My wife Patty and I sat in the chilly, too-bright doctor’s office and tried to
digest the news: Procedure didn’t work... wouldn’t advise trying again...
chances of success are limited... I held her hand, but I doubt she noticed;
she was just staring at the floor. I’m sure she thought her inability to
conceive was her fault.
“So where do we go from here?” I asked.
The doctor shut his folder, finished with us. “There’s always adoption.”
We
hadn’t planned to adopt. But then again, we hadn’t planned on not being able to
have kids of our own. Who does? It’s one of those things you spend your entire
life not thinking about until it happens to you. Until it’s in your lap, and
it’s like someone made this tragic decision about your life and you didn’t have
a say in it.
I reacted by burying myself in work
and coaching a youth football team evenings and weekends. Being surrounded by
kids,
even if they weren’t mine, had a comforting effect on me. Their
respectful but affectionate shouts of “Hey, Coach! Look! Watch me!” told me I
would have been a good father.
Patty’s sadness went deeper, but didn’t
linger like mine. She turned out to be more resilient, and only a few months
went by before she said, “I believe there’s a child out there for us, waiting
for us. I believe that’s the reason we couldn’t have our own.”
“Maybe,” I said. I wasn’t in that place yet. I’d accepted the circumstances, but
wasn’t ready to look on the bright side of it.
“Bob, let’s adopt.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to love someone else’s kid,” I told her
honestly.
“You love the kids you coach.”
“That’s different.”
“What if I could guarantee that you would love an adopted child just as much
as if it had come from us?”
“You can’t.”
She smiled, eyes excited.
“What if I told you I already know a little girl who needs to be
adopted?”
“What?”
“It’s so sad, Bob! Her mother has some
heavy duty emotional issues and can’t take care of her. She’s in her fourth
foster home.”
“Wait,” I said, “just wait. Who is she? How do you know
her?”
“My father knows her case worker. Imagine? It’s like fate! She
needs a mother and a father, and we need a child.”
I scowled, unwilling to
hope, getting grouchy just thinking about it. Like suddenly the world is going
to stand on its ear to cooperate? I’d gotten used to the idea that we would
never have a child. Adopting meant taking a risk: an emotional investment. I
wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t do it, no way. “How old is she?" I heard myself
ask.
“Six. She’s an absolute doll! You’re going to love her, you’ll see!
Should I make an appointment with the agency?”
No! I sighed.
“Okay.”
Five days later, Patty’s father called and
said, “Okay, she’s here! Come over and meet her!”
digest the news: Procedure didn’t work... wouldn’t advise trying again...
chances of success are limited... I held her hand, but I doubt she noticed;
she was just staring at the floor. I’m sure she thought her inability to
conceive was her fault.
“So where do we go from here?” I asked.
The doctor shut his folder, finished with us. “There’s always adoption.”
We
hadn’t planned to adopt. But then again, we hadn’t planned on not being able to
have kids of our own. Who does? It’s one of those things you spend your entire
life not thinking about until it happens to you. Until it’s in your lap, and
it’s like someone made this tragic decision about your life and you didn’t have
a say in it.
I reacted by burying myself in work
and coaching a youth football team evenings and weekends. Being surrounded by
kids,
even if they weren’t mine, had a comforting effect on me. Their
respectful but affectionate shouts of “Hey, Coach! Look! Watch me!” told me I
would have been a good father.
Patty’s sadness went deeper, but didn’t
linger like mine. She turned out to be more resilient, and only a few months
went by before she said, “I believe there’s a child out there for us, waiting
for us. I believe that’s the reason we couldn’t have our own.”
“Maybe,” I said. I wasn’t in that place yet. I’d accepted the circumstances, but
wasn’t ready to look on the bright side of it.
“Bob, let’s adopt.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to love someone else’s kid,” I told her
honestly.
“You love the kids you coach.”
“That’s different.”
“What if I could guarantee that you would love an adopted child just as much
as if it had come from us?”
“You can’t.”
She smiled, eyes excited.
“What if I told you I already know a little girl who needs to be
adopted?”
“What?”
“It’s so sad, Bob! Her mother has some
heavy duty emotional issues and can’t take care of her. She’s in her fourth
foster home.”
“Wait,” I said, “just wait. Who is she? How do you know
her?”
“My father knows her case worker. Imagine? It’s like fate! She
needs a mother and a father, and we need a child.”
I scowled, unwilling to
hope, getting grouchy just thinking about it. Like suddenly the world is going
to stand on its ear to cooperate? I’d gotten used to the idea that we would
never have a child. Adopting meant taking a risk: an emotional investment. I
wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t do it, no way. “How old is she?" I heard myself
ask.
“Six. She’s an absolute doll! You’re going to love her, you’ll see!
Should I make an appointment with the agency?”
No! I sighed.
“Okay.”
Five days later, Patty’s father called and
said, “Okay, she’s here! Come over and meet her!”