Today marks four years since we first learned of our little boy’s existence.
We opened our the email and saw this handsome face:
His special need was not one that we had requested, nor did we know much about it. We were immediately drawn to this beautiful boy’s face but it did take us some time to accept his referral. We needed to hear from our pediatrician at the adoption clinic and we needed to do some soul-searching about what we were prepared to take on as parents.
The strange thing about adoption is that you have a choice. If this little boy had been born to us, there would have been no choice: he would have been ours with no hesitation. I am sure we would have struggled emotionally and logistically with his health issues but at least we would have known he was meant to be ours. However, with adoption, it’s not always so clear. Was this boy ours? Were we his? If we proceeded with the adoption, was it the “right” choice?
I won’t lie and say that the answer was immediately “yes”. We struggled for some time with whether we made the right choice. We struggled with attachment (from both sides), stress from un-anticipated surgeries and regular sibling drama. During that first year in particular, I was often over-wrought. Some parents who adopt say that it was clearly God’s plan that they adopt a particular child but I didn’t feel that. I just didn’t know.
But thankfully, with the passage of time, the sharing of hugs, smiles, cuddles, experiences and minds, this question began to fade. We grew to know this boy well and he us. Four years later, there is no question anymore and there hasn’t been for a long, long time.