I was listening to the music as I typed and Sheryl Crow belted out "Are you strong enough to be my man?" I was struck with the thought of my own daughters having their own "partners", their own people who should be strong enough? What is strong enough? Is it strong enough to make it through that first year when things are wonderful and your tears melt your partners heart? Or is it strong enough to say no when they look at you and something that is out of your reach -- whether it be price range, emotional price range? I remember the day I wanted so badly to adopt to a baby who was born with Down Syndrome's. I called on the fly, to ask about the process, and they said they had a baby available to leave the next day from Texas -- was I interested? He was so tiny, and innocent. His future was so unsure. My husband and I were so young, and we hadn't even thought about our own children much less adopting a child who had challenges that we may or may not be able to handle -- either monetarily or emotionally.
I said, sadly, with my heart breaking, to the lady on the phone that we were not quite ready to make the decision to adopt a child. That we hadn't gone through the "right' procedures.... What were the right procedures? Did we go to pray? No. Had we spoken quietly between us the truths, the doubts, the fears and and the realities. The realities, that one didn't want to adopt someone else's baby, much less one that was probably going to need much more than they themselves had in their own hearts. We had the conversations after that phone call. It hurt to hear the words, the truth. It hurt to hear that the reality was that the one who I loved with all my heart was just not 100% sure, and because he were such a decent, complete person, if it wasn't 100% percent than it wasn't a chance he was a chance to take. I had to respect that. That at 26, he was unsure. Now, at 48, would it be different? Probably. But I don't' know, because that boy, that sweet little boy is 21, almost.
Still, 21 years later, I wonder about that sweet boy. That sweet little baby that must've smiled when someone grinned at him. A baby that smelled so sweet, wrapped in a cotton blanket, cheap and from WalMart, but happily in someone's arms. I adore my own wonderful, beautiful babies -- they are amazing gifts from God -- or Goddess. But I don't forget about that little baby boy, as I stood in our office, saying to the social worker that we weren't ready. I clearly remember the children playing outside that day. I remember the sun shining that day through the blinds.
And I remember the doubt, hesitance, and ultimate resistance in my husband's eyes when he said, with all his heart being honest and loving, "No, I can't."
I never blamed him. I never regretted. But I never forgot.
I said, sadly, with my heart breaking, to the lady on the phone that we were not quite ready to make the decision to adopt a child. That we hadn't gone through the "right' procedures.... What were the right procedures? Did we go to pray? No. Had we spoken quietly between us the truths, the doubts, the fears and and the realities. The realities, that one didn't want to adopt someone else's baby, much less one that was probably going to need much more than they themselves had in their own hearts. We had the conversations after that phone call. It hurt to hear the words, the truth. It hurt to hear that the reality was that the one who I loved with all my heart was just not 100% sure, and because he were such a decent, complete person, if it wasn't 100% percent than it wasn't a chance he was a chance to take. I had to respect that. That at 26, he was unsure. Now, at 48, would it be different? Probably. But I don't' know, because that boy, that sweet little boy is 21, almost.
Still, 21 years later, I wonder about that sweet boy. That sweet little baby that must've smiled when someone grinned at him. A baby that smelled so sweet, wrapped in a cotton blanket, cheap and from WalMart, but happily in someone's arms. I adore my own wonderful, beautiful babies -- they are amazing gifts from God -- or Goddess. But I don't forget about that little baby boy, as I stood in our office, saying to the social worker that we weren't ready. I clearly remember the children playing outside that day. I remember the sun shining that day through the blinds.
And I remember the doubt, hesitance, and ultimate resistance in my husband's eyes when he said, with all his heart being honest and loving, "No, I can't."
I never blamed him. I never regretted. But I never forgot.
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