Thus far the hardest part about moving in with my Dad has been the necessity of changing our family’s direction to include him. This may seem obvious, and it is, but it’s the little ways the decision plays out that can be hard. When we decided this, even before he was diagnosed, I knew that almost nothing was dearer to me than keeping my dad out of a hospice and with his family. He’s only 59 years old, freshly divorced, just lost a brother to suicide and has depressive tendencies. Then he was diagnosed with a terminal wasting disease. Any other option than moving him in with us was barely worth consideration. No way was I going to give over his eventual care and assistance to strangers paid to care for him physically but not spiritually.

Some of the requirements of this decision were obvious. We’d have to move to a bigger home, buy a wheelchair-accessible van, help him take care of insurance struggles and get his affairs in order, learn how to use various types of equipment and manage home nursing staff, and eventually incorporate his needs into every facet of our lives when he is fully physically dependent. We also want to fully include him as an integral member of our family, so that he is not facing this alone. Gotcha. No problem. Consider it done.

Some of the effects of this decision were more subtle. E and I are very “pro-kid” as I like to say, in that we want to parent lots of children. We were foster parents and hope to do that again. We adopted and hope to do that again. We birthed a child and hope to do that again. This is a very ingrained part of who we are. But because my dad’s disease has such a bleak and short prognosis, we have made the very difficult decision to declare something of a moratorium on adding kids to the family for the time being. It’s unofficial, as we practice FAM and no contraceptive is 100% effective (although I’m a huge fan of FAM, personally), and if we were to become pregnant we’d be incredibly thrilled. But when we look ahead to the level of care Dad is going to need, we recognize that it would be exponentially harder to care for him well with an infant and toddler in tow. Right now, the kids are almost 2, 3 and 4. They can follow directions, obey, go to the bathroom themselves and feed themselves with little assistance. (Well, most of the time.) This is a good trend, them physically needing me less as Dad physically needs me more. To continue adding children with abandon is to increase the physical demands on me, which I’m fully willing to do …except to the point that it decreases the quality of care I’m able to give my Dad.

Does that make sense? I’m back to the question we had when Dad was first diagnosed in the middle of our plans to adopt. Is it wisdom to recognize that we are young and can probably have more children later, and to put off doing so to better care for my father? Or is it denying God (not getting into the theological free will discussion) the chance to work more deeply in our lives through extra-challenging circumstances, knowing that suffering produces character (Rom 5:3-4 and Jas 1:2-4)? I mean, if you look at it that way, we’d all be seeking out suffering in order to refine our character, and I don’t know anyone that does that, not even Paul. He didn’t always shy away from the possibility of suffering for his actions, but he didn’t seek it out, either.

So that’s where we are now. No more kids while we’re taking care of Dad (unless CPS calls, but that falls under the same category of unexpected pregnancy: we’d be thrilled but we are not going to seek it out). This was an unforeseen conclusion of the choices we’ve made, and logically I still believe it’s the right choice. But my emotions are less easily convinced. I still want more kids. I still miss the babies my heart feels should be in my arms and my womb right now, but aren’t. I wish it were as easy as everyone suggests, “Well, you can always just try again!”

We want to. But we won’t. God help me to be content, and to perform well the work You have given me for now.

And of course there’s Jay-Jay. So many people saw him as being the window that God opened when he closed the door on Peanut. They hugged me and said how wonderful it was that He was going to comfort us with the adoption of JuneBug’s newborn brother, just at the time when we lost our pregnancy. What a slap in the face to be told by CPS eight weeks later, “Aw gee, we messed up, we never should have called you in the first place, just forget about him and if we need you to adopt him someday, we’ll call.” I do understand it now, I understand the whys and the reasons* and in theory I agree with them, sort of. But right now when I think about this eleven-week-old baby who will likely still end up in our family someday,** I know that each day he spends living with his relative is going to make his transition to our family that much harder later. And it royally ticks me off to think that this organization that is supposed to be about the children is creating a problem in this infant that didn’t exist in the first place. Whereas he could have come into our home at birth (like his big sister), bonded with our family and his siblings and never known the difference unless his mom got her life together (in which case we want to be a part of her life anyway), now he’s going to have a rough transition to our family at the age of 18 months or two years or three years. He managed to enter the system with the least issues of any foster kid I’ve ever seen or heard of, and yet CPS is going to create some by putting him elsewhere first. Thanks a lot.

So I started the year with three children, by August was expecting a fourth, and by October a fifth! Now I’ve ended the year with the original dear three with no plans for more under the present circumstances.

* I know this post doesn’t give enough details to make sense, but there are confidentiality issues and very complex policies that govern how CPS cases are handled and I didn’t want to get into them right now. Suffice to say, they originally called us to take him, but then decided to put him with a relative and will only call us in the future if they need us to adopt him.

** I am truly all in favor of reunification and would love nothing so much as seeing this mom get her life together, but her history and the odds are against it.

• We moved out to to the country to live with my dad. We are adjusting to country-speed internet access, which is partly to blame for our long break. We really enjoy the space and the house and the kids love the cows. The girls also each got a kitten, who will get their own post soon.
• We lost Baby Peanut at 14 weeks. The doctor said it was likely due to a chromosomal abnormality, meaning just a fluke, and that it should have no bearing on our ability to bear further children. It is still very sad and very hard.
• We “gained” and “lost” another baby. JuneBug calls him Baby Jay-Jay. Late October we got a phone call from Child Protective Services, informing us that Bug’s biological mother had just given birth to another baby, and his plan was adoption, did we want him? Of course we did, so we got everything ready and opened our hearts to bring him home. Two months later we found out his plan was changed to reunification with his mom and he’d been placed with a relative instead of with us. The only way we’ll ever hear of him again is if CPS needs us to adopt him at some point in the future.
• We are currently working on selling our house and improving the farmhouse.
• We had a good Christmas. My younger brother and sister came up Christmas eve and spent Christmas morning with us. The next day I gave the girls haircuts, and they turned out super-cute.

Quite a roller-coaster few months, and I may or may not expound on these topics in future posts. But, for what it’s worth, I’m back.

A few weeks ago his mother reconsidered, and my friends were crestfallen. Here was a chance that this boy, whom they already considered their son, might not be able to stay with them. His mother was going to try to work her rehabilitation plan, and no one knew whether or not she would succeed and be reunited with her son.

I got an email from my friend yesterday. “TERRIFIC news!” she cried delightedly to the one hundred family and friends on the email list, “His mother relinquished her rights! We will be able to adopt him soon!” I responded with hearty congratulations, and I thanked God that this sweet little boy would have such wonderful folks for his parents.

As I went to sleep that night, I prayed fervently for this little boy’s mother. I know nothing about her, except that she likely lives in our county and that she had signed away her parental rights that day. From the circumstances I gather that it was not an easy decision for her, but a heart-rending, soul-searching, miserably agonizing decision. Foster adoptions are almost all closed adoptions. She would likely never see her son again.

I find it interesting the God uses the analogy of a woman never forgetting her children to explain his never forgetting us. He says through Isaiah, “Can a woman forget her nursing child and have no compassion on the son of her womb?” The way this question is asked implies the answer, “Of course not!” He continues, “Even these may forget, but I will not forget you.” God’s remembrance of his children is infallible, but a mother’s memory of her child is probably as near to perfect as is possible on this earth. I’ve never met a woman who’s lost a child (to abortion, miscarriage, adoption, accident, disease, etc) who cannot tell you how old their child would be today. This boy’s mother will silently mark his birthday each year and revisit her decision to relinquish, wondering if it was right.

As E likes to say, adoption is always plan B, at best it is a “good save” of a non-ideal circumstance. In a perfect world (Plan A), this mother would be 100% capable of parenting her son well and he would never have been removed from her. My friends would not have been infertile. Children would never be orphaned. No one would ever have sinned and we’d all be God’s children without the need for adoption into his family. Adoption is a concept created by God to bring us into his family through Jesus. It is God’s plan for the non-ideal circumstance of sin. It necessarily includes elements of sorrow and joy: sorrow for what should be but isn’t, and joy for what now is.

So even as I rejoice with my friends who rejoice, I weep for the woman who weeps. I just wish I could hug her.

None of these definitions satisfies me. E and I would be termed preferential adopters, because we adopted before having biological children and we have no fertility issues. But by no means do we prefer one method over another for having more children. I resent the value judgments implied by those who use the term. “Preference” implies a matter of taste, everone’s entitled to their own, but supercilious attitudes tend to accompany the tastes (as is common in America). Either we prefer adoption because we think the world is overpopulated and it’s selfish to become a parent through birth, or “Oh, you poor thing, you must be infertile,” and I want to scream at the idea that infertility is the only reason I would choose to parent kids whose DNA isn’t half mine.

We adopted because… well, why not? We want lots of children and lots of children need families. We birthed children because… well, why not? We want a lot of children and we’re capable of conceiving and birthing children. Each route has its pros and cons, but in our eyes they’re equally legitimate. We plan to do more of both.

Until today I had forgotten one aspect of how deeply abortion could have affected my life, and I never would have known the difference.

My daughters are adopted from foster care. Both entered our home as foster children within a week of their births. When we finally adopted JuneBug, we got a ream of paper detailing every aspect of the case, including her mother’s history. Turns out Bug was her third child and the third removed from her for various reasons. She had aborted several other children. What caused her to not abort Bug? What circumstances were different in her life that led her to make a different choice at that time? Would things have been easier for her if she had chosen abortion? In the short run, yes. She wouldn’t have endured the physical difficulties of pregnancy, the heartache of delivering and having the baby taken away, the depression and sense of failure from trying to work the rehabilitation plan to bring the baby home, spending a heart-rending one hour per week with the baby, weeping but trying to love and enjoy the baby during that brief time, then eventually trying to forget, trying not to remember the sweetness of seven pounds of baby girl in her arms, the baby she couldn’t or wouldn’t get back. With abortion, the potential child is gone, permanently erased from the earth. With pregnancy, delivery and (closed) adoption, the child is sent out into the world and you never know what happens to him or her. The unknown life can be harder on the mother than the known death.

But does that really justify killing a child to ease your mind?

I don’t know any of her personal details, and likely never will, but I am eternally grateful for her choice, her constant choice for nine months, to not abort her baby. Not because I selfishly love that baby, who is now my three year old daughter, although I do. But because I see the beautiful child, the creative, musical, nurturing, sensitive, incredible child before me who otherwise would be long discarded. When I consider her role in our family, in our hearts and on this planet, and then I think about her just flat-out not existing, not being there, never being given the chance to even develop a personality, it’s enough to make me struggle to breathe again. Sure, technically she wouldn’t know the difference. Honestly, we wouldn’t know the difference either, because she never would have entered our lives.

But I am profoundly grateful that she is. And by extension I will evermore be profoundly grateful to her mother for choosing to let her be.

Please remember that, on the journey to your child, you are leaving footprints behind you that will either make the next family’s journey easier or more difficult. Yes, your goal is to bring your child home, but it should also be to do so in a way that leaves a favorable impression of intercountry adoption on all those with whom you work. Especially in the child’s country, please try to leave their countrymen thinking, “Gee, I’m sure glad that child is going to such a good family,” not “Why in the world did we let them adopt our kids!”

–> In case this isn’t clear, my pages on independent intercountry adoption from Zambia are about how to legally adopt a child from Zambia without the help of an American adoption agency.

Precious JuneBug-

Last night, as I picked your sleeping body up to carry you to your bed, I tripped and fell. Your tiny body was in my arms the way you hold a baby, with your head and neck in the crook of my right elbow and your legs draped over my left arm. You were sound asleep, with your duck and blankie gripped tightly in your little hands and your mouth slightly agape. The room was dark, and I didn’t guess the height of the gate that I was trying to step over properly and from there everything just rushed. I managed to turn my body so I landed on my shoulder instead of my arm. It wasn’t until after I got up that I realized that, had I landed on my arm, you could have been killed.

I got up, steadied myself, and put you (still asleep) in your bed. I checked your pulse and lightly tickled your toes to make sure they still wiggled, and then left.

When I got to my bed, I lost it. You are my precious little girl. The one who wakes up every morning and puts on her shoes, regardless of the presence of any other clothes. You are the one who always escorts me to the door for work and shots out “Haff a good day, daddee!” You are the one who needs a good, solid 45 minutes of cuddle time whenever you wake up from a 10 minute nap.

The thought of having caused you any harm paralyzed me. I got up and checked your pulse again. You kicked me. I can only assume that you intended the kick to communicate your gratefulness for my concern and that yes, you were both fine and alive.

When you first came to our home, we didn’t think we would get to keep you. Your bio mom seemed sincere in her desire to straighten her life out and get you back. We told ourselves that we needed to not get too attached to you and that we were just there to help you get healthy and get caught up developmentally. We never signed on to foster parenting to the end of adopting kids.

We talked about you constantly, especially as you grew chubbier and pinker and your socks finally started staying on your tiny ankles. As your bio mom started to slip back into her habits and addictions, we talked about how maybe our role in your life was not just to take care of you for someone else. How presumptuous it sounds, to believe honestly that you are the best parent for a child when there are so many people out there who are smarter or richer or more organized or better looking. We believed it though, and still do.

A lot of the time, God’s will for us is not as clean and simple as we might like. We have always said that foster parenting is always the result of a tragedy, of something being badly broken within a family. Our welcoming of you and your sister into our family came at a great cost, the dissolution of your ties from the mothers that bore you. We know that and are humbled by that. The sweetness of you as a baby, a “little thing of honey and softness, to wrap up in a bundle and sing to and snoodle with and hug to bits” came with the bitterness of knowing what happened to bring you to us. God’s design for us is not always easy or painless or simple, but it is always good.

I was shaken last night because I remembered that life is fragile, especially the life of a child. In a moment, we could have lost you. At any moment, I could lose you. I have no guarantee of time on Earth with you but the moments that have already passed. In case I say it one too few times in the course of a day or in the course of your life, I love you my sweetheart.

-daddee

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This is why we’ve had our homestudy and I-600A ready for over a week, but haven’t mailed them off yet. Not because we don’t want to adopt anymore, but because we are now questioning the timing of bringing home a tiny baby. Being a caregiver for a person with ALS is demanding and draining. So is parenting a newborn.

So we’re researching and discussing often, but we haven’t decided yet. My question for anyone out there reading, what would you do?

Is this a lack of faith, of recognizing that God will bring us through anything He brings us to? Or is this wisdom, of judging that because we can return to adoption in the future, we should put it off in order to better serve my father’s needs for this time?