The seasons, they seem to cycle by much faster as I grow older. No longer does it feel as though time stands still, and refuses to march onward. Now, I find myself begging for just one more moment, one more glance, one more taste and feeling, because I know, as soon as all of it comes, it’s gone.
A year ago, I was filled with this incredible sense of childhood wonderment. The Hubby surprised me on Christmas morning by telling me that he had written a letter to The Kiddo’s parents asking them to consider more openness. He’d been there while they’d been making all these promises, he heard them himself. My whole body had filled with this immense gratitude for this man who actually, truly got what I have wanted most for Christmas for all these years. I just want to be with my son, in whatever form that takes.
There was so much promise, just from this one little letter. I began to imagine ourselves integrating The Kiddo into our life, introducing him to our kids, to our own families, and doing our best to make him feel as though he was, and always had been a part of our family. I envisioned gatherings with his own siblings, with his parents and their extended family. The fantasies filled me with so much joy, and I truly believed, that we had rounded the corner. We were going to show the world that adoption doesn’t have to fit into that preordained box that our agency stuffed us into at the beginning.
There was hope.
When they refused the letter, rejecting me as you would, my whole world stood still. I willed time to move forward, so I could just get past that part of it. The part where my heart ached, where I was filled with this dreadful disappointment, and a bit of anger. Instead of reacting as I wanted, I suggested a different approach, because I was not ready to accept that there would be no movement forward. They had set me up to believe that we would maintain a steady course until we got to that point. They had said words, and made promises, and none of them meant a single thing.
And then, in a flash, time moved forward again, quickly.
The adoption closed. Slammed shut. Gone. There was nothing left. I still remember the way time became meaningless, regret seeped in and I realized the enormity of what had happened. Closed, I reasoned, was better than hollow promises. Closed was better than listening to lies. Closed was better than that awful rollercoaster that always seemed to end with more disappointment.
I have tried, how I’ve tried, to make it a positive change. But it’s just not.
The Christmas tree, almost a year later, still looks similar, though it stands in a different house. The lights twinkle beautifully as the sun sets every single day, and the kids are still bounding around the house searching for their beloved Elf, and counting the days until Christmas. The year has flown by, and so much has changed. Our lives look considerably different than they did just a year ago.
Yet, things still feel the same. I still miss him. I still wish for a holiday where he is in it. I still wish that some of the presents under the tree were for him. I wish that I could wish him a happy Christmas, and listen to him delight in all the things he got, and gave. I wish that time would pause until the moment this happens, if it happens, so I could enjoy his childhood with him, instead of reminiscing about all the things I know I am missing.
Last year, I wished for an open adoption, and instead got a closed one, a couple months later. That fact doesn’t seem to be changing any time soon. This year, I simply just wish for him. I don’t need an open adoption, or his adoptive parents approval. I just want him, in my life, a part of my family. The way it always should have been.