The Only Choice

Poking at the back of my mind, as I’ve started in on this rediscovering process, has been the thought of The Kiddo’s parents. I struggled to begin writing, for fear of actually making them uncomfortable, or hurting. I kept my secrets sealed, partially for fear of making them feel as though I regret them. Or choosing them.  Yes, I feel like there is too much focus on adoptive families in this post and pre adoption world. I do feel like the focus should be directed toward the mothers who chose to relinquish, and the conditions in which they do it, and more importantly, I believe we should be looking at the overall, life long impact of adoption on the adoptee.

Yes, I believe those things.

However, The Kiddo’s family is a strange extension of me now. Like I care for my family, I care for them. I entrusted them, be it willingly or not, to raise my son as I would have, or how I wish I could have. In the darkest moments, my thoughts have never switched to loathing, or hatred for them. I truly love them. My struggles are a separate journey from how I view them. They are incredible; both as adoptive parents, and when it comes to including me in this process. I’ve never had to worry that they would walk away from our agreement, even when I have worried.  They are great people, truly.

A couple of days ago, I got a letter from The Kiddo’s mom. As I read what was a basic, wonderful update on The Kiddo, I wondered just how much of my “updates” she was reading. I mulled over it as I laid in bed, and again this morning, before I replied to her, sharing excitement in the success he’s had in the last couple of months. Because, really, I’m still his mom. Not his daily life mom, but I still view his accomplishments with much pride. I truly am proud of the strides he’s made over the last year, even if it’s at a distance.

The letter sat in the back of my mind all morning, as I went about breakfast, as I went about my daily routine.  I put the laundry in the washer,  added the soap and the thought came into my head, as I was adding in the dirty socks,

“They were your only choice”.

Let me explain something a little further. Occasionally, I have what appear to be conversations with my younger self, the former woman I was. The one who still holds the intricate details of that moment in time the way I can’t. Perhaps, it sounds bizarre, and a little insane, but it’s always worked that way for me. Internal dialogue comes naturally for me, and mainly because I’ve learned to strip myself down into different “persons” throughout my life, specifically in the tougher occasions of my life. I’ll be the first to admit it’s not always healthy, but mostly, it’s served me well. Mostly.

I finished the monotony of laundry slamming the door shut on the washer with mild authority. The previous thought had me puzzled, and then it came again, as more of a reaffirmation,

“They were the only choice you were allowed to make.”

I pictured my younger self, furrowing my brow the way I do when I’m trying to remember something that sits hazily in the past. I remembered feeling the pressure to choose a family. I remember spending hours writing, and trying to make a list for them, one that I never came up with. I remember trying to picture my life with The Kiddo, then without him. I remember trying to figure out how I would know who was the perfect fit, or a better choice then me. How would I know?

Yet, when I sat there in that room, a cold wintery day almost 10 years ago, I picked their profile. I was drawn to them. I liked them. That day, I made my piles of No, Yes and Maybe. They were the only one in the Yes pile at the end of the day. Everyone else was not good enough. No one else even came close. If I was going to do this, go through with this path, I was going to pick them. They were the only family I wanted for The Kiddo. I would not back down on that; if I was being pushed down this path, they would be at the end, come what may.

I did choose them.  Let’s leave out the likelihood of manipulation that happens in those profiles (I know it’s there); I chose them for a lot of reasons. I picked their profile because I loved that the letter that The Kiddo’s one day father wrote. It was genuine, and thoughtful. When I spoke to them over the phone, their banter pulled me in. They seemed like the couple I wanted to be one day. When I met them, I loved their quiet grace, the way they laughed, the way they actually seemed genuinely interested in me. Little me, who barely said more then 10 words. I watched them intently, I can remember exactly what they wore, how they spoke, and the way they kept looking at me. She was the first person who told me that my porcelian skin and dark hair made me look like Snow White; something that has been repeated to me only a handful of times in the last few years. At the end of that day, they gave me a beautiful journal to write in, and said they wanted me to write in it for The Kiddo. So he could look at it whenever he wanted, and so he knew where he came from, from me.  They somehow knew my voice was strongest in my writing, and that I would open up through it.

I had my doubts. I didn’t doubt them. I doubted why I should be doing the adoption. I doubted the forces that were using their heavy hands to move the adoption forward despite my meager protests. I doubted myself, and my confidence. Something that has not really changed about me. In so many ways, I’m still that very scared little 17 year old girl.

Yet,  I never doubted them. I can say with much confidence that they are a great family for him. Based on the circumstances, he is where he was supposed to be. I was never given any other choice. Adoption was thrust at me like it would save my life, like it was the miracle I was looking for, even though I was looking for resources.  I had no ability to say no, almost no ability to stop the pieces that were falling around me. Yet, I did have a say in who I chose. And while it was heavily manipulated (not by them), I did choose them.  They were, by all respect, my only choice.

They had no idea what I was experiencing, or the pressure I was being put under. They didn’t know when I was doubting, or when I was struggling to compose myself.  They just knew that I was a young girl, with an unplanned pregnancy, and they wanted to help.

I did choose them. I choose them for many reasons. I’ve continued to reaffirm them as a good choice throughout my life, and I still think they were a good choice. Do I wish I had been handed the resources to attempt parenting on my own? Absolutely.  We’re not dealing with what if’s and what could have been’s. We’re dealing with reality and the reality is, they were the adoptive parents in my triad, and I chose them.

I did good. I hope they know that. If the circumstances were the same, and I had no other option but to go through with adoption, they would still be my choice.