My youngest son is adopted. We took a leap of faith and became foster parents and he came to live with us and joined our family. That is the happy story that we like to focus on. That is the truth, but only part of it. Because every adoption has another side to the story, one that is not so happy. Every adopted child came from somewhere, someone, and this child is no different. He was born to a man and a woman who lost custody of him, who seemed to disappear for a few years. But this past year they resurfaced. In February, I was invited to meet with his birth mom. She was in recovery, she was doing well, she wanted to see us. Me and him. So we went. We bundled up and braved the roads on an extremely snowy day, and we waited for her. As if that isn't weird enough, I was excited. I kept thinking I should feel nervous or afraid, but I was only looking forward to it. She came through the door and we hugged and she smiled and I felt a surge of connection with this woman who shares my son's eyes and smile. We shared a meal, and then she asked to contact me again. I nodded in agreement and passed our son to her arms so she could walk around with him a bit. Until that day, the woman we called Mama Jenny had just been a face in a photo, an idea that we talked about from time to time, but now she was flesh and blood and snuggles and laughter.
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| Two Mamas, February 2014 |
A few weeks later, she called us. Once again we met for a meal and once again she snuggled our son. And then I invited her to come to church with us the next day. And she did! We met again and walked through the park, with all of my kids in tow this time. We talked more and hugged and took pictures. My husband and I talked things over and decided we were ready to invite her to our house. On Memorial Day, we grilled food and my parents joined us and there was Mama Jenny, sitting on the lawn and chasing Michael and talking to my folks. Every week or so, we would meet up, spend time with the kids, and return to our homes. We text. We post photos of each other on Facebook. We share meals. We go to the park. We have picnics. It feels a little like I got to adopt a sister along with a son. Because we have more in common than just him. We played the same instrument in our high school matching bands. We love animals. We like coffee and donuts. We think Michael should eat more vegetables.
Right about now you're thinking there should be a "but". People love to interject their concern. But doesn't Michael get confused? But you are his "real" mother, right? But what if someday he chooses her over you? But what if she takes advantage of you? But what if she tries to take him?
Sometimes I'm tempted to let fear creep in to this thing we are doing. There is no road map, there are no self-help books to guide us, there is only the love I have for our son, which spills over to the woman who gave him life. Because this is the very bottom line: I love her. I love her the way you love your family. And the Bible says that perfect love casts out fear. When I'm tempted to draw a line between us, to see her as "them" and the people in my house as "us", I dig into that love. I choose love, because love is the most powerful force on earth. I choose inclusion because it just makes sense. I refuse to give in to hypothetical scenarios that are decades away, when each of us will be different versions of ourselves because we all will have grown and learned more and participated in life together. As for right now, no, Michael doesn't get confused. He has always been able to understand this idea of two moms and two dads and brothers that live in the same house and sisters who live somewhere else. We get confused because our minds are stuck in this mentality that only one woman can be Mom and if he is calling her Mom then I have somehow lost that position. It's ridiculous. And this thing about "real" mom vs. (I don't know) fake mom? It's not a competition. It's not about labels. Because I would lose. I mean, sure I've kissed booboos and changed diapers in the middle of the night and read stories, but she has the trump card. Without her, he wouldn't be here. So I don't keep a tally of who is doing more or who is more important. We are both the Mamas, and I'm fine with it.
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| Fourth of July 2014 |
As far as custody or kidnapping, I can't say for sure, but I'm thinking that our current arrangement is working well for everyone. I have a beautiful son whom I love. He has two women who are over the moon in love with him. She gets to have a relationship with a child she lost once before. Why would any of us jeopardize that? Love comes swiftly and without much effort for us, but trust is something we develop over time. I see the way she cares for him, I see how much she loves him. I am trusting her more each day, as she continues to show up and be his mom. I'm learning the beauty of sharing, which didn't seem to make sense all those years ago when I fought with my sister over Barbie dolls and clothes. It reminds me of the women who came to Solomon, both claiming to be the mother of one child. The wise king proposed that they cut the child in half, and each woman get part of him to take home. The woman who agreed to this horrifying "solution" was deemed the liar, because a REAL mother would rather see her son raised by another than hurt him. And so it is with us. We are both willing to sacrifice a sense of ownership over this boy in order to keep him in one piece. And love wins.
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