At the time of its creation, I was working full time on an Oncology unit as a Patient Care Technician while waiting to get accepted to nursing school. I adored my job more than any I have ever had, yet it carried huge amounts of heartache that still linger. I can still hear the Code alarm echoing through the halls, the wails of family members being informed of their loved ones' deaths, the sobs of a wife upon hearing her husband's terminal diagnosis. I can still see the pain-stricken face of the 30 year-old laboring to take her last breaths in the face of breast cancer and I can still see the grief overtaking the girl my age who lost her baby as a result of her cancer.
It was the latter set of of circumstances that gave way to thirty-six hours of sleepless, tear-filled painting. When the last stroke was finished, I didn't even want to look at her. I turned the painting towards the wall. I was exhilarated, having never painted with such passion or personal connection before, but I didn't want to see my own interpretation of the heartache and pain that I had observed and internalized.
After a few days, the turmoil gave way and I realized how cathartic the experience had been and went on to create another mixed media piece dealing with breast cancer. I nervously shared them online and was relieved at the responses I received. Still, the painting remained behind my door facing the wall and eventually, after packing it away, I forgot about it. Yesterday, an artist I follow on facebook posted a link to a collaboration of art by women that was accepting submissions. I decided to contribute my piece on infertility but I wasn't prepared for the emotional onslaught when I pulled the image up on my computer.
This is where things get intensely personal.
Many of you were aware of the complications I had following the birth of our daughter. In short, I almost died a few hours after her delivery and though the doctor had a decent guess at what might have caused the problems, we still don't have a definite reason why it happened. In light of this uncertainty, we made the difficult decision to surgically end our chances at having another child. I didn't think much of it for the first few months in all the chaos of having a new baby in the house, but the reality of never having another child lingered in the back of my mind and began to weigh very heavily upon me. At first I would try to make myself feel better by telling myself all the things we'd be able to let our daughter experience (camps! sports! travel!) that we wouldn't be able to afford with another child. I'd tell myself it was better to only have one with all the traveling we do in the Army. And then a friend would say the dreaded words "well, when you have your second child...." or "when are you guys going to try again?" and my paper walls would shred and the ugly reality lurking behind them would be glaring me in the face again.
It was during this very dark period that I suddenly began noticing the word "adoption" showing up on my facebook mini-feed a lot more than it used to. A former teacher here, some friends picking up their new sons in Russia there, another friend waiting for her daughter in China and my two friends in Africa waiting for their foster babies to get their forever family. I ignored it at first, dismissing it as a coincidence but it soon became very apparent that I wasn't going to escape the "A" word any time soon. I've never been against adoption, but like most healthy young females, I had a plan that involved two or three biological children exactly two years apart. I wasn't supposed to be the one rendered infertile by a freak accident on the delivery bed.
I reluctantly began considering adoption and was fairly shocked to discover my own selfishness. I found myself wondering how I could ever love a child that I hadn't carried for nine months. I balked at the thought of bringing another child into our home who might take some of our financial resources away from our "own" daughter. My list of concerns was endless, each reason more ridiculous than the one before it. I found myself sharing these with my brother in law's girlfriend one day and she wisely recommended the book Adopted for Life. I hadn't read two pages before I was in tears.
The fact was, I wanted to want to adopt. When I pictured children in orphanages all around the world, I couldn't bear the thought of one of them growing up forgotten when I had the resources to rescue from that and give them a family. In my heart I was hanging on to something that would never be and was wallowing in my grief rather than opening my eyes and my arms to a child desperately in need of a mom and a dad and a sister. I poured through the first chapter of that book with tears streaming down my face. I grieved openly for the first time since May and I told God I was ready to do what I knew he wanted me to do.
I felt like a new person but there was still one potential issue: my husband. One of the very few things we had never discussed was adoption and I had absolutely no idea how he would feel about the idea. I had also never really discussed my inner struggle over the events following our daughter's birth and I didn't want to bring all of this up over Skype with him halfway around the world. So again, I prayed. I prayed that if we were supposed to pursue adoption, God would work in my husband's heart completely apart from me saying anything. I decided to wait and see what happened. I admit that I had several "oh ye of little faith" moments, figuring that he wouldn't want to even consider the idea and feeling rather certain that he would never bring it up on his own, especially before he came home.
Never underestimate God.
We were chatting one day on Skype when he asked me completely out of the blue, "do you want to adopt?". I was floored. I tentatively responded that I was "thinking about it" and was completely unprepared for his extremely positive response. He had been thinking about it for a while himself and informed me that the Army would actually contribute to the cost of the adoption process. In that moment, I felt like the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. We continued talking and he suggested we consider China since he speaks the language and we may end up living there one day, another answer to prayer as I had really felt God laying China on my heart in the days prior.
I was euphoric that night after hanging up. I felt closure, like I could finally stop grieving. I went out and bought a giant pink Rubbermaid container and for the first time was able to pack my daughter's outgrown clothes away without my heart breaking, knowing that the next time I see them I'll have my second daughter in my arms.
Three years ago, the woman in the painting was the visage of grief, of resignation to a fate unfairly placed upon her. She embodied what I saw rather than what I felt. Today she is Strength. She lifts her eyes to the one who carries her through the valley, and though her womb is empty, she opens her arms to those who need her. She is me.
So where does this leave us? Waiting. Which is completely fine as we have a big year ahead of us career-wise and also a gorgeous little girl who is already growing up too fast. China requires both of us to be thirty before we can even apply to adopt so we're looking at three years before we can even begin the process and it will be anyone's guess how long we will wait once it's begun. In the meantime, I'm reading everything I can on the subject and enjoying my little family and feeling very blessed to have Life!
