Similarly Different - what adoption means to me.

I guess it was going to happen sometime. We were driving today and Emma said it again "My eyes are brown, and Alina's and Samuel's and Isaac's are all blue"

It is true. There are six people in our family, 5 of us have blue eyes. 

Shawn's mom has brown eyes, and we have been telling her that her eyes are like her Grandma's. That is true as well, and I don't feel bad for saying it. But that is not where her beautiful, brown eyes came from. 

They came from Lucille. Emma's birthmom. In fact, everything about Emma looks like Lucille. She has long, willowy legs, and the cutest little pixie face that you have ever seen. 

Don't believe me? Take a look...

She is four now. And she is starting to realize that she looks a little different than us. So, I am trying to weave this topic into conversation. "Hey Emma...do you remember that you grew in Lucille's tummy?"

"Yeah," she says, "and Alina, and the boys grew in yours"

"Hey babe, that is why your eyes are brown. You look like Lucille, and you are beautiful, just like she is"

"Ok, mom." and today, for some reason she said "Someone planned that whole thing out."

"Yes, honey, it was all planned out."

And it was. Down to the minute. By Lucille.

Four years ago, a very brave, young mother decided to do something indescribable. This 18 year old, planned the whole thing out. We sat in a meeting at the hospital with Lucille, her mom, the head nurse, a social worker, Shawn and me. She wanted a plan, a pattern in place so when the baby was born she would know what to do.

As very humbled recipients of this indescribable gift, we listened as she said "When the baby is born and cleaned off, it will be placed on my chest for a moment and then I will hand the baby to Keri"

This was a heart wrenching situation for all of us. Shawn and I had already walked through an adoption that fell through. That means that we left the hospital once, with no baby in hand, and packed up a prepared nursery, put away sterilized bottles and cried ourselves to sleep because there was no one to keep us up. We had done that, and we were not anxious to go through it again. But there we were. This one seemed different, but there are no guarantees are there?

So, the night came, the call came. Lucille was in labor, we raced to the hospital (there is actually a longer story of course, but I will skip that for now), and we met her there in the middle of a contraction. She was so brave, so strong, and doing something that I had not been able to experience yet: childbirth. In 3 short hours, Emma was born. They laid this new, black haired beauty on Lucille's chest, one kiss and then Lucille said "give her to her mom".

And that was it. Emma has been my girl, my beautiful, funny, smart, talkative girl ever since.

It still takes my breath away.

Lucille wrote her a letter while Emma was still in her tummy, a letter for a later date. When a more mature daughter can read it and understand. In it, my favourite sentiment about adoption stands out by a mile: "I didn't give you away because I don't love you. I gave you to Shawn and Keri because I love you so much that I want you to have the best for your life, a mom and a dad together" (it has been awhile since I have read it, but that is the gist).

This is adoption. In its purest sense. But, there are lots of other issues that can clutter the process.

I remember sitting in our adoption seminar and hearing stories about questions that people ask when you are an adoptive family. I think that multi-racial families get the worst of it: "how much did you pay for them?", "they must feel so fortunate to have been adopted by you", and other crazy statements made by people who simply do not know better. My personal favourite was said to me at a baby shower not long after Emma was born. A lovely lady, trying to be funny said "It must have been easy for you...you just went to the hospital and picked up a baby". Yeah.. that was not what happened.

I have to say though, in fairness to those who have not been on the adoption roller coaster, it can be hard to sustain small talk. This reality came crashing in on me when we were camping a few weeks ago.

We were in the pool with a lot of different kinds of kids in the pool. Different languages, different colours of skin, all families, all different. This didn't strike us as odd at first, but then as we watched, we noticed they all seemed to know each other. In our small talk with the other parents we came to understand that they were a support group for adoptive families. Small talk continued with great effort to not say anything stupid or insensitive, and one mom said this all important phrase:

"It is good for us to get away, and be together, the kids get to relax. We are all similarly different"

And I realized again that we belong to a beautiful community of people who have all been through incredible heartache, and incredible joy.

Sometimes people dream of adopting children from a young age, but I think most of the time adoption becomes a viable option when other options turn out to be different than we expect.

I never quite know what to say to someone when they begin to talk about adopting a child. I kind of want to ask them if they are willing to open their chests and let a stranger, usually a young stranger, take an in depth tour of all of your deepest longings and fears. To be willing to  share a supremely intimate season, when all things are disclosed and the outcome is unknown. It is one minute faith, the next minute fear. One minute hope, the next minute despair.

But then that glorious moment comes (and it will certainly come): "Give her to her mom"

And we became parents.

It was worth every one of those emotions.

She was worth it all.

She has her birth-mom's beautiful brown eyes, but she has our hearts wholly and completely.

Yes, we are different. But we are similar in our differences with many, many other miracle families.

We are similarly different. And very grateful to be so.