Is it happy, or is it sad?

So I've noticed that when I blog about adoption, I get many more "views" than when I blog about grief. And I get that, because it's hard to read about sad things, and it's fun to read about happy things.

Today, though, I want to talk about where grief and adoption intersect. You might think, say what? Isn't adoption a wonderful, loving choice? Parents who adopt, rescuing babies and children from difficult circumstances, following a path that few dare to tread. Isn't it a wonderful, happy, heroic experience?

You guessed it -- adoption is not all walking on sunshine. There are many facets of grief associated with adoption.

First, let's look at the birth parents. They will at some point experience a deep grief and loss over losing their child. Maybe they gave them up voluntarily, or maybe their hand was forced (depending on the country and circumstances). But speaking as someone who knows what it is like to lose a child, my heart goes out to the birth parents of adoptees. I cannot imagine what they are going through, and I hope and pray they will find healing and peace.

Next, what about the adoptee? Shouldn't they be grateful they have been rescued from less than ideal circumstances? It isn't really as easy as that. They have lost the connection to their family, their roots. They have lost an essential part of their identity, which those of us raised by our biological families cannot comprehend. How often in our formative years have we thought, "I'm creative like my mom," or "I'm good at sports like my uncle," or "I like to eat sour foods like my grandmom...." The list goes on, and on, and on.

Adoptees have lost their moorings, and many have spent untold time and energy to track down their bio families and try to regain a sense of self. Most of their parents love them very, very much, even if they were unable to care for them for a time. (I do not speak from personal experience, only from hearing the stories of adoptees who are now adults, so please forgive me if I have misrepresented the perspective of an adoptee. I do not pretend to lump all together in one bucket, nor should we.)

Finally, adoptive parents experience loss as well. Many of us have not been able to have our own children, or if we have, some of us have lost those children due to cruel disease. There is a strong desire hard wired in our DNA to see our offspring, to observe as our own traits are carried on through the next generation. This is a grief on a primal level, as we let go of basic expectations that most of us held for the majority of our lives.

Right now, I am extremely excited about the possibility that we may be matched with our future children soon. At the same time, though, I am sad. Adoption is a wonderful gift, but it is also a symptom of an imperfect world. While we will be over the moon to welcome our future children into our home, we also have to keep in mind the journey of grief and loss that they and their bio family members will have to walk through.

It is a mix of both: happy and sad.

Feels Like Nesting

This is one of those weeks where blogging just isn't flowing naturally from my fingertips. I have started several posts, which are all still in draft mode, because I can't quite get at the essence of what I want to say.

There is a lot going on as we get ready for our adoption. We are rearranging things in the house, and I am preparing to give up the spare bedroom I've enjoyed using as an office for the past three years. It's a mix of feelings, sad and happy.

We don't have a timeline yet, but some promising prospects, and an office full of stuff that is being dis-assembled and dispatched to storage around the house, or the thrift store, or recycling as needed.

It feels a lot like nesting. Luke pointed it out to me tonight, and I think he was right. I've got the bug, and I'm making it happen, so we will be ready whenever the moment is right and there are kids that need our home.

So that's all for now, folks. Before I start second-guessing myself, I'm just going to hit the Publish button. If there are type-o's, the sun will still rise tomorrow.

A baked apple is waiting on the counter for our dessert... yummm... over and out.