Son Two. Son One. Son Zero?


I don’t know what to think anymore. Now, after two years in the adoption process, our agency cannot find the birth parents of our match so our referral cannot be completed. If they don’t show up…sometime soon, I guess?…then, we will get rematched and start the last seven months over from the beginning. If you are reading this and considering adopting from Haiti, I would run away as quickly as possible and find another avenue. Don’t believe the promises of a system getting resurrected like we did. If we get rematched, we could easily have another 2.5-3 years in process ahead of us.

But, that is all about us. The really sad thing is that, from what I have heard from other families in similar situations (unfortunately this is not a rare circumstance),  it takes Haiti a long time to declare a child a true orphan if the birth parents drop out of the picture, committing the child to several more years stuck in the system without being released to join a waiting family. This boy. This boy that is waiting for proper familial love. I could write a lot more but I am afraid I would be projecting and exploiting his experience, so I won’t. But, this just makes me very sad.

So, as my husband and I are considering, once again, if this is the right path for us (not adoption as a whole but this process in Haiti), we have recently received an opportunity to work through some of our past trauma by going back to the hospital where our son, Adam Gabriel, was born.


Hospitals are a big trigger for us now. When our niece was born last fall, the whole family wanted to FaceTime with us from the hospital 15 hours away from our home, but we regretfully declined, explaining how births and hospitals are just such a big trigger for us, and we weren’t sure we could handle it well. We felt awful telling them we couldn’t just FaceTime, but we also know we have to explain our perspective to people because they didn’t experience the awful situation we did so they don’t know how it haunts us.

So, a dear friend had a beautiful baby girl this week. In my excitement about her wonderful news, I immediately committed myself to going to see her as soon as I was welcome (as the real, undamaged me desired). We have the kind of friendship that there was no reason to hesitate. It wasn’t until after the conversation ended that my anxiety started erupting. I realized it was the same hospital, the same floor, possibly the same nurses, and the same set of doctors…the doctors I have since sworn to never visit in that capacity again because of my personal disappointments with them over the four miscarriages I have had (they had nothing to do with the losses, but handled many, many other things very unprofessionally and even dangerously).

So, now my mind was racing. What if the doctors ask how I am doing? What if the nurses recognize me? What if I see pity in their eyes? Can I really make it through those same doors I left 2.5 years ago without a baby in my arms but, instead, with a short list of post-labor instructions? Talking it through with my husband, I decided I really wanted to go see my friend, but I knew I couldn’t do it without him. I knew it had to be a game time decision when we received the okay to head down.

And so we did. We got the invite. We bought flowers. We parked in the same parking lot where we left our son. We walked through the doors into the building where we left our son. We went up the elevators, passed the nursing station, and down the hallway where we left our son.

And then…

We walked through my friend’s room that was bursting with family and energy. Toddlers, grandparents, sisters, and husbands. A newborn baby girl as perfect as anything. She is handed to me. She is beautiful. This room has life. This room has hope. This is a different room in every sense of the word. No doctors come by and no nurses I recognize come into the room. I just get to catch up with my bubbling, beautiful friend (I mean, come on, how can one look so good after labor at 4:30AM?) and hug her kind, compassionate family. I witness cousin kisses that are as soft as butterflies. I see the glow that no lack of sleep can touch.

And I remember why we force ourselves to recover. We go through those doors and up those elevators. We risk the panic and being overcome by emotion. We do this because there is so much more to life than our pain. Sometimes sons don’t come home, but sometimes daughters do. And that is everything.


15 thoughts on “Son Two. Son One. Son Zero?

  1. wow are you a beautiful, beautiful person. To be able to feel joy and overcome such a huge trauma to celebrate a friend is amazing. I want so adult for two, ten as many sons and daughters as you desire to have you as their Mom. I am so sorry for the news of your pending adoption. I only hope this somehow opens a door that leads to more happiness then you ever imagined. Xo

    • Thank you! I will hang on to that…hoping a door opens and leads to more happiness than ever imagined! It seems like people are always so happy with the way their family turns out in the end….I have to think it will be the same for both of us when we finally get our families complete. I so appreciate your kindness and friendship!

  2. I am so sorry for both you and son two that things are working (or not working at all) out this way. It is just sad on so many levels. I will hold you both in my heart right now. I am also incredibly proud and in awe of you for facing your trigger and going to the hospital AND having a positive, beautiful experience. This was a beautiful post to read: sad and happy and hopeful all at once.

    • Thank you so much! I am incredibly grateful for your friendship and support. Life is such a mixture of things and I am glad I communicated this in the post. Sometimes we give a little to get a little. And sometimes hard situations end up being really rewarding. Hopefully things will turn around with the adoption and the timing will be just perfect. 🙂 Thanks again for all the encouragement!

  3. This post just struck a chord with me. Doing international adoption from anywhere is never easy, and the process is full of unknowns and heartache. But, it’s also completely worth it in the end, it has to be otherwise none of us would do it. (I think).
    My heart goes out to you as you go through more unknowns. And my heart also goes out to you for your courage and your ability to be an amazing friend in the face of your own losses. You are such an amazing person.

    • Thank you so much. Yes, I think it will be completely worth it in the end. It’s just hard not to get jaded by the process! Hopefully the path clears and we can get this boy home. Thank you for all your support!

  4. Sending many virtual hugs to you and son two. You are an amazing woman and I can not wait for your child to find their way to you. Like a previous commenter said, I hope if this door does close then the new door to open is filled with wonderful things. You are also an incredibly strong woman and am in awe of your courage to face that demon so to speak. Thank you for sharing!

    • Aww, thank you so much for the kind words! I believe things will work out in the end – they always do! Just need this little guy to not be stuck in the system, first and foremost! Xo

  5. Ah, my friend… So beautifully put, as always. I don’t know how you do it. I haven’t had anything near your level of trauma (I know it’s not a competition but really, I haven’t) and I have avoided so many of those new baby situations. I don’t think anyone could blame you for being ill at ease. I feel proud of you (if that’s the right word!) for doing it! And you’re right… I build these things up in my head, but when I’m handed a baby (as I invariably am) – well how could I not like them and appreciate their smallness and innocence?

    I’m so sorry to hear about son two. I hope that there is some kind of resolution. It sounds very difficult to deal with, and I’m sad for a boy who has the chance of a family to have that level of uncertainty, and for you to be waiting for him. X

    • Thanks so much, my friend. I really appreciate it. It is amazing once you realize that fears are usually worse than reality. I think that concept has motivated me many times – like this one – to just proceed. It still feels great to conquer the fear, though! Xx

  6. Stealing Nectar

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