Letting go...

Our trust has been betrayed on so many levels through our failed adoption.  It is only by pouring out our grief that we can move on, regain hope and open our hearts to the next baby that enters our life.  Bear with me…

I have to preface this letter by saying that this was the most perfect adoption scenario that Kris and I could have ever imagined.  Over the three weeks that we had to prepare for our baby girl, things were happening ever-so-flawlessly.  We had things in common with the birth family, we connected on a very personal level with the family, felt like part of the family and we grew to love each of them.  Our birth mom was adopted and her adoptive parents were amazingly supportive of her decision (so it seemed at the time) and they saw so much of themselves in Kris and I as they watched us prepare for the arrival of our daughter.  It was a spiritual connection that we will never forget.  Our birth mom’s caseworker was not religious, but she even felt a divine intervention in our adoption.

Hope that we will still bring 'Emeline' home; that the birth mom will change her mind and realize she was wrong, is the hardest part to let go of - though logically we know this won’t happen.  I felt God’s hand in this adoption each step of the way.  Kris and I were so at peace and it could have only been God’s doing.  I just knew in my heart with absolutely no reservations, that this was God’s plan for us and that this baby was the baby that was always meant for our family.  Ella was conceived on the month we chose adoption, we found out about her exactly one month before our year anniversary of finding out we couldn't have children and she was born one week before that date.  All of these signs restored our hope of becoming a family and we just knew that she was meant to be our baby.  But why did it end this way?  We will never know…

We didn’t just lose our daughter; we lost three other individuals (our birth mom and her parents) that we truly cared about.  As angry as we are, I just can’t seem to get them off my mind…

**This letter was written by Kris to our birth mom’s parents on our plane ride home from Pittsburgh.**

The past 24 hours have been the absolute hardest time in my life.  It will hopefully remain that way.  I want you to know that what follows below comes from genuine love, but I need you to understand my feelings, positive and negative, as part of my grieving process and in order for me to move on with my life and my family.

The conversations and personal interactions that your family and mine have shared over the past few weeks were truly amazing – the best I could have asked for.  We seemed to hit it off from the start and Ashley and I always felt like part of the family and at home with all three of you.  Thank you for sharing that with us.  We have loved your daughter since the first words out of her mouth and she will always have a truly special place in our hearts and minds.  We love her quirkiness, her bubbliness and her larger-than-life aspirations, and many more things.  She is truly a beautiful person.

Over the last two days, I have experienced the greatest high of my life and the greatest low of my life – all within a few hours.  On Friday at 6:30pm I got to hold my daughter for the first time, feed her, kiss her and whisper sweet things in her ear.  I got to see her open her eyes for the first time and stick her tongue out at me.  It was a truly remarkable moment that I will never forget.  I will never forget the look of her face, her features and everything about her.  I can’t erase that from my memory no matter how hard I try.  I still see her face now.

Then two hours later that all came crashing down in the most unexpected of experiences.  I struggle to understand how within two hours the most definitive of decisions, something your family promised us again and again and again could have changed completely.  Why were we allowed to meet our daughter at the hospital early, something your family had decided, if there was any doubt in your minds?  Why was I allowed to hold my daughter, to feed my daughter and love on my daughter if there was no intention on following through with the adoption plan that we had agreed to?  I’m absolutely angry right now and want you to know the hurt I feel.

Almost one year ago today to the date Ashley and I received the worst news we had ever received – we were unable to have biological children of our own.  We had gone through four rounds of in-vitro fertilization, including a failed pregnancy attempt working with an egg donor.  Simply put, we are unable to have a daughter biologically.  What your daughter had graciously offered to us was something we could never have created on our own.  And it was taken away from us in an instant.

Perhaps the thing that hurts the most is how the tables were turned in this situation.  We were always open to sharing Emeline’s pictures, experiences and stories with your family.  We promised you from the start that you would be included however much you wanted to be.  I don’t presume to know how difficult it is for your daughter to place her daughter for adoption, but I know that had she followed through with her plan she would have had the opportunity to say goodbye, kiss her daughter and say her piece.  We weren’t given that opportunity and that’s not fair.

I don’t know where the decision to change the adoption plan came about, but I know that one of the last words from your daughter’s mouth at the hospital was telling our daughter that “tomorrow you’re going home with them.”  Those six words are the reason I’m writing this letter to you both – whether the decision was your daughter’s alone or whether you influenced that decision, I’ll never know.  When we got the call Friday night, it was the one and only question I had for you in order to grasp what happened.  I did not get a response and that hurts more than you could possibly ever know.

While March 8^th will always be a special day and one that I’ll stop and think back on, it’s a bitter sweet one.  I look forward to thinking about Ella and what she’s doing, how she looks and what she’s like as a person.  But at the same time it truly is the day that I lost my daughter Emeline.  It’s not as if she was just someone in name, in principal, or on a sonogram.  I held her, touched her face, kissed her lips and got to know her, even if only for a couple of hours.  I’m sure you can appreciate that fact as you remember back on the first time you held your daughter.  

Our family and friends mourn with us during this difficult time.  You see we forwarded the pictures of Emeline, her birth details and every update as soon as we received them from you.  They were all thrilled and in tears.  And they were in tears again when we sent them the news today that Ashley and I would be leaving Pittsburgh just the two of us, again with empty arms just as we started this journey.

People say everything happens for a reason and that God has a plan for us all.  I don’t know what that plan is for me and it’s going to take a while to figure that out I suppose.

What you decide to do with this letter is completely up to you.  I’ve purposefully written this letter to you and you only because I can only start to understand the pain that your daughter is going through right now.  I want you to know that I write this with love in my heart; I realize some of the things I’ve written are not easy to read, but they’re my feelings nonetheless and I wanted you to know.

We sincerely wish you and your family nothing but the best.  Please don’t ever take this sweet, beautiful baby girl for granted – she is more than perfect to us.   

         

Kris and Ashley

It's time to let go, regain hope and learn to trust once again.