Adoption – A Beautiful Gift

With November being recognized as National Adoption Month, I didn’t want to let the month slip by without recognizing it in a post. Adoption is near and dear to my heart for a couple reasons.

The first reason: this guy

My son. No, I didn’t carry him in my own tummy or give birth to him. He is mine through adoption. And I love him with the same depth of maternal love that I feel for my two biological (and now adult) children. He is legally my child and he is, in my heart, my child.

Unlike many parents who are for one reason or another choosing to pursue adoption, our adoption story didn’t start out that way.

As I said, I have two biological children of my own (boy and girl) and my husband who I married in 2007 has three (two girls and a boy). With the exception of his son who was twelve when we met, the rest were in their teens or out of high school. He and I were 21 and 20 respectively when we became parents. We were looking forward to being young enough when our kids were grown to do some of the things that we’d not been able to do while raising the younglings. (The combined hit of divorce and raising five kids is hard on the bank account!) We were not planning on having any more of our own.

God had other plans

(I debated sharing these details but in the end decided not to just gloss over things. I want others to know they aren’t alone as they struggle with the pain of a loved one’s addiction and the fallout from it. I want them also to be aware that someone else understands the agonizing pain they feel, especially as a parent watching helplessly as the evil monster of addiction controls the life and actions of the child they dearly love.)

We learned that my then 19-year-old daughter was pregnant at almost exactly the same time we discovered she was injecting heroin. Words can’t properly convey the intense sucker punch to the gut!

I was terrified she’d end up with HIV or that she’d overdose and die. I ached from the pain I knew she must be feeling and was likely trying to medicate. I wanted to help her. At the same time I was angry – angry at her for using and angry at the things she was doing to support the habit (including stealing from us – because that’s what addiction does to someone). And then there was this new life inside her – my grandchild. He/she needed protected, too.

I prayed she wouldn’t choose abortion, yet I knew as an adult she could legally make her own decisions. At the same time I had no idea how she would parent a child on her own in her present condition. She was unable to adequately care for herself. How would she ever care for a vulnerable child?

She got set up at a methadone clinic (to try and ease her off the heroin) and I drove her to a few appointments before she chose to run back to Minneapolis and hang with friends. I’m not sure how much heroin she used while pregnant but I learned after the fact that our boy was repeatedly pickled in alcohol during his early prenatal journey. She wasn’t seeing an OB/GYN, or any doctor, for that matter. She was unaware of the danger of fetal alcohol exposure. And she was angry – angry at the world, angry at the man who she thought was the father and who was not playing nice, and I believe angry at herself as well.

Things start to get real

Five months into her pregnancy my phone rang. It was her on the other end and she was crying inconsolably. I could barely make out what she was saying – she’d been mugged, she was afraid, she wanted to come home. I was frightened too but for different reasons. Still, we knew what we needed to do. We brought her back to our house.

On the plus side, her local party friends weren’t as keen on hanging with her when she was visibly pregnant. She spent most of her time at home eating and sharing spoonfuls of her food with our dog. There was peace for a while, and the joyful anticipation of a new life.

However, we also knew that she was going to struggle mightily as a single parent. We were aware we would have to step up to the plate and help her out. That freedom we envisioned when we were first married wasn’t going to materialize quite yet. We agreed to allow her to remain with us with the understanding that she would be drug free. Also, once her baby arrived and she’d had some settle-in time, she was to look for a part-time evening job so that we could care for him while she earned a little money and gained experience. I reminded her, “I plan to be the grandparent, not the parent.”

Famous last words…

Despite best laid plans, things went south in a hurry. She was hired at the nightclub her friend worked at. This was not the position we desired for her nor the hours we wanted (I didn’t enjoy picking her up downtown at 2am when I had to be at work at 8am), and certainly not the environment we felt was safe given her addiction history. Within six weeks of her son’s birth she was staying with friends all weekend while we took care of him and prayed she’d return by Monday morning so we could leave for work. There were signs things were deteriorating and I feared for his safety while we were gone during the day. Thankfully the Lord protected him.

Everything came to a head when at three months old he contracted RSV and was hospitalized. DHS got involved (there’s more to the story – they don’t just show up out of nowhere). We were presented with two options: ask my daughter to leave and become guardians for her son – or – she stays and he’s taken from her and put into foster care. We had 24 hours to make the decision because the hospital needed to know who to release him to.

Life will never be the same – and that’s okay!

The decision was clear from the beginning but oh so difficult! It was heartbreaking to tell my baby girl she had to leave – and to leave her son in our care. I could see in her eyes how it crushed her, and the anger. However, he was also family and he was a young child unable to care for himself. We rapidly pivoted from grandparents of an infant to parents including needing to quickly find a daycare (thankfully the Lord led us to a good one).

Over the next several months I prayed she’d make it a priority to work with the court and DHS and that she’d be able to get her life together so that she and her son could be reunited. It became apparent this was not going to be the case. She wasn’t ready to be a mom but I’m proud of her for understanding the importance of stability for her son. She voluntarily allowed her parental rights to be terminated. After a number of additional court appearances, a home study, background checks, personal references, physicals and I don’t remember what else (adoption is a lot of work) we legally became his parents on June 16, 2021!

We were 44 years old when he was born. Energy levels are not what they were in our 20’s when we parented the first time around. I fight concerns knowing how old we’ll be when he graduates from high school – will we still be healthy, or alive? What about the alcohol and drugs he was exposed to in utero? Will they affect him long-term? Will he be successful on his own? We see signs of ADHD and he struggles with sensitivities and low frustration tolerance. He can be impulsive. How much is genetic vs. prenatal effects? It has the ability to worry me sick if I let it.

I believe our son’s adoption is just another way God is working in our lives to grow and mature us. I can’t control the things above (much as I’d like to as a control freak). Only God knows how they will all turn out. I must trust Him to provide what we need. My responsibility is to do the very best I can to parent this child who has been entrusted to our care and that we love so dearly! It’s all an exercise of faith.

How do we tell him he’s adopted?

Because of the family dynamics and the situation with my daughter we knew it would be a uncomfortable discussion. She’s still using, has continued to spiral further down, and is homeless in Minneapolis at this point. She’s in and out of jail and has so far refused to enter treatment for her addictions. While I pray often for her and I know with God all things are possible, we knew her current situation would be difficult to explain to our son so we chose to wait until he was older to inform him he was adopted. We knew when he asked about his biological parents we would be truthful and we felt with more maturity it would be easier for him to understand how things transpired.

In ways I wish we’d shared it with him sooner. We started out when he was an infant referring to ourselves as Grandma and Papa. He revised that early on to Mama and Dad (likely picked up from daycare – he has no memory of it) and even after being told of his adoption has chosen to refer to us that way. As he said, “You’re the only mom and dad I’ve known.”

I know he longs to understand what happened and why. I also believe he struggles with not knowing who his biological father is. He has asked. We don’t know either, not for certain. The guy my daughter initially claimed was the father was proven not to be, and the second guy refused to appear for paternity testing at all. This is a subject that will likely get more attention as he ages.

I’m grateful he wasn’t angry when he found out – not at us and not at my daughter. Shocked and a little sad, yes, but he knows she loved him and wanted the best for him. He used to say about adoption (before he had a clue that he, too, was adopted) how lucky those children were, because their parents chose them and loved them even though they didn’t have to. I believe he understands this with himself as well. I may be his biological grandmother, but I’m his mother in every other way, no different than any other adoptive parent.

And he is my son.

The second reason: I’m adopted, too

Yep, that’s right. And so are you, if you are a Christian. I’d like to believe my firsthand experience with adoption (from the parental side) has given me a greater understanding of God’s love for his children.

Don’t misunderstand me – I can’t possibly comprehend the love he feels for us! I’m a frail human. I love with imperfect human feelings and actions. I make mistakes (often) in my parenting.

God is perfect. His intentions are perfect. His love is perfect. And that perfect love longed so much to make a way for us to be reunited with him that he willingly gave his own son, Jesus, to die in our place. When we trust in Christ’s righteousness, he breaks the chains of our sin and rebellion so that they no longer dominate us. More than that, he covers us in his own righteousness so that we can freely come to God. He opens the door to that eternal relationship for us.

But we don’t come just as random people reaching out to to their king. We are his children! We are family! God is our “Abba, Father”. Jesus is our brother! Let that sink in…

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God;

1 John 3:1

And because God is a good Father, he gives us good gifts. Granted, some things may not feel good at the time. Discipline and training aren’t often enjoyable when they happen but as parents we know they are what our children need in order to be their best. God’s primary desire is our spiritual maturity and His glory. We may not receive the job we wanted. Or the car we wanted. Or the answer to prayer that we initially hoped for (like praying that my daughter would step up her parenting game back in 2010).

But God gives us the gifts that are best for us. He knows us. He created us. He cares for us!

Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!

Matthew 7:9-11

Just as children trust their parents (at least they do while they’re still young), we need to trust our living God and heavenly Father. Unlike earthly parents – biological or adoptive – who may at times let us down, God never will!