November 9, 2006 5:20 PM
Celebrating adoption
From time to time, readers have asked how we ended up adopting three kids with Down syndrome. Since it's National Adoption Month, now seems like the best time of all to tell the story.
So make yourself comfy and off we go . . . .
It started - though I didn't realize it - the night Jonny was born in 1992. I was 44 and as always had refused the tests my doctor urged on me, telling him that we'd accept any baby God chose for us. All the while, thinking to myself, "But God wouldn't give us a baby with Down syndrome because he knows with seven kids I already have my hands full."
Hey, I'd only been a Christian five years. What did I know?
When they handed me the little blue bundle, searching his face for who he looked like, I began to comment to Tripp, "His eyes look a little different. And his neck is wider in the back."
My doctor, hearing my comments, left the cleanup down below and came to stand beside me with his hand on my shoulder. The nurse stopped massaging my belly and put her hand on my other shoulder.
"I have some hard news for you," my doctor said.
"He has Down syndrome, doesn't he?" I said calmly. "Well, that's okay. I always told you it would be.”
In fact, it was more than okay. My first thought was, "God must love me very much!" Seriously. I somehow knew this was going to be an amazing journey. There were never any regrets - just excitement about the future.
Madeleine – my ninth – was born a year after Jonny and because of his delays, they grew up like twins – even learning to walk together. But knowing that the gap between them would widen as years went by – and also because we had learned so much about meeting Jonny’s special needs that it seemed like good stewardship – we decided to adopt another baby with Down syndrome.
We contacted Catholic Charities in San Francisco and began our home study. I also hooked into an informal network of people who found out first when an unwanted baby with Down syndrome was born, learning that there are actually fewer such babies than parents seeking to adopt them.
I wanted to be first in line.
And so it was that on May 29, 1995 – three days after my 47th birthday – I learned of a little baby without a name in a San Diego hospital, less than 24 hours old. Though I knew immediately he was our baby, it took a lot of work and several months to bring him home.
Baby G____, as he was named on his original birth certificate, was the second child of a college-educated, professional couple with a two-year-old daughter hoping to complete their family with a son. The birth was quick and uneventful – only half an hour after the mother entered the hospital. But the parents’ peace was shattered by the news that their perfect plan had hit a glitch.
Though his mother was one of twelve children from a deeply religious Mexican family, the father was Iranian, and his cultural heritage had not prepared him for an imperfect son. Though the maternal grandmother offered to raise the baby, the father refused. Within hours, the parents relinquished the baby to the state of California and left the hospital.
How I wished those papers had not been signed so quickly! For once he was in the foster care system, it would take months to get him out. Not to mention that our home study was not quite complete and we were in a county in northern California 900 miles away!
Still, when a mother knows it’s her baby she will not rest until she brings him home. I pestered the powers-that-be in San Diego mercilessly, while exchanging what I could with the temporary foster mother: her video of my precious baby for tapes of me crooning lullabies and a handkerchief I’d worn to tuck in his bed.
Two months seemed like eternity, but at last on July 25, Tripp and I brought home our precious bundle. We named him Jesse, which means “God exists.” The following Sunday our local paper ran a front page article splashed not only with pictures of our family, but the complete story of the spiritual journey which led to our tenth child – as though God had used this little abandoned boy to broadcast the message of his might and power.
Though that was the end of our plan, God wasn’t finished. When Jesse was six months old, Catholic Charities referred a couple to us who had just received a prenatal diagnosis of Down syndrome. Again, a college-educated, professional couple with a two year old awaiting the birth of their second and final child had hit a bump in the road. The mother was set on obtaining an abortion.
The father, a non-practicing Catholic, could not agree. Catholic Charities thought that perhaps by talking to us, the couple would be reassured that this baby was not the end of the world. We had them over for dinner, sure that meeting our children would change the mother’s mind.
Instead it led to a compromise as the parents decided they wanted us to adopt their baby. We agreed, but with the stipulation that we would get ready to receive him, but we would also be ready to let the baby go if they decided to keep him. This mom and I went through the last four months of her pregnancy together – going to all the doctor appointments and ultrasounds and talking several times a week on the phone.
On Mother’s Day 1996 – two weeks before Jesse’s first birthday – we were on our way to church when we got the call that they were at the hospital. We arrived a half hour after the baby was born. The four parents spent the day in the hospital holding him and crying together – each of us for different reasons. But the birth mother never wavered in her decision and the parents checked out, leaving me to spend the night in the hospital with our baby. Tripp and I brought Daniel home the next morning.
To say the next few years were intense – raising three boys with Down syndrome only four years apart – hardly conveys the daily reality. But they were happy years as well. Jasmine was still at home then - part of God's plan, I'm sure - and she was a tremendous help. It did my mother’s heart good to see the beneficial effect on our other children as in helping Jonny, Jesse, and Daniel reach their potential they were reaching their own.
Still, when Catholic Charities called in 2000 to ask if we would consider adopting another baby with Down syndrome, I had to say: “I’m 52, I’m wearing down. I’m sorry. I have to say no.” As I hung up the phone, 12-year-old Sophia confronted me: “Mom, I can’t believe that you would say no!” and I felt as though she was right. Who was I to close a door God might be trying to open?
And so we welcomed a nine-month-old boy born to a Taiwanese couple during their time here on a student visa. Though they loved him dearly, they knew that if they took him home, there would be only stigma and shame in a land where children with Down syndrome are still sent away to institutions. Their involvement with the early intervention programs showed them there was hope for Justin if he remained here. Catholic Charities had introduced them to many families, but none really clicked until they met ours, where the older children’s love for their younger brothers convinced them that ours was the right home.
How glad I am that Sophia overheard and rebuked me for my first response, based on my fears that my own resources were limited. I guess that isn’t what God was thinking. And Justin has been like the perfect exclamation point to our adoption journey.
For those who wonder if they could ever love an adopted child as much as their own flesh and blood, let me assure you that you can. I believe that God already has a plan for the parents who will raise each child. I believe that I was always meant to be Jesse’s, Daniel’s and Justin’s mommy.
I also know that by adopting these children I’ve been granted the privilege of participating to a small extent in something bigger than myself.
After all, 18 years ago, this fatherless little girl was adopted into the kingdom of God. Though I was 38, in many ways I was like the babies I adopted – desperately in need of a home. And even as I knew before I ever laid eyes on them that they were mine, God always knew I was his.
In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will. Ephesians 1:5
Giving birth to children is a miraculous privilege. But adoption is a reflection of the divine.
Posted in Adoption, Down syndrome, Family, Pro-Life Issues | Permalink
Comments
Thank you Barbara. This thought provoking, heart stirring and somewhat challenging post exemplifies why I keep returning to your blog.
Posted by: Clare | November 9, 2006 7:51 PM
You get me EVERY time I read these words of yours: My first thought was, "God must love me very much!" I just seize up in tears when ever I read that! God Bless you Barbara!!!
Posted by: ~Kayla~ | November 9, 2006 9:52 PM
What a beautiful story! I am weeping, and I thank you for sharing it!
~Leslie
Posted by: Leslie | November 9, 2006 10:54 PM
Thank you for sharing this great story. I have often wondered how it came about.
I marvel at you fortitude, I find that I have my hands full with one down syndrome child.
Posted by: wanderingrose | November 9, 2006 11:38 PM
Barbara, I've read parts of your adoption stories before...but just reading it again, this way...wow! What an impact on me. What a story! My heart is so touched, and I'm so thankful that God opened your family's heart to these boys. May we all have God's heart on adoption.
Posted by: Holly | November 9, 2006 11:59 PM
Wow....what a beautifully touching story. Thank you so much for writing it out. I was especially warmed by your mention of how when God gives us a gift we shouldn't fear that our own resources won't be enough. See, I'm 17 and I have always wanted to have many kids, but I have a severe chronic illness which makes it as if I have the flu all the time. I'm also allergic to sunlight. Thank you for reminding me that God's resources are not limited.
Posted by: Heidi | November 10, 2006 2:49 AM
Beautiful story! Thanks for sharing your road to adoption! We are waiting on our little Lydia from China and was very encouraged by your story and love of children! My most recent post is about children are a blessing....come visit if you'd like!
Posted by: Kim | November 10, 2006 1:21 PM
Oh Barbara, that is such a beautiful story! Those boys are so blessed to have the opportunity to be raised in your family!
Posted by: Margaret | November 10, 2006 2:39 PM
Thank you for sharing...and for taking your pain and using it to reach out to others.
Posted by: Lisa | November 10, 2006 2:59 PM
I just found you and I LOVE this blog. My husband and I are leaving in days to adopt our third daughter with DS, this time from Colombia. We have a daughter with DS by birth, and also one from Russia. They light up our family (we have four other children as well). When our daughter Emma was born with DS, a dear friend told me that God had just planted a big kiss on my forehead when He gave her to me. Almost six years later, I must emphatically agree!
Posted by: Jill | November 15, 2006 8:01 PM
