Death and Adoption

Every now and then when I am struggling I find myself wandering/ surfing on blogs of mothers who have lost children. Some blogs have become famous because of their experiences and others are just telling it like it is. I remember shortly after giving Colin up a family friend said, adoption is like death because you know your child is in a better place and you are happy for them, but you are not able to see them. As I have come to read more and more "angel mom" blogs I have noticed some very big differences in the kind(s) of loss that is felt.

No matter how much positive information is shared about adoption, it is still looked upon as some sort of social taboo. "Oh you gave your baby up for adoption?" translation- you didn't want to keep your baby? You must have been young and forced into it. You must have had an immoral relationship to end up in that situation and so on. Death, not so much, after all everybody dies it's a natural part of life.

Mourning an adoption feels like something I am often forced to do in private, because it was part of another relationship that ended horribly. Its not a time in my life that I like sharing and many times I don't feel like people know what to say when I do. When I read these blogs I cannot describe my absolute envy that those mom's are able to share their grief with their husbands. I have no one earthly person I can truly share my grief with. David is AMAZING, so supportive, he listens and most of all he loves me, but he was not there with me when it happened and Colin is not his son.

Grieving a lost child is normal and people are easily expected to take weeks, months, years and lifetimes to come to grips with it, but adoption is not the same. When I talk about Colin I still feel like I am raising a social faux pas. It's weird to many people, they don't understand why I need to be able to talk about it and I can often see their inability to understand or discomfort when I openly share my experience. I try not to hold it against people, because I know they mean well, but even those within my family have essentially poo-pooed my mentioning of Colin on various occasions. It's frustrating.

 During my pregnancy with Colin I found that I had shut down emotionally and so now that I have come away from the initial pain talking about my experience brings me relief. I do not desire to talk about Colin often, mainly because I feel that I have moved on quite well, so occasionally when I do want to discuss my experience I wish it was not such an ordeal. 

Another element of adoption compared to the death of a child that I have had to come to reality with is what comes after this life. So many mothers find exquisite comfort in the thought of raising their lost child in the life to come and being sealed to their child forever. Colin was born within the covenant, but he is now sealed to his family and I am now sealed to David. 

This subject can be quite frustrating because my previous sealing to my ex is what initially (among MANY other things) made me feel like adoption would be right for Colin and myself. I did not want to keep my baby only to have my ex refuse to let me and my son be sealed to someone else when the time came. Then even after Colin was sealed to his family I had to wait for my sealing to be broken before I could marry David. It was all very complicated and time consuming, however, I am so very thankful it has all been resolved.

Over the last couple of years I have even noticed that in many ways I also feel a strong connection to those who struggle with infertility. Sometimes even more so than women who have lost a baby, because infertility is the sense of missing something you never really had. If that makes any sense. A while back a read a quote from Laura Bush on a blog about her ordeal with infertility and I was quite moved by it because I KNEW exactly how she felt.

"The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence.  For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child, or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful, some not.  Still, we are conditioned to say something, even if it is only "I am sorry for you loss."  But for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness.  For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent, ephemeral shadows over their lives.  Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?"

Another thing I read about infertility that I can relate to so much was basically just a list of personal and/ or inappropriate questions or statements that people love to ask about in our particular circle of religion. The one that used to get me really upset (before I had Davie) was ANY comment related to me dealing with kids, because I nannied and was in nursery/ primary, that said something like "jeesh, isn't that great birth control!?" And no. The answer was always no, especially in nursery because so many of the little boys and girls were Colin's age at the time. The other one that I have learned to let bother me less was comments about "you can have one of our kids!" I know it's a joke and there are certainly days when Davie has me on my last nerve, but I really do my best to not say that EVER. I've learned that begging for a sitter is a much better solution to my troubles.

The fact that I now have Davie definitely eases my pain, but I cannot (and no other birth mother) be expected to be "all better" after having another baby. You can never replace a child. Filling my arms with one baby does not take away the loss of the other, there is no substitution. I think about what my life would be like with Colin in it almost everyday. And one of the only things that makes it better is knowing he has a stable home and had one from the moment he was born.

These are the moments I have to look to the gospel to find meaning in all the horribleness that can be had in the aftermath of my experience. Because I have no one person on this earth that can help me process my feelings I try my best to rely on my Savior for solace. While I was pregnant with Colin and shortly after I found this much easier because my feelings were quite raw and near the surface. As I have come away from this trial my ability to express myself in words, even in prayer, is often lost. I'm still not sure if I can say I am thankful for the experience. I know I am thankful for my life now and I can appreciate the personal strength I have gained from such a pivotal and permanent decision. Just like the death of a child, I have to keep reminding myself that time will heal all and for everything else there is the love of my family, my Heavenly Father and my Savior.