The Might Have Been that broke our heart.

The second situation is the one I refer to as our "failed match". Really, it wasn't a failure. We turned it down. But it broke our heart in so many ways.

I know why we were selected for this little girl. Everything in her heartbreaking story was an "acceptable" on our pink sheet.

The pink sheet is a story in itself I may need to post about. It is a horrible, awful thing -that is necessay I guess in CPS adoptions. You are asked to go down this multiple page listing of all sorts of diseases, tragedies, disabilities, and background factors and mark - acceptable, will consider, and not acceptable.

She was born to a 15 year old mentally retarded girl in the rural outskirts of town. CPS already had an open file on the girl and her family going back years due to chronic neglect. The girl was taken by her sisters to some community event and the girl was raped by an unknown person. They believe it was that rape that resulted in the pregnancy, however the CPS workers stated that they suspected the girl was frequently taken advantage of. The baby was removed from the girls custody at a few weeks old and placed with the grandmother. The grandmother was the party being investigated in the open file. The grandmother continued to allow large numbers of men in and out of the house and left the baby unatttended. So, at 6 months old the baby had been removed from the family.

The little girl was placed with a foster parent who I had the displeasure of meeting when we had our briefing on the child. She was horrid. The baby was nine months old, had been in her home for three months and she couldn't tell me what the baby liked to eat or what music or toys she preferred. The baby had a bald spot on the back of her head from laying down and never being picked up. The woman tried to offer quilts if we would take her that weekend because she didn't want to take the baby on vacation with her. Yuck. I know there are good foster parents out there. This woman was not one of them.

I wrote an essay about this to the mom in the family that did adopt her. It talks about "meant to be". I don't post it now to offend, I really don't. And I do not mean in any way that God intended for the mother to be mentally retarted, abused or raped. I do not mean that God intended for this precious child to be endangered, neglected, harmed or even adopted had she been able to be kept safe in her family of origin.

I do not mean that God makes women give up their babies for adoption just so someone else can have children.

I talk about the pain of the situation a lot. On re-reading it (I wrote it many months ago), I have to say - I don't mean to make it sound like it compares to the loss and pain of a first mother. It was painful for me. It was a loss for me. I very much get that it doesn't even come close to what many of the people reading this blog live with day in and day out.

I do still believe that God can take a tragedy and bring joy in the midst of it. I do believe that God had a plan for each of us. That sometimes people follow his will and sometimes they don't. That he does care about each of us and that it was not his will for me to adopt the other little girl, but for me to adopt BJ instead.

But in light of the fact that the social workers chose us because we weren't afraid of mental illness or unknown info about the father - but mostly it seems because the child had asthma and we lived in a newer apartment complex with central heat and air, no pets and a spare decorating style, God had other plans and being a praying person, I was given the grace to be sensitive to them in that moment.

The family who adopted her, and who was a much better adoptive family for her than we, lived on the other end of the outskirts of town (dustier) in an older home without central air, had a dog and other siblings. But they also had a stay at home mom experienced with dealing with health issues in her older boys when they were younger, it was a family more closely in racial make up than us, and I can't explain it - it was just right.

Of course I didn't know any of that when after holding and playing with the girl for two hours, making plans to take her to specialist on monday for that weird breathing I noticed and suspected awful foster mom hadn't taken her to a doctor )of weeping and crying about feeling it wasn't 'right' but couldn't tell you why. It was a child, what if we said no and had no other chance? But it wasn't right.

I have read a lot of first mothers who regret placing their child for adoption. But even among them, I haven't heard many say they regret the choice of family within the framework of the adoption itself. I liken it to that. It would be better if our world never needed Child Protective Services, just like many times it would be better if the adoption never happened, but since it did - they made a selection of the family they thought best. One prospective adoptive family was better than another prospective adoptive family for that child at that moment in time.

From the original families perspective, I don't know if anything can ever be said to have worked out. I don't mean this to speak to their multiple tragedies in any way. And while I may now doubt some of what I was told in my own daughter's adoption - I don't doubt what I was told in this. It was a small community that I was peripherally involved with. I could have verified, would have known if it were wrong. There would be documentation - the sw knew I would have requested it and new that I knew the pap had the right to see it.

Certainly, if I was asked to speak to prospective adoptive parents today, my story would be different - probably not one that a social worker would ask me to give. I would still tell this story. Within the context of CPS adoptions, I still think the lesson to be honest with yourself, not be afraid to say no to a match, are important ones. But today I wouldn't be so blind to the original mother in all my "meant to be" statements.

So, here is my essay - from one adoptive mom to another:

I have told the story at least a dozen times. I have told it when the listener had something to gain from my experience, or when I was opening up my deepest heart in a burgeoning friendship. There is one woman who I really want to tell this story to, but I don’t know how to reach her. I don’t know if my story would hurt her or comfort her. Perhaps she would wonder why I haven’t simply moved on from it. It is simply so much a part of my experience; so much that captures the grace of God, of the intertwined pain and joy. If it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t know the joy of my daughter. But I would never wish it on anyone. It was the most tragic pain of my life.
I had an opportunity once to talk to her about it. But the story wasn’t done then. In fact the occasion of the missed opportunity was partly what healed me. I didn’t know how much she knew, or should know. In retrospect, I think she had been prepared for that night. I don’t know why I wasn’t.

In June of 1999, after 2 years of “official” waiting for our daughter we were matched with a nine month old girl. Everything in the baby’s profile matched our “pink sheet”. We went to the disclosure meeting. It was unusual from the beginning. The child was in the room with us while the social workers went through the medical and placement history. It was hard to listen while watching this precious little one; holding her, talking to her. We did it though. For two hours we listened and asked our questions. I quelled my anger at the foster parent who was there but clearly knew very little about this gift of God that had been in her care for several months now. We took pictures. We left the Thursday morning meeting with a plan to have a full day visit on Saturday.

But we were unsettled more than excited. On the drive home we began to discuss our reactions, our feelings, our heart. By the time we reached home. We had admitted what we were fighting in the room.

This was not our daughter.

Can you even imagine how painful that was? It is not natural to hold a child in your arms and look into her eyes and say – you are not my child.

We cried. We told each other that maybe after the visit on Saturday something would be different. But we knew. Saturday would just make harder what we knew we had to do. We didn’t understand why, but we knew.

We cried some more and held each other. Then I said “You know, the staffing’s rarely only identify one family. I have heard over and over they identify two for this very reason. If we call them now, they can still have a meeting tomorrow with the other family and that family could have her on Saturday.”

With trepidation and fear and anxiety, my husband called our social worker. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say the words. He told her that while we were in great grief and couldn’t really talk about it at that moment, we could not consider this a match. The wise and wonderful social worker gave a few words of comfort, left us to our grief and went on to what God had set her to doing – making families for His children.

I had to call into work Friday to tell them that no, the adoption had not gone through, and I wouldn’t be taking maternity leave, but I couldn’t come in until Monday. We spent that Friday and weekend in quiet solitude from the world, with tears. Some of the reasons solidified as to why this wasn’t right. It horrified and surprised us some, made us more honest with ourselves and shamed us a bit. But we knew we had done the right thing in not pursuing this adoption.

On Monday we started to pick up the pieces and relied on work and routine to get back to normal. That year, when we drove to Northern California for the fourth of July as we always do, I remember being unable to concentrate or read on the ride. (this vacation and part of our story has a praise aspect to it for our own family, but that is another story for another day). I know that in July I was functioning but still grieving. The trip to family who prayed with us was greatly healing and ultimately prepared us for our daughter. On the way home from that vacation, I was again focused on the wait for our daughter and had let go of the grief. Now it was replaced by anxiety of being matched again (were the social workers mad? Would they choose us again? How would our child come to us, how long would we have to wait?)

In August 1999, on a Wednesday afternoon I again received an “after staffing” call that informed me we had been matched with a 6 week old baby girl. We didn’t tell anyone in our family and friends except one couple we had befriended during our pre-adoption classes some months before. We were too afraid of the pain and having to explain again. This time the introduction was more along the lines of normal – we met first with the social workers and went over the case history, saw a picture and then later went and picked up our daughter.

We were ecstatic with joy.

Our daughter had been with us just a few weeks and everyone had been wonderful. The foster mother was a godsend, helping me in my transition to motherhood. We got a phone call. Could we come in a few days and speak to a group of potential adoptive parents? Of course we would. We could show off our daughter!

When we arrived, we waited in the hallway to go into the room. Also waiting in the outside corridor was the little girl from a few months ago.

I caught my breath. The little girl looked in my eyes like she recognized me. I caught my breath again. She looked different. So much healthier, happier, complete. Then I looked at her mother, father, brothers. I didn’t know what to say. I smiled. I assumed they did not know of the failed match.

We went into the room. I spoke first. I told the story from the match of our daughter. I was caught up in the joy. I didn’t focus on how my history intersected with theirs. It just didn’t seem relevant. I ended my story with.. “I don’t know what else we could have wanted or had better” as I was so proud of my baby.

She said “You could have had her”.

I smiled (shocked underneath). I think the audience took it as a transition… the mother saying, my daughter is wonderful too.

And her daughter is wonderful. And MEANT to be with their family. Seeing the girl with her family gave me such wonderful closure. We did do the right thing. This baby girl was meant to be with them. How any social worker could have marked us first for this baby over them was beyond me. She was so much their child – they were so much the right family for her.

As the mother told the story of their first days and weeks with their daughter, I knew I couldn’t have done what she did. I knew she had the resources in her soul that I didn’t. I watched those brothers dote on that baby girl and I knew God had ordained her for their family.

I thought that was the end of the story.

A few weeks later I got a bunch of rolls of film back from the market. One roll had ½ pictures of my daughter and ½ from the day we held the other woman’s daughter. What bittersweet tears flowed.

I kept the pictures.

I thought I would ask the social worker to pass them on. But even then, I thought – surely she had pictures from only the next day. Why would she want mine – a reminder of an almost went wrong – a reminder or notice that someone else had “rejected” her daughter (for that is still the accusation I hear in her voice when I recall the – ‘you could have had her’)
I still have the photos.


I still want to tell her how I treasured her daughter. It wasn’t rejection. It was knowing before I knew –

“She is your daughter – not mine”.

Do I want to tell her for her, or for me?

I don’t want to cause pain. But I think she knew then.

What would have happened if we had told our story together – how being honest and true to yourself even when it hurts is best –

I told it to another group for the county, when that family was not there. But not all of it. I told them we turned down a match and how fearful that was but how it worked out. It was still so soon.

That’s why I occasionally tell the story now to adoptive parents I meet --- save yourself the sorrow when faced with a real child I say – be brutally honest with yourself and your spouse about your deepest thoughts about parenting and children. Be true to what your Spirit tells you when you hold a child and want to run with her because, she is at least a baby and you want a baby with your whole being.

I tell it now so they can here that we did it and the social workers chose us again, because God ordained it so. I tell it so that I can rejoice in my God and his design and wonderful gifts in letting me see that girl with her family.

Every once in a while I stumble in the files across those photos. Or someone else’s parenting or adoption story triggers that other mother’s face in my mind.

I still want to tell her of the grief I went through. I want to tell her…

I didn’t reject your daughter – I just knew she was yours.