relevance

Gearing up for our home study visit on Friday, I realized that aside from cleaning our house, there’s not much we can do. Except get some fresh flowers. And someone suggested baking cookies (probably not going to happen). But there’s not really anything more we can do to prepare for the experience of being interviewed about our stability and “fitness” to parent.

We’ve already discussed the hard questions and answered in writing. But that’s much different than answering in person. I, for one, am usually more comfortable writing about difficult issues than talking about them, at least when it’s personal. And this is about as personal as it gets, aside from spreading my legs for a total stranger in a paper gown under fluorescent lights surrounded by onlookers. Oh right, I’ve done that too… Is nothing sacred anymore?

Rebeccah at Chasing a Child recently had an excellent post about the incredibly invasive nature of the adoption home study process. She wrote about the expectation that you should be prepared to “pry open your soul and lay it on the table” for inspection. She said something else that resonated — that while infertility treatment was also a very invasive process, there were boundaries that enabled her to protect her heart and mind from exposure and scrutiny.

It’s so true. There are no such boundaries in this process. There is no division between personal and private. Everything is fair game, subject to scrutiny. Our feelings are our own and we have to deal with them, but here they are to be judged by people with the power to make us parents.

I understand the need for certified professsionals to verify that we are not criminals, and that we would provide a permanent loving home for a child. I appreciate the need to ensure that we would not physically or psychologically harm our child. But I have a hard time with the intense scrutiny of every little detail of my life, heart and mind, particularly where I doubt its relevance to my ability to parent. (I can’t even begin to tell you how mad it makes me that a single person or gay couple could encounter even greater restrictions…)

M and I don’t have anything to hide. We’re committed to telling the complete truth. But for me that’s not even the point.

We would expect to be asked about how we came to our decision to adopt, our views on discipline, etc. We would even expect to be asked for proof of finances or income. Yet here are just some of the questions I’ve heard asked, with detailed answers expected: Tell me about your parents; Tell me about your infertility; Tell me about your grief; How do you feel about not being able to have biological children?; What are your fears about open adoption?; Tell me about your sex life. Excuse me?

Tell you about my grief. Hmm. Do you want the long or the short version? I suppose it bears repeating. I will never “get over” the grief of losing my son. I may always grieve the biological children we never had. But I’ve made a conscious choice to try to move past it, to move forward. Because I want to be a mother. To the extent that my grief for my lost child/ren would affect my ability to parent my future child, I get it. But this is not a psychologist making that determination.

How do I feel about not being able to have a biological child? Well, it sucks. It’s a significant loss. But does that mean I would not unconditionally love a child who had been carefully entrusted into our care? Absolutely not. I’m committed to becoming a parent, and our child will be our child.

I was on an adoption board recently, reading about someone’s home study in which the couple had been asked about their sex life (and she was not the only one). Now I’m hardly prudish, but I was offended by the question. How the hell is that relevant?  Is the social worker trying to determine the stability of the marriage based on how frequent or good the sex is? Is she even qualified to make a judgment whether both people are satisfied? On the board, most women said “who cares? it’s fair game and I have nothing to hide!” But tell me, what happens if I say “excuse me, but can you tell me how that is relevant here?” Seriously, I want to know.

I should add that we’re not really sweating the home study, even though it’s a lot of work. I just don’t want to resent the invasiveness of the process any more than necessary.

To anyone else who has been through this, what’s the strangest question you were asked in your home study, and how did you respond?

cross a bridge

By now you may have heard about a very cool new project called Bridges. The site went live on Monday with a featured post by Allison at Our Own Creation.  

New posts will go up every Monday through Thursday, with guest posts on Sunday. Contributions will be posted from editors’ personal blogs, newly written for the site, or found on other blogs and shared with permission.

Be sure to also check in on Fridays, when readers will be invited to join the conversation through a series of open threads called “True View.” Sounds like a great opportunity for dialogue. 

I am thrilled and honored to be a Bridges contributing editor for infertility, where I will share some of my previous posts and eventually write some new ones. My first post, which earlier readers may remember, will run this Thursday.

To find those outstanding posts by other authors to include, we need your help. As I noted before, if you have a particular post about infertility that you think could benefit a broader audience, please let me know if you would like us to consider sharing it on Bridges. Leave a comment here, or send me an email (luna339@gmail.com).

Remember, the post should shed compassionate light on an aspect of infertility to help the reader appreciate the emotional journey behind the struggle. As Melissa says, “Stepping into Bridges is about sliding someone else’s shoes on for the day and walking around in their thoughts.” 

Learn more about Bridges or the history behind this new exciting project. Read more about Mel’s plans for Bridges here. 

So go cross a bridge and check it out — read, support, and engage… 

full of life

This past weekend, amidst furious house cleaning for our initial home study visit this Friday and more pre-adoption busywork, we had house guests. No, not the kind of visitors that invaded our garden. Other guests, the kind that come inside.

It’s amazing what life force children and animals can bring to a home otherwise missing that energy. And we have indeed been missing it.

This weekend we were caring for someone else’s kitty. He’s a big fat love of a cat. He throws himself across your feet, stretches out on his back toward little patches of sun, rolls around in the dirt, and purrs while he eats. And boy does he eat. He wakes up super early and begs for his meals. When we’d ignore him (just before 5am), he’d jump on every piece of furniture and windowsill to get our attention. When I’d get up, he’d run into the kitchen and lure me over to his bowl.

Aside from his annoying early morning habit, he was sweet to have around. M and I have both missed having a little creature in the house since we lost both of ours last year. While our own kitty lived to a ripe old age of nearly 17, I still miss so much about him, especially his loving zen-ness and the weight of him asleep on me. So it was nice to have some kitty zen, especially such a chubby buddha-boy, curled up by my feet at night. Yes, we spoiled the hell out of him…

On top of the kitty love, we had some real live little kids running around too. On Saturday, after M and I had cleaned the entire house, my cousin, his wife and kids came over for a barbeque, lots of good wine, and a fun sleepover. The kids, our baby cousins, are one and a half and four years old, about the same age as my niece and nephew who live 5000 miles away. We are close with them and have a blast with the kids. They love it here — playing in the yard, swinging in the hammock, running through the sprinkler. More fun adults to play silly games and love them up. We had a feast, got a little buzzed (on wine and cupcakes), and a good time was had by all. Who doesn’t love a fun sleepover? 

Of course we had to do some serious cleaning after they left — e.g., scrubbing avocado off the sofa and ice cream from the tablecloth, finding corn kernels and all kinds of nasty bits on the floor, taking poopy diapers out to the garbage, etc. Plus there was the crying baby at 4:30am (probably thinking where the hell am I?). 

But we loved having them here and bonding with the little ones. It was sweet to wake up to their little cherubic faces so excited to see us. The kids can’t decide whether we are “auntie” and “uncle” or “cousins.”  I say we’re both. In Chinese, there are many words to describe familial relationships with great detail. For instance, there is a special word for cousin-auntie from the mother’s side, and so on. Maybe we should just teach them some new words? But I digress…

On Sunday, after everyone had gone home (kitty and kiddies), I found myself wandering through the house, missing all of them. I went into our guest room where they had slept and did some deep breathing. Not the kind of breathing when you think you’re going to lose it, but the kind where you inhale to savor something special. I was trying to soak up all the good energy they had brought into our home — the sound of children laughing and playing, the love and affection we shared. Sure, there were some cries and time-outs too. Yet there I sat, longing for more, to fill the void. With their presence, they infused a powerful life force into our home — one that M and I have been longing to create ourselves. Then it was gone (again). 

In the past, after spending time with the children in my life, I’ve felt this sense of duality — I enjoy their presence, treasure our time together and feel deep love, but at the same time I still feel an aching sadness that my own child is not running among them. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile these seemingly conflicted emotions, but I’ve learned to live with it. I don’t try to figure out why I feel this way anymore, I just accept that I do. I’ve written about this concept before, because I was so relieved to know it was normal and it had a name. 

Well, this weekend I felt it again, only slightly different. Of course I still long for my own children to play among them. But this time I was also thinking of our future child. On one hand I so look forward to the day when the child we bring in to our lives through adoption can run and play with his or her cousins. Yet I’m already anticipating how it might feel for our child to share no physical resemblance to our family. When people talk about how this little one looks like X at that age, or is the perfect mix of X and Y, how can we all not feel a sense of exclusion? I know I will have had plenty of time to resolve my own feelings by then, but what about our child? Will he or she always feel different?

There is so much more I want to say about this, but I’ll have to save it for another post…

show and tell: harvest time

This week, I’m sharing the bounty of our small garden harvest: big bountiful cucumbers!  

I don’t think you can really tell how big they are, but the long one was about a foot long, and the short one was about two and a half inches wide in the middle!  We’ve been waiting to pick these for a few weeks. We had watched this little cucumber plant thrive after losing two plants earlier this season. They’re called “divas” because of their “thin skin.” They were so yummy and crunchy and delicious!  

In circle time past, I shared last summer’s bountiful harvest — a most delicious salad with summer vegetables from our garden.  Last night we tried to re-create that salad featuring these cucumbers.  It was delicious!  

But now I will explain why we didn’t have even more bounty to harvest yesterday…  

Visitors to our yard have eaten every pepper (habanero and jalapeno) we’ve planted, all the wild strawberries, and a whole bunch of green zebra heirloom and luscious sungold tomatoes. (Some of you may remember I hinted about the visitors before.) This guy and his friends have also eaten all of our roses (twice!), our hydrangeas, and most of our jasmine flowers.  Just look at him! 

For more circle time fun, visit this week’s show and tell, the archives, or my previous entries. 

augustus busy

August is virtually booked and it hasn’t even begun. And I thought I was busy already. Meetings, appointments, deadlines. That doesn’t even include work-related things. This is proving to be quite a busy month. So much for the summer lull. 

The adoption paperwork threatens to overtake my desktop and datebook. My to-do list is a full two pages long. That’s a lot of things to do in a very short time.

In the past few days, I scheduled five appointments over the next three weeks, completed and submitted an application for our consultant/facilitator, gathered forms to distribute and compiled documents for review, rallied our first reference, worked with M to find a new doctor and get him in for a physical, had a TB test, found us a counselor, finished an excellent book on open adoption, completed a first draft of a letter for our “profile,” and updated a spreadsheet of estimated expenses, which are growing by the day, by the way. 

Our home study is finally moving ahead. Thank you all so much for your support and comments about our initial home visit next week (on 08/08/08, very auspicious!). M and I really appreciate your kind words and encouragement. We’ve already scheduled our individual visits for mid-August, because that’s how we roll. (Actually, with everyone’s summer vacations, they would have had to wait until September if we didn’t schedule them now.) After that, we’ll have one last meeting with the caseworker to clarify any outstanding questions, probably in September. 

Our task by the end of the month — or by the time we leave town for a few days before labor day — is to gather the last of the documents we’ll need to complete our home study, continue to educate ourselves about the open adoption process (by reading a lot to overcome misconceptions and fears), and do everything we can to prepare for the next phase: outreach.

In a few weeks we’ll also have a four-hour intake meeting with our consultant, at which time we will be given yet an additional set of tasks to do, after reviewing such important issues as: why we want an open adoption, what level of openness we’re comfortable with, what are our fears about the process, how we cope with difficulty, etc. We must survive this phase before we even get to the outreach phase. To prepare for this meeting, we each have to write one last set of essays (our third and final set of questions, we hope). 

Once we sign with our consultant and survive the intake, she and her associate will help us develop a fine looking set of materials for our “profile.” Then we’ll have to decide how much we’ll spend to design, print, web host, mail, market and outreach our profile. But we can’t do any of those things until we develop compelling content and images to convey how wonderful we are. From what we’ve heard, this process will take much longer than we think and can get very expensive. But we’ll save that for September…

I should point out that we’re opting out of our agency’s outreach program and choosing instead to use those funds to do our own outreach with the consultant’s guidance. Our agency has nearly 70 waiting families and we would fall to the bottom of that long list. Two years is not an uncommon wait with our agency. Our facilitator has maybe 20 waiting families at different stages, and we are more confident that we’d be “matched” through her or our own efforts, hopefully sooner than later.

Oh, and speaking of waiting, we’re also signed up for a support meeting for waiting families through our Resolve spin-off in August, as well as a workshop series on preparing for domestic adoption in the fall.

It seems every step we take is a reminder of how many steps still await. Some days are for checking things off the list, but today the list just got longer. One day at a time… 

new bridges

In my last post, I answered some questions posed by Mel about whether “bridges” are needed to cross the gap between various communities in the blogosphere. I suggested that empathy and compassion are needed to cross from one world to another, with a desire to understand and support. We also need opportunity. 

Well, leave it to Melissa to actually create an opportunity by building one such “bridge.” Today, she launched a new site called “Bridges: The Awareness Consortium,” a group of “compassionate bloggers who are looking to use writing to educate, tell a story, bring awareness, and build community.”

The idea is to bring awareness and insight through sharing experience, to move past simple knowledge of an abstract issue and allow the reader to connect emotionally with a real story and the person behind it. This will ideally cultivate greater understanding and enable mutual support. So listen and speak with an open heart. 

Writers will add posts covering various issues, from infertility, loss and adoption to cancer, general health, body image and more. The site will host an  “Awareness Blogroll,” so go add your blog and opt-in if you’re interested. If you would like to add a new topic to Bridges, please email Melissa (thetowncriers@gmail.com). “All ideas are welcome.”

I am thrilled to serve as a contributing editor on infertility, and I may add more on adoption as I delve further into that journey too. If you have a specific post about infertility that you think could benefit a broader audience, please leave a comment or email me (luna339@gmail.com). 

To learn more about Bridges, click over and check it out. New posts will go up soon, so be sure to check back (subscribe or add it to your reader!). And don’t forget to bring an open heart.

blogging bridges

Mel’s latest post on BlogHer asks the questions she posed at last week’s panel on infertility, loss and adoption. I’ve probably answered the first few elsewhere, but I’ll take a crack again. How about you? 

1. Why did I end up with an infertility blog? What is the overriding theme of your blog and why? 

I write what I know. I started blogging as a way to cope with my infertility journey — to reach out and connect with others who were (or had been) in a similar situation, to seek and share information, to document my attempt at treatment, to vent and process what I was going through, to express my deepest hopes and fears, and perhaps most importantly, to know I was not alone. Infertility can be such an isolating experience, casting doubt on your value as a woman and human being. Living “as an infertile in a fertile world,” as Pamela Jeanne would say, can be a very lonely experience.

I began writing as I was exploring my last chance for a baby. I was facing an uncertain future with dwindling options. I was still dealing with the loss of my only child at five months gestation, along with my prior and subsequent inability to conceive. I was wondering if, after four years of trying and failing, I would ever become a mother. I was wondering whether my lostbaby boy would be the closest I would ever come. The overriding theme of my blog has been exploring my infertility, loss and grief, and more recently, our new path to parenthood through open adoption. 

2. What do you hope to achieve personally and externally with your blog?

My blog began primarily as an outlet to process my experience and connect with others who might understand what I was going through. I did not start out hoping to achieve anything more. Ultimately, I realized I had something to offer too, that my experience might help others through their journey. Writing has incredibly therapeutic value for me. I thought if I could reach just one more person, it would be worthwhile. 

It was so affirming to hear from others who “got” what I was saying, who had been there and survived (to blog about it). I hope it has been as affirming for others to sometimes read my words and think, yes, she “gets” me too. The act of witness and affirmation can be very powerful. All of a sudden, I wasn’t alone anymore. I hoped that someone some day might feel the same. Now I love that my blog has become a voice in a broader community of support. 

3. Do you think a bridge needs to be built between communities in the larger blogosphere in order to foster understanding (in other words, between infertility blogger and mommy bloggers or two other groups)?

Any wide chasm between groups can inhibit understanding and solidarity. The difference in perspectives of those who write from opposite ends of the fertility spectrum is stark. As an infertile, I know it can be difficult to read a blog dedicated to the joys and challenges of motherhood (particularly when it may have come easily or unexpectedly), just as it must be for a fertile mom to read the blog of a woman suffering the pain of infertility (especially when bitterness or sadness is directed at the sight of a pregnant or nursing mother). Then there’s the former infertile mom, who may not wish to be reminded of the pain of infertility, since she was “lucky” enough to cross over to the other side. 

Yet just because you’ve never had the other’s experience doesn’t mean you can’t try to understand it. When I wrote about how hard it is to attend baby showers and birthdays, for example, a (fertile) mother thanked me because she had agonized over whether she should include an (infertile) friend in these activities. (The answer is yes, btw — extend the invite, but forgive her if she must decline; she may feel badly either way, but she’ll probably feel worse if you exclude her.)

Similarly, just because you’ve had a similar experience doesn’t mean you necessarily “get” where someone else is coming from. As discussed at the panel, I agree there is a gap between the sensitive and insensitive, between those who seek understanding and those who don’t. Empathy cultivates compassion. Without compassion, a bridge cannot effectively be built.   

4. How do you go about building these bridges? If we build bridges, will people cross them?

Sometimes the bridge is a person who wants to learn more and has an opportunity to do so. A dialogue can open doors and cultivate common ground for understanding.

Infertility is an invisible disease afflicting millions. In a society focused on families and children, infertiles often feel isolated, invisible, and powerless. We need to bring infertility out of the closet, so to speak — raise awareness about the real causes (i.e., it’s a disease), dispel the myths and stereotypes perpetuated by ignorance and the media (i.e., stressed out career-driven women need to “just relax,” and all those “selfish” people should “just adopt”). We need to highlight the stories of real people affected by the pain and struggle to achieve what so many do with such little effort (i.e., everyday women and men, your friends and neighbors). We need to learn how to talk about pregnancy loss, stillbirth and neonatal death as if it weren’t the plague. I’m tired of being avoided and being pitied. Until the stigma of infertility and loss is removed, there can be no broad understanding of its devastating impact. 

I don’t expect anyone to necessarily cross a bridge unless they are involved in the building. People have to want to learn more and they need time and space to engage with others to get beyond “labels” and find common ground. Unless someone endeavors to truly appreciate another’s situation, they cannot begin the understand the complexities of that person’s reality, and a divide will remain. 

5. What do you think is gained and lost by opening up a community (making it more accessible, inviting outsiders to comment, explaining the shorthand abbreviations)? If you aren’t a member of a community, would you feel comfortable crossing a bridge that was placed in front of you?

I think there is much to gain by opening up to others as you may facilitate dialogue and foster greater understanding. This can take time and requires openness and trust. People must feel safe to participate. Yet I think you also run the risk of inviting controversy or debate, which may not always be appropriate (as in a place for support). There is also a risk mis-stepping, of saying something hurtful or unintentionally offending someone because you don’t understand their situation, or you lack the relevant context to provide meaningful support.

080808

Our first home study visit has been scheduled, finally. It’s taken longer than I thought, as there appears to be a backlog at our agency. I wonder if it’s due to summer vacations or more people pursuing domestic adoption since so many international programs have encountered delays and closures – e.g., China, Vietnam, Guatemala – leaving many waiting families and children in limbo. Or maybe infertility is on the rise. Or maybe Bran.gelina has convinced everyone to “just adopt.” You know, because it’s so easy. Yeah, that must be it. 

Whatever the case, our agency seems quite busy. We submitted our application a month ago, and we just got a call this week from the social worker to schedule our first meeting. Given all of our schedules, we were unable to coordinate meeting for a couple of weeks. So, two weeks from today, on 8/8/08, we will meet with our caseworker in our home for two hours. We will talk about how and why we came to adoption and explain how we are “fit” to parent. And we’ll show her where the fire extinguishers are. 

We are gathering the necessary documents, which is proving to be harder than we thought. I like that there is something within our control, a list that we can check off. But the initial application was cake compared to this, and I imagine the home study will be a relative breeze compared to the actual wait. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to write about the hard wait and all it entails, and then of course there will be all the tough issues that arise in adoptive parenting, I know… 

Yet for now, even the simplest task seems daunting. Getting a medical form completed by our doctors, for instance, is hard because neither of us have seen a general practitioner in years and it would take months to get in as a new patient. Thankfully, my RE’s nurse is a wonderwoman and agreed to help with mine (who cares if my RE is not a GP?). Now M just needs to find a new doctor (who will see new patients) and get squeezed in for his official clean bill of health, soon. 

Then there’s our housing situation. We live in an ideal place for children, but unfortunately we don’t own our home. So, we’re trying to get some assurance from our landlord that we have some stability here, since we don’t have an extra 2k to do another home study if we have to move before a child is placed with us. Just one more thing to worry about. 

Then there’s the matter of our references. We thought about who would be good and listed three strong references (non-relatives) in our application. They could have easily written glowing letters about what wonderful parents we will be. But the agency requires a form, not a letter. The form asks specific questions about our psychological well being and whether the person would place their own child with us if needed. Now I’ve written before about how we’ve withdrawn (and here) from a number of our friends with young children in an attempt to escape our pain, friends who may have otherwise made great references. We have kept a distance, especially from those who have not been supportive, while we’re dealing with these very personal issues and crises.

But adoption is so invasive and there is no personal or private anymore. Everything is fair game, on the table, subject to scrutiny and judgment. This is cause for discomfort, since I’ve kept a “wall” around me for years, for a lifetime. It’s not that we have anything to hide. I suppose I just have to get over it. “It” being any resentment I may have for being stuck to deal with this messed up system for the chance of a child. “It” being the fear we may encounter at each step, where we must take yet another leap of faith. I know this process is a means to an end, and it all requires hard work. 

Oh, there is so much more. I’m trying not to be overwhelmed. I’m educating myself, reading a lot about open adoption, anticipating the benefits of a truly open relationship with our child’s birthparents. We’re trying to decide whether to sign with the consultant/facilitator and undertake her extensive process to help us navigate through the maze of domestic open adoption and all it encompasses. We’re trying to overcome our concerns about “marketing” ourselves, about mis-matches, about running out of money, about everything. 

Anyone who says “just adopt” can just bite me. 

what makes the world go ’round?

Is it love or money?

What if you have some of one, but not much of the other? What if you have a lot of one, yet none of the other?

I used to believe that “all you need is love.” Sorry John, you’re one of my real heroes, but it just ain’t so. All the love in the world won’t bring us a child. Making love does not make babies, at least in our home. Unfortunately, love does not conquer all, or we’d be king and queen of somewhere really cool, with a few princes and princesses running around the castle. 

Love is grand, an invaluable gift to cherish and nurture. Best of all, it’s free (though it requires giving and dedication).

But enough about love. You need money too. Unless you live entirely off the grid — i.e., generate your own power, drink from a clean well, grow your own food, etc. — or live in a community where you can trade or barter for essential services, you need money to get by. Of course you need money to raise a child too — for food and clothes, lessons, college, blablablah. In the U.S. it costs about 25K just to birth a child in a hospital with no complications. I know, it’s all about the benjamins baby. 

But if you’re infertile? You need a fucking pile of money. Money for doctors, for treatment. Money for adoption. More and more money. Or you don’t even have a chance. 

So, we need money to bring a child into our lives. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. That sucks. It’s just so unfair that some people simply have sex and get pregnant (for free!), while the rest of us need a wad of cash just for the chance to become parents some day (plus the emotional and physical toll on top of the bill). It’s just wrong. 

We are forced to spend small (or large) fortunes, or dig deeper into a pit of debt, just for the chance of a child. Adoption is not much different, except your chances eventually improve. But it costs. A lot. And those with greater resources can take advantage of more opportunities and go on for longer than those with limited resources. 

And yet, I am a lucky woman. Yes, we are in debt — years of graduate school, starting a small business, multiple surgeries and treatments with little to no insurance will do that. Yet we’ve been given a gift. A gift from long ago and far away, and we hope it will keep on giving… 

Let me tell you a story about a girl who lost her father when she was young. The most important thing to him was that she go to college. He put some money aside for a modest college fund. Apart from this fund, there was virtually nothing left when he died. Treasured memories, some photos and letters were all she had as keepsakes to remember him (aside from a single piece of jewelry that was stolen from her college dorm room). She was grateful for the fund and remembered her father’s wish, yet being young and idealistic, she wanted to cash it in and travel the world, or something. Her mother, knowing better, insisted that she use it for college. Smart woman. 

After she graduated, the fund was near empty. (She would take out loans for graduate school and work her way through night school, with the help of an extremely supportive husband who fed her and cleaned and paid the bills. Yes, he is amazing.) She took what little remained and wisely invested it into an interest-bearing IRA. She slowly began paying her debt down, trying to save, and investing in another retirement fund.

Every so often, she’d get a notice that the little IRA was still growing. Even as they kept throwing good money after bad with failed cycles, whittling away at their savings, that little account kept accruing interest, until it finally reached the amount they thought a modest adoption would cost. Hmm… 

And so, after considering the consequences of early withdrawal (taxes, penalties) and the potential tax credit for adoption (which is more deceiving than it looks — i.e., the more you earn, the more credit you can claim — it’s ass-backwards!), they decided to cash it in. Because who needs money when they’re 60 anyway, right? 

And they counted their blessings for even having the chance. 

So thank you dad, from my heart, for giving us this gift 23 years later. There’s something beautifully poetic about using the last of your hard-earned dollars to help realize our dream. I cried at my wedding because you were missing, because you never had the chance to meet M, and I’m sure I’ll cry again if and when we ever hold your grandchild in our arms. But it will be thanks to you. Though you’ve been gone for so long, you are still with me every day.

So you see, money may make the world go around, but love is what makes it all worthwhile.

words unspoken

Something I found really interesting about the BlogHer conference was listening to other writers reflect on the act of blogging.

For some, writing is an artform, or therapy even. For others, it serves to document, inform or amuse. Some of us aspire to do it all. Sometimes we may know just what we want to say, yet other times we may use writing to reflect and work through our thoughts and emotions. Sometimes an experience is not complete until we’ve had the chance to process it through the act of sharing. Sometimes we may need to fully live through an experience before we can even begin to formulate the words. And sometimes the words may never come… 

I know for me writing has been so many things. It has served many purposes throughout my life — from childhood to my work and therapy, yes — and blogging is no different.

Yet I see within myself the tendency to write about certain things while I shy away from others. So I ask myself why I am unwilling or unable or unprepared to approach certain topics. Is it simply a matter of time? too soon or too late? too personal? too overwhelming, complex or confusing? Am I too lazy? too defensive or protective? too afraid (and if so, of what)? Am I not in touch with how I feel enough to articulate it? Am I trying to retain some sense of privacy that is forever lost when sharing an intimate thought or fear? Am I simply trying to exercise some discretion? Or are there just certain words that must remain unspoken, at least for now. I think it may be a bit of everything… 

For instance, I have not really written about the process we’re undertaking to pursue open adoption. Sure, I’ve alluded to the massive piles of paperwork and hurdles to leap. But I haven’t written word one (here anyway) about the details, or the people we’ve been meeting and the process this will involve. I haven’t shared the questions we’re being asked, or the tough issues we’re forced to ponder. I haven’t explained how it feels to embark on this new path shrouded in its own uncertainty and fears. I’ve only shared our excitement about the joy we hope will meet us on the other end… 

I realize this is partly because I’m still processing. We’re in the thick of it, though we’re only in phase one, the prep work. The hard work of waiting has not even begun. We’re not even “eligible” for a child yet. We have not yet been deemed “qualified,” as wrong as that seems, since we know what wonderful parents we will be. But it doesn’t matter how terrific and loving we are, or how much we’ve been through, or how long we’ve been trying to bring a child into our lives. We’re back to square one, really. There are so many feelings associated with that knowledge that I don’t even know where to begin. 

Some things are easy to write about in virtual “real time,” but not others. Some topics require time and space to reflect. That distance enables perspective. It allows you to process an event and assimilate it into your life. That process affects your thoughts and emotions and helps you find your words. Yet that distance also removes you from the immediacy of the event itself. It creates detachment. I wonder if it therefore results in a less honest telling of the story, or a more thoughtful and reasoned one. And I wonder which version is more real or if they are both equally significant. 

Everything changes over time. My writing on grief, for example, was obviously very different when it was fresh and raw than my writing from later, after I had the time and space to reflect on it and its evolution and impact on my life. Of course our thoughts are shaped by our experience and will evolve over time. So why am I unable to commit words to the page to express where my head and heart are at now?

I am also very mindful that whatever I say could find its way to a future birthmother or our future child some day. Do I really want them seeing me drop the f-bomb left and right? Or venting about our frustrations and screaming about my sadness. No. Maybe those things are better left unheard.

Yet this is my safe space. I need this haven, and I don’t want to be ruled by fear. So maybe I will find the words some day…