Six

Think of one of the best days you've ever had. Now think of one of the worst. Were they close together? Years apart? For me, one of my best days and one of my worst days were six days apart. Six days. Not even a week. My world was turned upside down in less than a week. I went from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows in six days.

October 6, 2016. We got a call from our adoption agency. Strike that -  we got THE call from our adoption agency. A birth mother chose us and she was due in a few weeks. It was the call we had waited and prayed for. We were finally getting a baby. We spoke with our caseworker and she gave us information on the birth family and told us that it was a baby boy. We were beside ourselves with excitement. As soon as we got off the phone we called Hannah into our room and told her. She started crying because she was so happy. We hopped in the car and drove over to my parent's house to tell them. It was one of the best days ever. That weekend we went to Target and looked at carseats, bassinets, and baby clothes, but didn't purchase anything because we were being cautious. We talked about names. We organized and started talking about a theme for the nursery decorations.
We were so excited because his due date was within days of my brother and sister in law's due date. We talked about how crazy it was going to be with two babies. Two babies for Thanksgiving. Two babies for Christmas. It was as if everything was falling into place exactly like it was supposed to.

Then, October 13. Shaun's at work and I'm home with Hannah. I get another call from our agency. The baby was born and the birth mom left the hospital without signing an adoption plan. The baby will be taken into DSS custody upon his release from the hospital. She would try to contact the birth mother, holding on to hope that as long as he was in the hospital there was still a chance she could make an adoption plan, but it was a long shot. Just like that everything changed. The world crashed around me. I went from the ultimate excitement to a pain I didn't think was possible. We always knew that there was a risk of a birthmother changing her mind. It's always there in the back of your mind, but knowing it didn't prepare us for the pain of it happening. Actual physical pain. Curled in a ball on the floor sobbing kind of pain. I got off the phone and realized that I had to tell Shaun and Hannah. And my parents. How in the world was I going to tell Hannah that she wasn't getting the little brother she was so excited for? I tried to compose myself as best as I could and I called her into the living room. I'll never forget seeing my sweet, innocent little girl crumble to the floor in tears, her whole body shaking as I told her. She kept asking "why?" and it was something I couldn't answer. I then had to call Shaun and tell him. I still don't understand why it hurt so much to lose someone we never met. Then I think about him. For six days, I had a son. For six days, Hannah had a little brother. I felt like I had lost a piece of myself. Like I was living in a horrible nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. We didn't tell anyone outside of our family that we were getting a baby, so no one knew. As hard as it was to keep the happy secret, it was even worse to keep the horrible one. I had to pretend that everything was normal. I had to pretend that my heart wasn't broken into a million pieces. People would ask "So, how's the adoption going? Anything new?" I'd just smile and say, "not yet, still waiting." Every time I'd reply, the weight of our loss came back upon me. I thought about that little boy every day. Praying that he was ok. Wishing that he knew that for six days, he had a family that loved him. For six days he had a big sister. For six days he had the happiest parents on the planet. I wondered if he was ok. If he was loved.

Six months went by. The pain lessened, life went on, I got to meet my beautiful and amazing niece. Still, in the quiet of night, or a random time during the day, I'd think of our almost little boy. I'd wonder if he was smiling like my niece. If he could roll over, or sit up. I hoped he was happy, loved.
Then six weeks ago I got an email. The birth mom had contacted the agency and wanted to make an adoption plan. The baby was in DSS custody, so it would be difficult for the agency to get involved with his placement. The email asked if we were interested in pursuing this. We agreed, but said that if his current foster parents were planning on adopting him, we wouldn't try to pull him from that situation. We weren't going to fight DSS, or take him from the only parents he's ever known. Our caseworker said that she'd get in touch with her attorney and they would look into his situation. I don't think I can adequately put into words the anxiety of waiting to find out if this little boy was meant to be ours. Shaun and I didn't tell anyone. Not Hannah, not Mom. We weren't going to put them through the stress or heartbreak of another failure. So, we dealt with it quietly and alone. Finally, after six weeks of anxiety, we spoke with the attorney and decided that based on the information we had, the emotional and financial risk of pursuing this further wasn't something we are comfortable with. We aren't wiling to risk the money that people have given to us and raised for us. If we attempted a legal battle with DSS and lost, we would lose the money we have for our adoption and that would be the end. If we lost, then we not only lost the money that was so generously given to us, but we would lose the chance of ever adopting. I couldn't fathom telling Hannah that it was never going to happen, or telling those that helped us that we lost the money. We made this decision a week ago. Not a second goes by that I don't wonder if we made the right choice, but it was our only choice. I will never stop praying for our almost little boy. I will always think of him and wonder if he's ok, if he's loved, if he's happy.

Now what? Now we continue waiting. We wait for another birth mother to choose us. If that happens, we will do things differently. We won't tell Hannah until papers have been signed. We won't tell anyone. I can't put Hannah through the heartbreak again. I won't. So, we wait. We wait for another phone call. We wait, this time a little more guarded, a little less optimistic and a little more realistic.