Eighteen Years Later: An Adoption Story, Part One

Eighteen Years Later: An Adoption Story Part One
(c) Michele Fried

Zack left for College in August. As he turns eighteen this November, I find myself reminiscing about the journey I took before becoming a mother.

Our adoption journey was one filled with great ups and downs. Our first match we accepted. It was exciting as we received updates for one month. It all ended though when the birth father’s mother decided to raise the baby herself. Left with this information and never learning the gender of the baby, I will forever remember this loss (soon to be coined an “adoption miscarriage.”) I cried incessantly and called our home study social worker in hysterics, feeling foolish and lost, only to find her reassuring and spectacular not to call me crazy! I called my friend from my childhood town and cried to her. She too surprised me with great compassion recalling her mother once telling her of an adoption loss she and my friend’s father once experienced.

The second potential match fell through before it came to be when I surprised my husband at our celebration dinner at our favorite restaurant by saying I did not want to be matched with this pregnant woman. Why? I remember quite a bit of information about her even today and though there was nothing specific about her or her background that made me say no, it just didn’t feel right. So I said no. Saying no was hard, but it was the right decision.

In time I realized that I needed to continue with our adoption journey so I spoke to an attorney who promised quick results with a Colombian adoption, but after a few calls, I didn’t feel comfortable with the attorney. So I looked into agencies in another State. I learned of a toddler who needed a family and found myself challenged by his social worker who asked me, “Why would a white couple want this child?”

During our adoption journey, I kept a journal that I only recently found tucked away in an old box in my basement. Here are some excerpts that bring me back to that time:

May 27, 1987
Dear Diary,
With the end of May here – June will be arriving with new happenings: school will be ending; hopefully I will have a new summer job; our home study should be beginning. Chuck and I are just finishing our autobiographies for the social worker from the agency….. I’m a little apprehensive about the home study. I’ve been reading about in the books I have bought about adoption and in the books I have taken out of the library. One book stated that you should not appear to be too perfect or too much in shambles. That you should appear “normal.” Then it added: “Whatever normal means.” How true!!!

August 24, 1987
Dear Diary,
On Friday, August 21, I received a phone call from a woman at an adoption agency informing me that there is a baby to be born in 4 to 6 weeks – Would we like to consider adopting this baby? “Yes, yes, yes!” I said.
Today we received the preliminary application, soon we will be receiving the large application packet – we will send them all of our paperwork such as the home study, etc. And then… we will wait and pray.

October 25, 1987
Dear Diary,
On September 22, I received a phone call telling us that the birth parents of the baby we were promised decided not to place the baby for adoption. Of course I was devastated. I mourned the loss of this baby --- even though I never set eyes on him or her. For one month’s time I though about and often dreamed about this baby – and so, I hurt.
It was a process of hurt, of tears, frustration and struggling. Struggling not to go under – not to drown. I swam to shore, in a way, when I began once again, at the “drawing board” …
… Possibly another agency out-of-state may work with us. Finally there is an agency in our own state that will be working for us also.
Basically, at this time, there isn’t much else I can do except to wait. That is the hardest task.

October 31, 1987
Dear Diary,
The adoption is up and down – and so am I. Sometimes things seem so promising and other times we are left hanging without any hope.
I do not have patience, not for this anyway…
I learned something about myself a few days ago. We were given an opportunity to begin arrangements to adopt a baby to be born in February 1988. However, I turned the baby down. It was very difficult to do, nevertheless, I did it without Chuck’s or anyone else’s advice… I had really bad vibes about this adoption – so I followed this feeling… Now I know that as long as I follow my heart, I’ll be doing the right thing.

After all the ups and downs we found a local agency that was in its first year of operation. This is where we heard the term open adoption. I remember sitting in their office with my husband… nervously waiting to meet with the social worker. During that wait, in a cramped office in the outskirts of Philadelphia, the director of the agency bounced in the office and waved at us. I don’t recall her exact words but it was something to the affect of: “What a young cute couple you are! You will be picked so quickly!” Picked? What did that mean?

We soon learned that “being picked” meant “open adoption,” at least to this new agency. We were shown a large three-ring notebook with one-page (back to back) profiles held together by a plastic insert. I remember flipping through the book and viewing countless profiles of married couples of all ages hoping to be “picked” by a potential birth mother.

Wow. So many couples; so many people to compete with; I was overwhelmed. I was not so concerned about a to-be birth mother choosing an adoptive family for her baby. But I just didn’t want to be “one” of a large group of people. I told the social worker how I felt and she seemed genuinely surprised. “I want you to profile us when you really think that we would be the right family for someone. All of these families can’t be right for everyone.” She didn’t debate me and after a brief dialogue seemed to say okay. In retrospect it was probably because we were open to a baby of all races that there was no reason to debate as the people in the book were seeking a healthy white infant. I wanted her to realize however that healthy white infant or not, how could a woman flip page by page and find the right family… and by the way, how did one get put first or last in the “big book?”

Well, being open to race or not, didn’t make our being “picked” any easier. There were times the phone rang and other times they didn’t. The first call was regarding a pregnant woman who was parenting two to three children already. After receiving some basic information about her, I agreed that our profile could be shown. A day or two later the feedback was we “were too young for her.” What happened to being young and cute?

More time passed.

November 10, 1987

Thinking and keeping at it creates everything.

When you come to the end of your rope tie a knot in it and hang on!

Dear Diary,
I didn’t write the two quotes above, but they are my sentiments exactly. Sometimes it really feels as if I’m at the end of my rope. I do know though that “keeping at it” will pay off. At times it seems as if nothing is going to work out.

November 16, 1987
Dear Diary,
We should pick up our baby tomorrow morning…Please G-d.

The call came. He was born already and we could pick him up tomorrow. The funny thing is neither of us remember hearing whether the baby was a boy or girl. We just remember hearing about a baby, being selected and taking a baby home the next day. We were numb with excitement. You know what I mean if you have experienced “the call.” The social worker says she told my husband it was a boy, but he didn’t remember by the time he had me pulled out of the class I was teaching. It was a baby. That’s all he could remember.