A few of you know that we recently made contact with the woman who gave birth to our youngest child.
We were so grateful to those of you reached out with love and support as we opened that doorway. When we gave a voice to the woman who betrayed our son.
It is a controversial topic. We know. Each adoptive family needs to decide for themselves whether that woman deserves to be heard or not. In our case she did. We looked at photos of her and her new family online, we decided that her home and her other children looked well loved and cared for. And we decided to give her a chance to right what she had done wrong. To give a voice to her sorrow.
Knowing that she still lives on the other side of the planet, and will never serve as a threat to our boy because the law is on our side. So there.
It’s so easy to have a hallmark fantasy about the other mother; to make up with a heartbreaking daydream that ended in her walking away from her only son for some heroically justifiable reason. And it’s so easy to think of it as just that. A fantasy.
And how deep down you know it’d be much easier if she was some horrible drug dealer who couldn’t take care of herself, let alone a tiny infant. Because then you justifiably hate her for what she did.
But in our story she wasn’t a drug dealer. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and giving her son away was really her best option.
It was so hard to come face to face with the raw emotion behind her story. To know that she truly did love him as much as we always hoped she did. And to know that she regrets her decision every day, because she shared that reality with you herself.
To know that she went door to door asking old neighbors what became of him, and no one had any answers for her. And that she kept pictures of him as a tiny one all these years, because he is still precious to her.
And how I have the tender joy of sharing her burden, knowing her story, and the beautiful ending it had. That I can squeeze her boy just a little extra tighter at night, so maybe he can feel the love of both of his mothers in my embrace.
She would have been a good mother to him. If the chips had fallen a little differently. But God had a different plan, one that set into motion before he was born.
And my little heart is a bit ecstatic to find a way to share the truth of God’s love with her. The love of a God who cared enough about her baby to provide for him when she couldn’t.