The post I didn't want to write.

Hello sweet friends.  I hopped on the computer tonight for one reason, and one reason only.   That reason was to write the story I never wanted to write.  The story of our "failed adoption".  Although I hate that term.  I prefer to just simply say the truth, and that is that nothing failed.  The birth family decided to keep their sweet baby, and God's painful, but good and perfect will was laid before us.  The reason I need to write this down tonight, even if I really don't want to, is because I need for everyone to hear/read it at the same time.  I have so many (praise God!) loving friends and family members who will all want to know how it all happened, and how we dealt with it, and how we are doing now, 8 days later.  I want them to know.  I just don't want to describe that heart wrenching day over and over and over again.  Kind of like a band-aid, ya know?  I just want to rip it off and be done with it.  But I fear, with the pain being so fresh, that every time someone asks "what happened", I will re-live "what happened" all over again.  So for me, to write this down publicly, and show everyone at the same time, is healing and helpful for me.  I sort of get to talk about it when, and how I want to once everyone knows.  Do you understand?  I hope that you do.  Here goes.

The weeks leading up to the trip:

As I texted and messaged the precious birth momma, over the weeks that I had before the birth, I couldn't help but fall head over heels in love with her.  She was an African American woman living in a state in my country, but in a world all her own.  She was another skin color, another culture, she lived in the deep south, and she was dirt poor, living in a crime infested government owned project.  We were nothing alike.......except....... we both knew Jesus, her more recently than I, and we both loved this baby.  She was already raising her sweet beautiful boys on her own, and for reasons I leave private to her, she was going to choose adoption for this sweet one.  Every time I spoke to her, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for her.  Sadness that she was going to have to walk this hard road.  I knew and could read in her texts that she was trying to prepare herself, but that the knowledge of letting go of this baby was breaking her heart.  But she had resolve, and she was determined to follow through with the plan.  The birth father however was less determined and was "willing" to let the adoption take place, but from what I could gather, he was heartbroken as well, and not at all happy about the idea of it.  I could easily understand that.  But the plan was she would deliver by herself at the hospital and that neither, he, or any of her family members would come and see the baby, as they didn't want to see him, then let him go.  Again, I could understand that.  And the birth mother as well, wanted it that way.  She didn't want other peoples attachments to the baby to get in the way of her decision.  She lovingly respected their decision to leave her alone during and after delivery, and encouraged that as the plan.  But my heart BROKE, and I mean broke, that she would do it all alone. About a week before my family and I left for our cross country road trip to go to Georgia to await the arrival of the baby, I had coffee with several of my girlfriends and voiced the fear that was nagging on my heart.  I told them I was a little numb.  Not feeling elated, or worried.  I just......was.  I felt nothing.  Nothing good or bad.  It just felt like waiting.  Like how you feel in an elevator waiting to reach the bottom floor.  I also shared the reason I might have been feeling like that.......I was very concerned she might change her mind.  My thought was that if the birth father showed up to the hospital and hugged that baby, and looked at her and asked her to keep him, I knew that she would.  And I knew she would be fully within her rights, morally, legally, and in all ways.  I wouldn't fault her if she did.  I also felt slightly detached because well, he was thousands of miles away in another woman's womb.  I couldn't feel him kick, or see him on an ultrasound, or even be near him geographically.  I knew my attachment would grow the closer we got to him.  I knew that if I held him in my arms, my heart would swell with love for him.  I knew that if I laid eyes on him, and planted a sweet motherly kiss on his little brow that I would be hooked.  And so I asked my friends to pray that night, that if it was the Lords will that we not keep him, that the Lord would PLEASE prevent us from driving there, and for the love of everything PLEASE don't let me hold him if I couldn't keep him.  That prayer was heard by the Lord, I have no doubt, but He chose to make me walk that path anyhow.  For reason's yet to be seen.

The trip to Georgia:
We left on a Sunday morning just shy of two weeks before her due date.  We had a twelve passenger van loaded down with two parents, three kids, all our luggage and the baby supplies, car seats, and blankets you could need for the first weeks of a babies life.  We were jammed to the brim.  We set off and started to get pretty excited.  My precious daughter was taking videos and pictures to document the trip to later give to baby Malachi (Malachi is what we named him). When we were just two days into what we planned for a 8 day trip, the birth mother let me know that she was in the hospital for pre-term labor and that they were sending her home as she wasn't quite in the "real" labor that they like to see.  We quickly canceled visits with friends and family, and got to Georgia as fast as we could with two children and our little impatient, active, unbelievably adorable, tornado toddler whom we like to call Ethan.  We got to Georgia on a Friday afternoon.  And Malachi was born just a few hours later Saturday morning.

The day of the birth:
Ethan had not been sleeping well the whole trip and had thrown an all out revolt against the pack-n-play (port-a-crib).  So we had been taking turns laying down with him at night in the bed to get him to sleep.  It was the only way he would sleep, even though at home he NEVER slept with us, and never seemed to mind his crib.  The night of the 16th I happened to be the one in the room with Ethan.  I had accidentally brought my phone in the room with me instead of leaving it in the kitchen area (we had an extended stay suite) on the charger.  It was too late now, with Ethan snuggled up next to me, only half asleep.  I just quickly put the phone on silent, so that no text messages woke up Ethan, and dozed off.  I awoke the next morning around 7a.m and took Ethan out to the dining room for breakfast.  I immediately had a thought that said "you better go check your phone".  I ignored it, and moved about my morning.  Then again that thought came, this time much stronger "something is up, GO CHECK YOUR PHONE!".   I literally jumped off the couch and went to the room.  I couldn't believe when it showed three missed calls from the birth mother at 4am.  I KNEW she had given birth.  There was no other reason for her to call at that hour.  I quickly called her back and she let me know he was born sometime after 2am that morning.  I woke Jake up and we got dressed as fast as we could and left for the hospital (my sister had flown in and was there to watch my kids, which was awesome).  We walked into her room and I walked straight over to the bed where she laid. Funny thing, looking back, I didn't look for the baby first.  Just for her.  I laid my hands on her and asked if I could hug her.  She said yes and I did.  Then asked her how she was feeling.  That is when I saw a movement in the corner of my eye.  I turned around and sitting in the room was the birth father holding a little bundle.  She looked at me and said "He just got here a few minutes before you did.  I didn't know he was coming".   The birth father had changed his mind and come after all.  I walked over and said hi to him.  He was breaking and I could tell.  Sure he was holding it together, but he had a death grip on that baby, and fear in his eyes.  But then his demeanor changed and he softened, he had a look of resignation to what he knew was coming, and handed the bundle out to me and said "do you want to hold him?".  I said sure and took Malachi into my arms.  Jake was standing behind me and we both beheld his sweetness.  He was adorable for sure.

I adored him.  But emotionally, and mentally it was hard.  We had an audience of two people.......his parents.  And that made it very hard to cry for joy or bond or open up his swaddle and just take in every part of his precious little newborn self.  So we just held him, took some pictures and made small talk.  After a while, I handed him back to the birth father and we said we would walk out and give them a little time together.  They said that it was OK, and that it wasn't necessary, but we felt like doing it anyhow.  We left for a little while then came back up.  When we came up a hospital social worker was sitting in there with them, asking them questions.  We turned to walk out but the lady said she had some questions for us.  I wont write all this part down, but let me be totally honest and say that this woman, an African American woman, was NOT happy this baby was being adopted out, and was CERTAINLY not happy he was going to a white family.  It was very evident.  She was really hard on us.  The adoption social worker, a totally different one than this hospital worker, that the Birth mother and us were working with even called while I was in there and asked to speak to the hospital social worker (typical protocol) but the hospital social worker refused to speak with her.  Not a good sign. But soon, she kicked us out and wanted to be alone with the Birth mother and father.  When she left 5 minutes later, and we came back in, the BM and BF were beside themselves in tears.  They were sobbing.  It was terrible. We knew the lady had told them things that upset them (later we would find out, just a bit of how awful that lady was to them about the adoption)  Again, when I came in they were kind to me, and they asked me to take the baby in my arms.  I did.  At this point Jake left to go to the hotel to help with Ethan.  I stayed in the room and and BF asked me a few questions, like what was I going to name him, and things like that.  I told him I would send lots and lots of pictures and come visit Georgia when we could.  He cried a lot when I said that, so I just sat quietly.  Before long we were all crying.  All except little Malachi who slept through it all, never once waking the whole time I was there (except for when the nurse came and changed his diaper), staying oblivious the the emotions and decisions surrounding him.  I just wanted to hug them and make it better, but how do you do that when you are the one leaving with their baby?  Hardest. Thing. Ever.  Here was my view for thirty minutes.....BF holding BM as they both wept.(I feel comfortable sharing this as you can see neither of their faces and it is all part of his story).

Finally they both slept while I held Malachi in my arms and rocked him in a rocking chair in the corner of the room.  A while later, maybe an hour, the hospital phone rang.  It was the front desk letting them know that her brother and her oldest son (who was five) were coming up to see them.  I could tell the BM was seeing where this was heading.  She never intended for anyone to get attached, but people who weren't going to come, just kept coming.  Later her mother would come too.  When I knew that all her family was coming up, I put the baby down and let the BM know I would be just downstairs in the cafeteria and to call or text me when they leave and that I would come back up.   She smiled and said OK.  I was in the cafeteria an hour later when I got the text.  As soon as I read the first line I knew.  And I felt the punch in my gut and the wave of nausea.  She had changed her mind.  Well actually her family, namely the BF had changed theirs, and she felt she just had to keep the baby for them,  for their rights to the baby.  I understood.  But I broke.  Right there in that cafeteria, with no one at my side, I wept loudly, uncontrollably and brokenly.  It was awful.  No way around it, it was so dang painful.  I just cried and cried for minutes before I could even call my husband.  I called him and all I could choke out in between sobs was "she's keeping the baby, come get me now".  I stayed and cried for another twenty minutes until my precious husband arrived to pick me up out front.  He held me in the car, and we shared horribly sad, but wonderfully beautiful moments together before we drove off.  He was amazing.  I won't repeat all we said, but one thing he said was "Valerie, we aren't in the business of taking  away children who have families, we are in the business of giving children who need a home a home.  Plain and simple.  He has home.  It's just not us.".  And it was true.  Painfully true. It wasn't us.  I knew God's hand was in it.  I wasn't angry, or confused.  I was just in pain.  I was sad, and I was hurting bad.  The hurt would be worse 20 minutes later when I would sit my precious little girl on my lap and tell her on her twelfth birthday, that her little brother wasn't going to be her little brother.  To watch her heart wrench, and then my precious 9 year old sons' as well, was one of the hardest things ever.  It was just awful.  We all cried as a family, then spoke truth, then prayed.

The aftermath:
My husband decided that since we were only 5 hours from Disneyworld that we would drive to Florida the next day and make a happy memory for the road trip.  Easier said than done.  While we did have a fun time there, we all felt the loss.  But it was a wonderful distraction.  However the distraction ended when we left Florida to drive home.........without a baby.  That was when the grieving began.  It was so hard to drive home. We were all homesick, tired of traveling, and grieving the loss.  When we got home today, we were elated to be home.  But the second we unloaded the baby stuff and saw the nursery, we all started grieving again.  And that is where we are now.  I have talked to the Birth mother once since, and it was a beautiful texting conversation.  She is a beautiful woman, and I love her.  She never meant to hurt us, and it grieves me to hear anyone mad at her for this.  God was in control the whole time, and if he drove us across the country, just to show love to them, then so be it.  We serve Christ, he does not serve us.  Sometimes that means hard things.  And you just got to do them, and walk through them.  He walks with us, for that we are certain.  Although I have never been so sure of my faith in the Lord and of his Sovereign will as I am now, I can still hear and feel the words of the accuser........"God is not good.  Why you?   Why this?  Just go ahead and be angry.....your more used that emotion".  But by the grace of God, and him granting me extra measures of faith, I have been able to withstand those fiery arrows.  I pray it stays that way the entire time I grieve and wait for another match.  Waiting is so hard.  Well, I need to go to bed now.  I pray you will all read this and pray for us, and for the birth family as they raise their four boys.  We will always love Malachi and will pray for him often.....and who knows, maybe one day we will meet him again. We are taking time to be together as a family so if I don't return your calls, or messages back right away, it just means I am healing.