“I know the wait is hard.”
That’s how every email ends.
Every time we’re passed by.
It’s the understatement of a lifetime.
The adoption agency sends a report each month.
“We’ve matched one family this month and are working with another birthmother.”
They keep it vague.
But it still hurts.
Why did the birthmother select that family?
What did they say that we didn’t?
What’s wrong with us?
Today wasn’t a good day.
Because last night, we received and email about a birthmother right here in Springfield(!!).
She fit our criteria and we fit hers.
She was set to view family profiles at 9 a.m. today.
I couldn’t sleep.
I couldn’t think about anything else during my morning meeting onslaught.
I called Adam at lunch and he talked me off the ledge.
At 2:30, we got the email.
She picked someone else.
“She knew immediately when she saw their profile.”
It was a knife to the heart.
I had let myself hope.
And it was once again dashed.
It’s a simple question prospective adoptive parents struggle with.
All the counseling and all the social workers will tell you: You be you.
That’s all you can do.
When it’s right, it’s right.
It’s hard to remember that when you’re waiting.
It’s hard when I walk by the empty nursery.
It’s hard when I see my friend’s babies.
It’s hard when I think about upcoming holidays.
It’s just hard.
Every adoptive parent I know says the wait is dark.
Somedays, it’s so dark you can’t see.
But holdout for the light they say, it’s worth it.
As I sit here, the pitch black has a hold on me.
The only speck of light left the room the moment I read that email.
I am a void.
It’s not the wait that will kill you, it’s the hope.