year old, and the house was full. Approximately 50 men, women and children, anxious to share in the joy for her birthday. Every family there had adopted at least one child, except us ... we were on "the other side." Fred did well meeting people, playing with Rachel, and enjoying the other children. Until we sang happy birthday. As soon as we began singing, he fell apart. I handed my camera to my grandson, turned, and burst into tears as I held Fred. All of the emotions from a year ago came flooding back, and those shards dug even deeper into our hearts.
Father's Day was particularly difficult for Fred. We went to Jim and Terri's for dinner, and they gave him the perfect gifts. Three pictures of Rachel: one holding an "I," one holding a "U,", and one with a heart laying in the grass behind her. She got tired of the game and kept throwing the heart down. Terri finally took the picture in frustration, and I love it. His other gift was a CD that Jim made for him, full of pictures of Rachel's first year of life. He put it to music, and the songs he chose were particularly touching. They each spoke of a father's love for his child, and a child's love and respect for their father. Fred fell apart as we all watched it together. The music touched him. But he also thought about all the things he had missed out on in her first year.
We know how fortunate we are, being able to be so involved in Rachel's life. God sent Jim and Terri into our lives, and we all consider each other as family. But some days the pain gets to Fred, and he feels so lost.
Have you given a child or grandchild up for adoption? Do you have a relationship with the child? How do you cope?
