How to Find Hope When Everything Seems Lost: What Our Third Failed Adoption Taught Me About Resilience and Letting Go

When the baby isn’t due for another 8 weeks, a Sunday morning call from your adoption agency can’t be good news. 

It wasn’t. 

“Unfortunately, she fell at work yesterday and lost the baby.” 

I couldn’t even process it. I managed to say, “Oh my God. Is she okay?” All I could think was that a fall bad enough to end the life of a baby would be a fall bad enough to hurt the mom.

Our attorney didn’t have more info; she’d just found out herself. She did say that in her many years in the adoption world, a loss this late in a pregnancy had never happened to her before. 

Given the rough ride we’ve had to trying to adopt, that wasn’t entirely surprising to me. 

I got off the phone and told my husband. He stared at me, gave me a big hug, and said, “I am so sorry. Are you okay?” His compassion hit me right in the heart; I allowed a couple of tears to fall. 

Honestly, I was sad about the loss of the baby we had hoped to adopt, but I was sadder for the birth mom, who certainly went through an absolute nightmare the day before. Her loss was just awful; incomprehensible. 

Actually, so was ours. It wasn’t really just this loss, but rather, this loss triggered the feelings of all the other losses and compounded them. 

Hit with the horror and sadness of the whole thing, I wondered if we should just give up on trying to have a child; if something was telling us that we’d be awful parents and we just shouldn’t do this. 

In my heart, I knew that wasn’t the case. I don’t want to give up. I won’t give up. 

So, I did the only thing I could think to do: I came up with a plan to regain my hope in the journey forward. I hope it helps you when you are close to losing hope, too. 

1. Feel the loss. 

I have coached a lot of people who have become sick or depressed. Want to know the #1 factor in common? 

They’ve gone through some really emotionally painful times, but either have not allowed themselves to express the sadness and pain, or are afraid of doing so because it will make them “weak.” 

Bottling up emotions is never a good thing. I know that, but my first instinct in this situation was to detach from the sadness and push it somewhere deep inside. I think I felt that if I allowed myself to truly feel the pain of all this loss I’d never come back from it, that it would wash over me like a tidal wave. 

Answering to this instinct, I only allowed myself a couple of tears with my husband, not because he wouldn’t comfort and support me, but because I just didn’t want to give in. However, I knew that it wasn’t good for me to deny my feelings, so I defied this fear and put on a sad movie on Netflix, allowing tears to stream down my cheeks until I had no more tears to cry.

I suggest you do the same. Find some way of getting the emotions out of you. If you are angry, pound some pillows or take a kickboxing class. If you are sad, find a sad movie and cry it out. You’ll feel better, both emotionally and physically.

2. Admit that it sucks. 

Listen, there are moments in life that suck. I mean, hardcore, there’s-really-no-other-word-for-it suck. 

It’s okay to admit that; the truth is the truth. Trying to deny that life just stomped all over your heart doesn’t make it somehow less painful. 

Honor the truth. Honor the place in you that’s sick of it. You have my permission to not be positive for a little while; it’s okay to admit that you aren’t okay. 

However, put a time limit on this phase. Don’t allow yourself to mire in the negativity; honor it, acknowledge it, and move on. 

3. Look for the lesson in the situation.

Do we know why bad things happen? Not really. However, I’ve seen enough in my life to know that there seems to be a rhyme and reason for things, whether or not we understand it. 

A good way to help yourself to move forward in a positive way is to find a lesson in the bad experience. In my case, I have to believe that there was a reason that we were not supposed to adopt that child. If I am truthful, in my gut, that match never really felt 100% like a match to either my husband or I. We just didn’t feel like it was going to be “the one.” 

Maybe that was our instincts preparing us for this; maybe it was our intuition trying to tell us that there is a better match for us. 

Truthfully, the lesson I finally learned from this experience is that I really have little control over the things I think I have control over, and I have to just let go and believe that the right things are happening. I feel more peaceful in the process since I’ve realized that. 

I know it’s hard, but try to do the same in the bad experiences in your life. What can you take from this? What lesson would empower you to step forward from a better place?

Trust that you can find it. 

4. Connect with gratitude

When going through a tough time, it can be very easy to only see the bad or difficult. However, there is often more good than bad, even on the bleakest day. 

Make a list of everything you are grateful for. Make a copy of this list and put it on your phone, your mirror, the dashboard in your car, or wherever you will read it and remember how crazy lucky you really are. 

Not only will you feel better, but being truly grateful for all that’s right in your life is one of the more powerful ways to raise your frequency and start connecting with better experiences. 

5. Finally, try to reconnect with optimism. 

You’ve been kicked by life, but the key is to find a way to get back up and keep on going. The easiest way I’ve found is to reconnect with optimism by remembering a time in my life that was particularly happy. Once I allow myself to fully dive into that memory, I start to feel that sense of happiness sink into my cells. Suddenly I know - I know - that I can have those kinds of fulfilling experiences again. 

The more I do this, the better I feel. The better I feel, the more I can see that it’s very possible that I just lost one thing because I am moving in a direction that is better suited for what I really want for my life. 

Just know this: It’s true that we can’t know why any bad or sucky experience happens, but we can choose to have faith that there is a reason. By holding on to that belief and combining that with optimism, you’ll feel renewed hope, even after a devastating loss.

Before you know it, you’ll end up with an experience that is fulfilling and perfect. I know you will. And I know I will, too. 


Update: I wrote this article last week, about 2 days after we got the call. I started implementing all these steps, and low and behold, we got a call that another birth mom chose us! Even better, this really does feel like our match. So, fingers crossed, this is the one. :) 

 

The Baby We Couldn't Adopt

A few weeks ago, we got THE CALL: our home study social worker, Debra, called and said, “I think I have your match!” She explained that our match was a woman, who I will call "Sarah,"  who was in rehab for opiate use, who didn’t know that she was pregnant for 24 weeks, and was clean as of the moment. Sarah's mom also wanted a partially open adoption and wanted to talk with me via phone that day. The baby is a boy, she is here in the state (as opposed to China), and she was due in just 8 weeks! 

At first glance, I am sure this seems pretty darn scary to anyone that has not entered into the adoption process (and for many who ARE in the process as well). However, my husband and I had done a great deal of research and had decided several things: 

1. We are open to a child who has been prenatally exposed to drugs. While it is really, really bad to use drugs during pregnancy, some drugs are worse than others. In this case, we were assured that she had only ever abused pain pills, which are pretty much blocked by the placenta. Because of that, the chances of major damage to the child are the lowest of any drug. (Alcohol is by far the worst!! Please do not drink or do drugs during pregnancy, even "lower risk" drugs!!)
2. We are open to kids with medically treatable special needs (for instance, with prenatal drug exposure, you can be dealing with things like learning disabilities, ADD, and more). We feel like we can handle a lot, giving an awesome life to a child that might otherwise not be adopted.
3. We are open to a completely open adoption in the right circumstances. A completely open adoption is one in which the biological mom/family knows your name, where you live, and even meets the child once a year (or more, in some circumstances). 
4. As we have figured out, the right circumstances for an open adoption are very specific: You want a biological mom who is mature enough to handle that arrangement and see you as the parents of the child. In addition, she should not be a drug user or a criminal.

Given our parameters, this situation didn’t seem too bad. Of course, it also helped that I am naive enough to think that she must have been having a menstrual period every month while pregnant (which is rare, but does happen), so that was why she didn’t know she was pregnant for so long. 

In addition, the biological father was signing to terminate his parental rights the next day, so we assumed he was totally out of the picture—we figured that was a good thing and one less complication. 

Now, while we are open to an open adoption, we wanted to hold back some information until we were 100% sure that the situation was such that we were comfortable with our identifying info being released. One (major) bit of info was released before we entered the situation: Debra (who has a heart of gold), was trying to tell the girl what a great, stable couple we are, and told her the specific place we live. Unfortunately, because it’s not a big town, you could easily find us by just knowing our first names and wandering into a few stores and restaurants. I wasn’t thrilled about that, but I figured it was going to be okay and proceeded. 

In order to protect our privacy a little bit, I did buy a “burner” or “pay-as-you-go” phone. While I felt like a total drug dealer buying it, I decided that I needed to listen to my gut instinct that we should have it. I’m glad I did. 

The very day we got the call, I had a conversation with Sarah's mom, who I will call “Mary.” She asked everything about our spiritual beliefs, thoughts on education, and background, which I answered as honestly as I could. We seemed a match, so it was arranged that the next week we would talk with Sarah via phone. 

At this point, I decided not to tell anyone about our potential match; after all, we’d already been through one tough situation. I wanted to KNOW this was going forward before we broke the news. 

Sarah called the next week, and we chatted away for an hour. I liked her; she was honest about her pain pill addiction and said all the right things about wanting to stay clean for the baby and turn her life around. When she said, “Thank you for not judging me.” I just about melted. Why would I judge her? Anyone who thinks they could never end up in the same situation is delusional…we all have things that break us sometimes, and drugs or alcohol are often used to numb that pain. 

At the end of the conversation, she said, “I want you to get excited. You are exactly what I was looking for in parents for this child!” I got teary and walked over talk to my husband. “We’re having a baby boy!” I said, falling to tears. 

With this, I finally allowed myself to get excited, and we ordered all our “baby stuff” that night. The next day, we called our family and started telling our friends (keeping all information about the birth mom private—I firmly believe that is private info, and you do not want a child stigmatized by the circumstances prior to their birth). They were all overjoyed! It was so exciting to share this with those we loved. 

Even better, Mary called me out of the blue that week to give me an update on Sarah’s doctor appointment that day: “She was 31 weeks along, and they had taken 9 vials of blood—the baby is totally healthy!” While on the phone, we also arranged for all of us to meet the next Saturday. I couldn’t wait to meet them!

We also chose a name for the little boy that would be coming into our lives so soon. Putting a name to him made it so real…I could see, hear, and feel him in our home. I loved him already.

A few days later, our first hint of trouble ahead came in. That Friday, we received the contract from the attorney, and it showed birth mom expenses that were about 4 times as much as would be “reasonable and customary,” as defined by law. If we agreed to that, it would be baby buying. My husband and I decided that if that was what was required for this, we’d have no choice but to walk away—we had chosen adoption to change the outcome for a child, not to buy one. 

I called the attorney, trying to sort this out. She explained that was what they were asking for, not what they would actually get. A judge would have to agree to it, and there was pretty much no way a judge would agree to that much money for the required 6 weeks of post-birth birth mom expenses. I explained that regardless of what a judge might agree to, WE wouldn’t agree to that. She assured me that it would never be close to that amount.  

While it was a bit of a red flag that Sarah and her mom were asking for SO much money, I also figured that it was Mary’s way of trying to get the best for her child. Wouldn’t any mom who had a daughter in this situation try to ask for as much as she could for her child? It made sense to me that she would. 

So, we decided the adoption was going forward, and we met Sarah and Mary the next day for lunch. We all got along wonderfully. Sarah seemed very strong in her desire to start a new, sober life after the birth of the baby, and was totally committed to staying clean for the rest of the pregnancy. Both of them assured us that the only drugs she had ever used were pain pills. We were also told that the only people that were allowed to take her our of rehab were her mom to take her to the doctor and her dad to go to Lamaze classes. All good.

To my surprise, Sarah also expressed that she wanted us at the birth of the child, and that she had heard from another girl that we could have a room next to hers at the hospital. I was touched by this; I hadn’t imagined that we’d be there for the birth, and I quickly agreed, letting her know that we were there to help support her as well. 

It all seemed great, so when Mary asked about our last name, I ended up giving it. While we were worried that we shouldn’t give it in a situation with a drug addict, we had been counseled by our home study social worker that she felt that it was okay and wouldn’t be a problem. I had some anxiety about it, but I figured that we all got along so well and Sarah was so committed to being clean that we’d be okay. 

We left with hugs all around. 

Two days later, our next bit of trouble came in: I got a call from Debra. “Well, Sarah wants the biological father at the birth as well.” Now, from everything we had heard over lunch and from the attorney, this guy is a serious drug user that was completely focused on “how much money he was going to get” as part of the adoption. Worse, he was clearly not out of the picture, although he had signed away his rights. 

Needless to say, we had to expect that he would try to extort money from us; I could imagine him saying, “I want X dollars or I’ll tell Sarah not to sign the baby to you” (birth moms have 48 hours to change their minds on adoption plans). This was not a situation we wanted ourselves in; my husband was adamant that if he was at the birth, we should not be. I wasn’t sure what the heck to do…I wanted to support Sarah, but I also did not want to be dealing with this kind of person or potential situation at the hospital. 

I didn’t have to ponder it too long. The very next day, I got another call from Debra. “Well, I’ve got bad news and I’ve got a gold lining,” she said. She went on to explain that Sarah had left rehab the day before with a friend of the biological father; she was supposed to head to the doctor for her check up, but instead went to the biological father’s apartment where she found him passed out on the bathroom floor. She stayed there all day, missed her doctor appointment, and fell asleep during a counseling session upon her return to rehab. Suspecting drug use, the rehab took blood; she tested positive for cocaine use. 

That was obviously the bad news; the "gold lining" was that because of the documented drug use, the Department of Children’s Services would be called in and the baby would have to be placed for adoption. In other words, we would now be able to go forward with confidence that we would be bringing a baby home from the hospital; Sarah’s drug use took away her ability to make a choice. 

At first, I figured we’d still be okay going forward with the adoption; again, rather naively, I figured one use of cocaine wasn’t great for the baby, but it also wasn’t horrible. In fact, there is a huge amount of research that the effects of even heavy cocaine use can be negated by placing the baby in a stable, loving environment; we have such an environment, so it would probably be okay, especially if it were a single use. 

However, it quickly dawned on me that it was unlikely that she went out and, 8 months pregnant, used cocaine for the first time. 

So, I googled her name. To my shock, mugshots showed up. While the very presence of mugshots is concerning, what was more so is the presence of worsening acne through the years; when we met, she had told me that the acne was the result of the pregnancy. However, the amount (all over), kind (scabby), and duration (years of it!) of acne I was seeing was indicative of long-term cocaine and/or meth use. 

My gut was screaming at me: She wasn’t just using pain pills; she’s been using heavy, heavy drugs all along. Suddenly, her lack of awareness of her pregnancy for months became clear: she was on serious drugs the whole time and wasn’t sober enough to notice she wasn’t having a period and was gaining weight.

On top of it, she was not showing very much for a woman so late in pregnancy (you could barely tell she was pregnant). As if knowing we were concerned by this, we were told by Mary that she had also been very small during all her pregnancies (so we assumed that was why Sarah was). However, the combination of all of these elements meant that the risk of extreme medical issues in this child was very likely. 

It got worse. I noticed the biological father’s name was noted as being arrested at the same time as Sarah during the most recent arrest (about the date she checked into rehab). I clicked on his name, and even more mugshots showed up, many for cocaine and meth possession, but even more concerningly, several for burglary. 

Looking more closely at the most recent burglary arrest, I noticed the charges had been dropped in 12 days. Obviously, this had to be someone they knew—after all, who else would drop the charges? 

My gut instinct was confirmed in my next conversation with Debra: they had broken into a dying relative's home and stolen a bunch of stuff. She went to rehab as part of the agreement of the charges being dropped. 

My heart sank. Now we have to face the fact that two drug-using felons have our name (including last name) and where we live. Remember how I said that is the exact situation that should NOT be an open adoption? Yet, here we were.

We now have to assume that they will show up at our door asking for money (likely within a couple of weeks of us taking the child), or, later on, show up at our child's school to do God-knows-what. They will certainly reach out to us when they need more money, and with drug addicts, they always need more money. It could be in a week, a month, a year, 10 years...there would be no telling.

On top of it, we found out that even the health information on the baby could not be trusted; while Mary had told us that she was the one taking Sarah to the doctor, the truth was that Sarah was actually going with the biological father to the appointments. The health information about the "9 vials of blood" had been given by Sarah to her mom, and from her mom to me. Since there had been many misrepresentations so far, we could hardly trust that anymore. 

In discussing all of this new information, my husband and I had to face the fact that we would never have a moment's peace with having a connection to them; we would always be looking over our shoulder, worrying about if and how they will show up. We realized that the only way that we would feel okay about this is if we basically went into witness protection and moved somewhere else—and really, is that a reasonable way to start a life with a child?

Worse, we had to face the fact that the best-case scenario for our mental wellbeing would be for them to both overdose a couple days after the baby is placed with us, and that is a pretty awful thing to have to hope for (and definitely not something either of us wanted to have happen—actually, we were hoping for the opposite—that she would get clean and move on to a happy life where we and our little boy could have a relationship with her).

And, we had to acknowledge that while we believe whole-heartedly in open adoptions, a connection to this biological family was not going to be positive for this child. He was better placed in a closed-adoption situation. 

With all of this, we could not go forward with the adoption. It was truly awful. I had to call family and friends as my heart was breaking. Thankfully, everyone was 100% supportive of us, and many pointed out that we weren’t actually making a decision to walk away; rather, the decision was made for us by the actions of everyone in the situation. 

While that did make me feel a little better, I truthfully just cried for about a month after we had to walk away, and worse, I was so worried about this child, but couldn't do anything for him. I wanted to KNOW he was okay. I wanted to KNOW he wasn't being exposed to any more drugs. I wanted to KNOW he was going to be placed in a wonderful family that would give him everything he needed in life. 

I had nightmares about it for about a month as well; I kept dreaming that terrible things happened to him and I couldn’t save him. The saddest dream I had was of seeing moments in his life with us with him, finally ending with him as a senior in high school accepting a basketball award with us standing by his side. It was a vision I wanted so much. I woke up in tears. 

That’s the hard thing about these situations; you LOVE that child immediately. You envision your future with him, helping him to become the individual he is meant to be in this world. You are attached to him with all your heart and soul, and having to detach from that is beyond painful. 

I am finally starting to feel better, and, as I say, decided to share our stories to hopefully help and inform others in this process. I especially want to help those who have faced similar heart-breaking decisions to know that others understand what you’ve been through. It sometimes feels like you are all alone in this adoption journey; I just want you to know that you are not alone. It is really important to know that. 

Do you know someone who has faced similar challenges? Or, do you know some adoption stories with happy endings? (I could use a few of those!!!) Please share in the comments below!

Read about the Child We Couldn't Adopt. 

The Child We Couldn't Adopt

Because we are open to parenting a “special needs” child, I’d been looking at the “Waiting International Children” pages of our adoption agency. Face after precious face smiles at you, all children who are either older, have medical issues that are more moderate to severe, or are both. 

Many of the kids simply need surgery or medical treatment, at which point, they should be able to have a great life. Some kids are dealing with intergender issues, which will mean helping the child to decide whether they feel like a girl or a boy, and dealing with the medical issues that come with that. There are some blind children and some deaf children who just need a home willing to parent kids with those conditions. There are also kids with much more severe disabilities; it’s hard to see their faces and imagine them without a family. 

In looking through these gorgeous faces, a 5-year-old boy stood out to my husband and I. In his picture, he’s smiling and leaning in, and there’s a spark to his eyes. In reviewing the brief overview on him, it said he had a condition where the ribs grow inward and often constrict the heart and lungs. Seeing that, it made sense to us that his bio also mentioned that he tired easily with exercise. 

I googled the condition and found out that it’s very correctable; in fact, surgery to repair the ribcage often reverses or instantly improves any cardiopulmonary issues. I then reached out to a couple of doctors to see if this might be the case here, and with the limited information I could give them, they both agreed that it could be - IF there was nothing else going on. 

At that point, we felt like we had a basic grasp of the issues and asked for his complete medical file, with the absolute intent to adopt him. In fact, we began making plans to send him to our local Montessori school as soon as we got back from China, since he’s been at an orphanage for his whole life and would be used to having kids around. We figured that even if he didn’t understand English at first, he’d feel more at home being with kids for a half-day than just being stuck with two adults in a totally new place. 

We received his file which contained the story of how he came to the orphanage, his life there, his likes and dislikes, and some heartbreaking information about a family that had apparently done a lot of testing on him–enough to the point that he believed he was being adopted and began telling everyone at the orphanage so. That family declined him; he still tells everyone he’s being adopted soon. 

I wanted to fly over there and pick him up the instant I read that. 

As part of his file, there were two videos of him picking up toys, singing the most adorable song in Chinese, and coloring. His caretaker obviously loves him; she smiles and laughs and gets him to look at the camera. Watching this precious child, our hearts melted. We were ready to make him our son.

But—we had one more hurdle to clear: The medical review. 

An important part of the process for international adoptions—and for many domestic ones—is the medical review, where a doctor who specializes in international adoption takes a complete look at all the medical information. In this child’s case, there were EKGs and medical reports with lots of medical terms. Most of it was in Chinese. 

I glanced at it before I sent it on to the international adoption doctor; some things seemed a little concerning (he was taking a couple of medications, for instance), but I was still SURE we could handle it. In my mind, we'd get him here, get him the best treatment we could, and change the outcome, giving him an incredible life. 

About a day later, the response came in from the doctor, and it was grim. 

It stated that he has a genetic syndrome and is in the early stages of congestive heart failure; the issue with the ribs was merely a symptom of a much larger picture, and fixing the ribs would not fix the heart. If he makes it for the next couple of years (and there was a good indication he might not), he’ll very likely need a heart transplant. If he manages to get a heart transplant, there's still a good chance he will die very, very young. 

I felt like I had been hit in the stomach. Actually, I wished I'd been hit in the stomach; that I could deal with. THIS felt like we'd just been told our child was dying of a heart condition. 

Tears streamed down my face as I tried to process the information. What do we do? Was there ANY way we could change this outcome? Was there any way we could save this child?

A soft knock came at my office door; my husband came in, and the second I looked at him, I knew he had seen the report, too. With tears in his eyes he said, "I don't know what to do here; I feel helpless to help this child. What do we do?" 

I stood up and hugged him, and we both cried harder than I think we ever have. 

You see, that's the thing about adoption. When you want to adopt and are ready to adopt, the child is already YOUR child, even if they aren't in your home yet. When you get news this devastating, it drops you to your knees. 

Gathering myself up a bit, I reached back out to the doctor, hoping more questions would somehow give a better response: 

“Would medical treatment change this outcome? What are the chances that we could improve his odds? Can he travel in this condition, or are we making it worse?” 

The responses back were incredibly compassionate, but firm: 

Medical treatment in the US might improve his situation a bit, but because this was a genetic condition, no medical treatment would reverse it. His odds weren't great, no matter what we did. He could potentially travel, but it would be stressful on him and we'd need to get him fully evaluated as soon as we got him home. It could also be too much for him and he could get much sicker much quicker.. 

And finally, the worst news of all: The stark reality is that there is little chance this child would make it to young adulthood with the degree of cardiovascular failure he was already facing. 

I felt like the bottom dropped out of my heart.

Armed with this information, my husband and I talked all weekend long about what we should do. Could we just take this child knowing that we'd lose him sometime in the (maybe near) future? What would his life be like going in and out of hospitals here? Do we have the financial ability to care for a child with cardiovascular failure? Was it even the right decision to uproot him from all he knows–and from all his friends and caretakers that love him—and bring him to a foreign land? 

On top of all of this, I carried an additional burden. You see, my husband was so ready to adopt this little guy that he hadn't even wanted to do the medical review in the first place. His attitude was that if he was our biological child, we'd just deal with whatever it was. Why did we need to know? By doing a medical review, he felt like we were saying that a child that was less than healthy wasn't worthy, and neither of us felt that way at all. 

I agreed, but had been counseled by our agency that it was critical to know what you were getting yourself into, because you needed to be 100% sure that you had the financial, emotional, and physical resources to be able to take that particular child. It serves no one for a child to be placed in a home that is not ready for him or her, or unable to care for his or her special needs. 

I felt so guilty; if I hadn't asked for the medical review, we would have just adopted him. We would have dealt with it going forward. If we now decided that we couldn't or shouldn't adopt him, had I sentenced him to the rest of his life in an orphanage, since other potential parents would now know for sure what was wrong with him? 

Even worse, if we didn't adopt him, would someone else put this precious child through invasive testing, getting his hopes up that he was being adopted, and then dashing them again? I still can't think about that without tears in my eyes. I felt like we were playing God with a child's life.

In the end, after much soul-searching, talking with medical professionals, and talking with our home study social worker, we had to come to the decision that we couldn't adopt this child. We felt like the most horrible, selfish people making that decision. It took me an entire hour to craft the email to the agency declining the adoption; I couldn't see the keys or my screen for all the tears streaming down my face. 

Our agency wrote us back immediately with the most compassionate response, letting me know that they WOULD be able to find a home for this child, and that us paying for the medical review actually helped his chances of being adopted, rather than hurt them. Gratefully, there are people who specifically look to adopt kids with cardiovascular issues; they are usually medical professionals with experience in taking care of a child with heart conditions. 

I did feel comforted in that knowledge, and I did feel some peace in knowing we made the right decision, but it didn’t take away the hole in my heart from having started to love this child and not be able to bring him into our lives. 

It's been a few months, and while we know we made the right decision both for us and the child, we still cry about it. My husband is just now able to discuss it with friends; before he would try to open his mouth and had to excuse himself from the conversation because he got so choked up. 

I think about this little boy every single day. I pray that he is well, and that he finds a wonderful home that can give him the best care possible. 

Let me also say that going through this has really increased my compassion for the difficult decisions people must make. Before this happened, I couldn’t understand how anyone would ever—EVER!—decline the adoption of a child. I don’t judge people for having to make that decision anymore; now I understand all too well. 

Read about the Baby We Couldn't Adopt.

4 Things to NEVER Say to Someone Who is Adopting

Being in the adoption process has been an eye-opener for me on every possible level. One thing I was not prepared for was the kinds of (usually well-meaning but misinformed) things people will say. 

Much of it seems to come from people not knowing what to say; after all, adoption isn't the "standard" way of growing a family. Other people want you to have a baby so much they say things they didn't think about first. And a few are just insensitive, opinionated, or obnoxious. 

In the hopes of saving some other "in-process-to-adopt" parent some grief, here are four things never to say to someone trying to adopt, and what you should say instead:  

1. It's taking so LONG!

Really? 'Cause we hadn't noticed. No, we've just been sitting around, sipping iced teas and fanning ourselves on our front porches. 

Listen, for many people, they've gone through years of infertility, miscarriages, and waiting. For others (like me), they've wanted to adopt since they were kids. Either way, we are very aware of how long it's taking; pointing it out doesn't help.

Not to mention, when you are expecting your biological child, you know when the baby is coming. You can wait with a sense of definite expectancy; there is a specific end point you can look forward to. You can also prepare with a certainty of a deadline, so to speak.

When you are adopting, you don't have that. You wait and hope for the match, and even when that comes, you don't know whether you will be matched with a birth mom who's giving birth in 6 months or a child in China that needs to be picked up in 6 weeks. Either way, it's a waiting and worrying game that takes it's toll on adoptive parents-to-be. 

What to say instead: 

"Hey, I bet you are getting close now! Have you thought of names?" (or something to that effect).

2. Aren't you worried about not knowing the full genetic background on the child? I mean, what if she was birthed by a druggie mom? 

With my sense of humor, I always want to respond: "Have you seen your gene pool? You've got some worries there, too, my friend."

In all seriousness, if you weren't worried about some latent gene showing up in your own child, then you were in denial. No one's gene pool is perfect.

As far as drugs go, yes, you can end up with a baby or child that was birthed by a mother on drugs, recreational or prescribed. However, you generally know that right away, as the child is tested at birth. 

Just like any child, there are challenges you cannot know until you actually have the child. And just like any parent, you'll deal with those challenges the best you can when they come. 

What to say instead: 

"Wow, it's so wild that your child could be out there right now, waiting for you! Is that hard to imagine?"  

3. Why do you have to hold off until you have enough money? Why don't you just max out some credit cards?

Short of adopting from foster care (see next point), adoption costs a great deal of money - somewhere in the neighborhood of $25,000 - $50,000+ (for international, with travel). Now, employers often have adoption reimbursement for some portion (generally $5,000 to $10,000), and you can also claim the adoption tax credit on your next tax return - currently around  $13,000. However, neither of those things pay out until AFTER you've adopted (and sometimes well after), so you are on the hook for all the money upfront and for many months after. 

When people asked me why I was holding off on submitting our application to adopt until we had money saved, I would explain that we don't think going massively into debt is the right way to start off our new family. I can't tell you how many reactions I got of, "Oh, don't worry about it! Just get started!"

And yet, none of these people offered to contribute to our adoption fund. Funny, huh? 

If you have kids, you know how many expenses come with just bringing them home. There are clothes and diapers and bags and doctor's visits and formula and a crib and...and...and. However, when you've had the child yourself, you aren't already out $25,000 or more, so it's a bit less concerning when you have to pay $1,500 to get all the newborn stuff you need. 

You've also likely had a baby shower, so you were given much of what you needed. In my experience, people don't think to throw a baby shower for people that are adopting. Even if people do think of it, it's always a possibility that you get called to adopt a baby who was left at a hospital, so you have about a day to get ready to bring the child home. Either way, you end up having to buy everything yourself.

What to say instead: 

"Hey, are you doing any fundraisers/selling items for your adoption fund? I'd help you pull it together or promote it for you!" 
"As soon as you are ready, let me throw you a baby shower. You let me know when you'd like to have it." 
"Let me know if you'd like my baby monitor/baby clothes/crib/whatever." 

4. Why don't you just adopt from foster care? It's pretty much free. 

We'd LOVE to - we really would. However, after calling on three different children on the AdoptFlorida.org website and leaving a heartfelt message on how we think that child would be a perfect addition to our family and getting NOT ONE call back, I started to wonder if it was even possible to get a child out of the system. Mind you, we were calling on kids who were 7 - 12 years old as well as sibling groups, so we weren't trying to get a newborn. 

After this disheartening experience, I called our home study social worker and asked if she could help. She quickly assured me that this was just how it was in the foster care system, and that it's almost impossible to get a child out at this point, even an older child. In fact, of all the people she works with, she's only seen 2 successful foster care adoptions in 5 years. 

She told me a story that encapsulated the issue for me: She's working with a 28 year old woman who has chosen to adopt because she was in the Florida Foster Care System from ages 6 to 12. Because of this, she'd like to give back by adopting. She's also got a Masters degree in Child Psychology, so it's hard to imagine a more perfect candidate.

She's called on 15 children over 3 years and has yet to be able to adopt ONE child. Either she's gotten no call back from the child's social worker, or her home study was "not approved for this child." When our social worker called to see why in the world her home study was not approved, they just gave her the run-around. 

Finally giving up, this woman is now trying to adopt an older child internationally. She, the perfect candidate for adopting from foster care, has been forced to give up by a system unbelievably broken. 

The saddest part is that she said, "You know, I thought no one wanted me for all that time I was in foster care; now I know that people wanted me, they just couldn't get me." 

For so many kids in foster care right this moment, this is their reality. It makes me sick that children are being served so poorly, and that they are being denied wonderful homes that want them. 

What to say instead: 

On this one, saying nothing is your best option. Believe me, many people have heartbreaking stories of trying to adopt from foster care; the faces of the kids I called on still haunt me, because I KNOW we could have them in our family right now, and they'd be cared for, safe, and happy. I can only hope that they are in a foster home that cares for them, but that is not the same as having your own family and your own place to call home. 

On another note, it's time we demand better for foster kids in this country. I'm not sure where to start, but maybe a call to local representatives would be a good place. 

Are you trying to adopt now? Or, are you an adoptive parent? What shocking things did people say to you and how did you respond? 

Update on article: 
I just wanted to note that the VAST majority of people are not saying any of this to be mean or inconsiderate; rather, they either don't really understand adoption (and until you do it yourself, you just wouldn't), or they really want you to get your baby as soon as possible. My intent in writing this article was to bring some light to the subject, and hopefully garner understanding on all sides.