The other night Sam and I were talking about adoption, which naturally leads to the topic of losing our boys. Which leads to me starting to think how the life I had planned on having is so, so different now.
And I told him, “I feel so guilty about all of this. I know it’s not my ‘fault,’ but I wanted a big family, siblings for Bella, and now I don’t even know for sure if I’ll have more than just Bella — is that fair to her? What if the Korea program shuts down? What if we’ve spent so much money on this we can’t do it again? Am I being selfish for really not ever wanting to be pregnant again — despite how sick I was?”
I started to cry. He waited for me to finish and then said, “What’s really wrong? You were so excited about this.”
I thought about it for a while. Then I just blurted out, “I’m terrified of this. I’m so, so scared to put myself out there again with the process of loving a child and having it all go wrong. I wanted my boys so much and I didn’t get them what if we get into this and we have a child waiting and it all falls apart again? What if we have to wait like 5 years to bring them home?”
I realized this was all what-if scenarios, but all my what-if’s with my twins happened. I got sick, I lost them, my whole life shifted to one of raising a daughter while being a grieving mom, unsure if we can ever go through another pregnancy.
It’s so hard to imagine starting this process again and opening myself up to more potential heartache.
And yet — I want to. I need to. Because I know that there will be such happiness at the end of this road. I can’t let fear change my life like a loss did.
Sam pondered for a long time, then finally spoke. “I want to do this. We picked international because we felt our hearts there after being overseas, but also because we knew it would give us the time we needed to work through our grief before we have a child who needs us healthy and whole. I know you are scared, and so am I, but right now we are trusting that if we are meant to do this, the doors will open for us. So far they have. And then, we can do this again. This isn’t it for us.”
I broke down at this point. “I don’t want to work on it. I don’t want to be sad for the next 2 years. I just wanted my babies.”
Reminded by my own words how much work I have to do to be in a better state for both Bella and any children to come, I started to be realistic. I am never going to have my boys back. And rushing out to adopt or short circuiting my grief isn’t going to help a child. It would cause more harm than good to a little one who has their own needs and obstacles to overcome. I won’t be perfect — but I can’t be this broken.
We talked more on what I could do to keep busy and work through our grief in the meantime, what steps I could take with our agency to relieve my fears about some of this process.
I am still scared. It would be a lot easier to stop this now, and just live like we do. But that’s not what I wanted. I want more children. I want to fulfill my dream of adopting. I want to feel the arms of a little one wrap around me and the joy that comes from waiting for them. I want Bella to be a big sister.
I never wanted what happened with my boys to leave me in fear of opening up again. So as painful as this can be, as terrified as I am sometimes, their short lives propel me on. If I died, I would want the people I love to find happiness again — to love again. I trust that’s what they would have wanted for us too.
I vowed from the beginning with them that, come what may, I would stay the course and fight for them. And I did. Now I have to trust that as long as the path opens ahead for us, we will stay on it. Wherever it leads. Whatever happens.
I believe as terrifying as this may be over the next year or two, the little one waiting at the end will be more than worth it all.
My sons were.
Diana blogs on raising a toddler daughter, the loss of her twin boys, and their families’ Korean adoption in progress on the aptly named Hormonal Imbalances.
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