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Home PageWith ten people and ten full carts behind me I swiped my card in the machine. I punched in my pin number. Then it hit me. I forgot to deposit my check before I rushed for groceries. Panic set in. What would I do with the two full carts of bagged groceries? What am I going to say if it doesn't go through? Oh man, all those people behind me waiting! Seconds seem like hours. I am watching the machine as if it's going to jump at me with knives. C'mon ? c'mon ?. Accept it. My foot is tapping, my hips are swaying, my kids are whining, the people in line are starting to give me dirty looks. Or is it all my imagination because I'm flipping out? Oh I don't know ? Come on machine!
"Here you go m'am, have a nice day and thank you for shopping at Walmart."
I look at the machine ? "Accepted." Oh man. That was close.
What if it Doesn't Happen?Acceptance is painful and critical. Sometimes it comes easily, other times it is an ugly journey that we can't wait to end. That feeling that comes over me when my debit card goes through? Oh wow ? such a release! That long sigh that I let out when I know it's a go is priceless. It's a rush.
What if acceptance doesn't happen? You know the word that machine blinks out, "Denied." Then you're faced with leaving your groceries and all those miffed off people who waited twenty minutes for you to check out only to watch you slink away in shame. Oh, and don't tell me this has never happened to you! What if a bird won't accept its wings? It very well may die in its nest from starvation or from predators. Which by the way, in Walmart at 5:30 p.m, predator is an accurate word!
I wish I could say that acceptance for me was one of those great salvation moments, but it wasn't. For me, acceptance hurt.
It began the day of my son's birth. The caseworker stood in the hallway as my family asked what I was going to do. All I knew ? was that I wanted to do the right thing.
So once everyone left my room I wrapped my son up tightly and placed him on my bed. I slowly got out of the bed and knelt in front of him.
And I made a covenant with God. With my son laid out before me I raised my heart to God and I made a covenant with Him. At the age of fifteen I gave my son to God and became a birth mother with the promise that God would ordain a purpose in it and that for every day of my new life He would bring that purpose to pass.
I accepted what God was asking of me. At least ? that day I did.
For nearly eight years after I denied God's covenant with me. Filled with anger and pain I walked a lonely, destructive path. A na?ve Christian I assumed that when one made a covenant with God the promises immediately brought blessing. Yet when things spiraled out of control and nothing met my expectations, I nearly drowned in pity and anger.
How could God let me down when I'd only wanted to do the right thing? I realize now, ten years later, that accepting a promise made between God and I is one thing. Accepting what that promise requires is entirely different.
"Do you understand that you are legally relinquishing all parental rights from this day forward?" Said the judge. I nod my head. "You must answer with a yes or no." She replied. "Yes." "You understand the law that says you are no longer the said child's parent and that by your admission you agree to these terms?" "Yes."Saying the words and really accepting them are two things. I said the words, but I didn't, and couldn't, accept them.
Different kinds of Acceptance
Yesterday as I was waiting for my children to come home on the bus, I stood talking with a neighbor. I watch her two children in the morning before school and we were discussing a story I had read them that day called, "Knots in a Counting Rope." The old Indian story is about a grandfather who is soon to die and he his passing along a story to his grandson. The last knot goes into the counting rope, meaning it will be the last time he will tell the story.
Since the story is about death I felt that I should tell my neighbor so that if her children came home with any questions, she would be prepared. She said, "Dakota didn't mention her little sister?"
"No, she didn't, why?" I ask.
"About four years ago I had a baby, she was still born, and I've been very open about it with my children."
I put my hand on her arm and said, "Oh, I am so sorry," to which she replied, "It's okay, she's accepted it I think."
I felt obligated to share, as the moment seemed uncomfortable, "Well, I am a birth mother, I relinquished my first born son ten years ago. My oldest are beginning to understand as well."
She paused, and a strange look came over her face. All of a sudden, there at the bus stop I realized ?. This woman had lost a baby. It wasn't her choice. She didn't go to court and agree to it. The pain left questions, anger, grief, and hurt.
My loss was a choice. As I looked into the eyes of this woman, for the first time I saw my decision for what it was. A willing one. Her acceptance of her little girl's death had come slowly ?I'm sure filled with years of begging God to tell her why, and long nights of grieving a death she was not ready or able to grieve.
I had to accept what I DID. She had to accept what HAPPENED. My loss became something it had never been before.
I am reminded of an older friend I once had. She was in her late thirties and seemed to have the perfect life. She was thin, blond, beautiful, and very wealthy. Her husband was the town's investment broker at the local bank and she headed up several women's groups in town as well. She was respected for her faith and her friendship. There was nearly nothing she could not do, and do well.
Her third pregnancy seemed normal, and everyone was in awe at how she kept her amazingly thin figure. The nursery she'd done was impeccable and she had closets full of name brand baby clothes. The child was to be a girl, as the ultra sound had read.
She traveled two hours for her prenatal visits as she wanted only the best of care and our small town was limited. She had an excellent doctor and she was planned and prepared for everything. This was a woman who knew almost everything and if she didn't know it, she'd find it for you. Organized, beautiful, friendly, and envied are terms that describe her. She nearly floated.
Until the morning she went into unplanned labor, at only 37 weeks. After rushing to the local hospital, of which she was not happy about, she delivered a beautiful baby girl. Just three hours later the baby was transported via ambulance to Iowa City, to the Children's Hospital there. Heart failure, kidney failure, respiratory failure, and other problems were impending. Without taking the advice of local doctors, my friend spent only several more hours herself in recovery and then drove as fast as she could to be with her baby.
After three surgeries and two days in the NICU, it was determined that her baby girl had severe downs syndrome. Countless surgeries and several months later, she brought her baby girl home. Her life had changed forever.
During those months in the hospital however I went to visit once with our Pastor's wife. I noticed her room was filled with Bible's of all kinds, Scripture books, and a vast array of other Christian material. She consumed herself in prayer and reading the Word and spent the hours at her baby's side or on her knees in her room. The weeks passed slowly, yet quickly as she found herself gripping tight to hope. I cannot still, to this day, imagine what those weeks must have been like. Searching not only for answers, but also for the grace and the strength to make it through the life and death situation of her little baby girl.
During that visit with her she said this as we walked the hall in between her room and the NICU ward, "God's been so great, He's given me so many opportunities to minister to other couples here going through the same thing."
I couldn't believe her strength. I realized also that reaching out to others, being able to help in any way despite her own painful situation, was healing.
After she arrived home it took still several months for her to regain any kind of life. Between driving back and forth to Iowa City and taking care of her daughter's still touch and go life, I don't know how she slept at all. If she even did.
Then it happened. About eight months later. She hosted a meeting in town at the famous, "Tea Room" and had invited guest speakers who shared their testimonies about being mothers of children with Down's Syndrome. In a town where Down's Syndrome is not very common, she was beginning to change things, to bring awareness, and to make a difference.
I think of her now and I am still deeply moved. While I cannot begin to write even one third of what she went through and what she survived, I know this much is true: Her journey towards acceptance will forever be an example to so many others.
Most of the world's best speakers speak on topics that they have experienced. You put two preachers on a stage to preach about drugs, one of them never picked up a cigarette his whole life, the other nearly died from a cocaine overdose. I'd bet anything on the preacher whose been there being able to reach those in the audience over the preacher who has no idea what he's talking about.
It's called empathy. That's why support groups are so wonderful. That's why people start support groups. When we go through painful times in our lives it is a normal reaction to desire to know and to reach out to others who have experienced the same thing. We suddenly have the ability to empathize with others who know what we are feeling.
Acceptance is almost like a stepping stone to empathy. Without accepting ourselves as birth mothers we cannot relate to other birth mothers. We have yet to fully grasp the emotion and the reality of what being a birth mother is. We have no need to become involved. We don't desire to talk about it.
When we accept who we are, what has happened, and how it effects us, we then desire to reach. We need to know we are not alone. We want to talk about it. Often. We consume ourselves in this new "title" which envelopes so many aspects of who we are and what our lives have suddenly become about.
Acceptance leads to many things, two of which are:
- The ability to relate ourselves with others who have experienced, or who are currently experiencing something similar to what we have.
- The ability to empathize with others who have experienced, or who are currently experiencing something similar to what we have.
The Pain and Truth of Acceptance
I have listened with a breaking heart to many birth mothers say, "I will NEVER accept what happened. I was forced to surrender my baby and I was betrayed, manipulated, and lied to. My child has suffered and I have suffered. It was an injustice."
Acceptance and Forgiveness (the next chapter) are two of the most misconstrued and misunderstood paths of all. Many assume that when we accept something we deny any injustices that transpired. Accepting doesn't mean that we simply say, "Well, what happened was wrong and terrible but oh well, I accept it." No!
Acceptance is the art of admission. I am a birth mother. I relinquished a child. My child now lives with his/her family and I do not raise him/her. These are things that I cannot change.
Accepting doesn't mean that where there are wrongs we forget them. It doesn't mean that if we were betrayed we shrug it off and go on.
Just like my neighbor whose daughter was taken to Heaven before even one breath of her life began. I can imagine that she did not shrug her shoulders and say, "Oh well, forget it."
Like my old friend who was thrown into the NICU with her brand new infant, watching and waiting surgery after surgery. I know she did not say, "Oh well, no big deal."
Acceptance is: I accept the choices I have made, and the things that I cannot change.
Accepting what has happened in our lives often turns into a journey of its own. When we are free from confusion and anger, blame and pity we are then able to see the "big picture." We are able to have empathy. We are able to reach out. We become speakers, preachers, activists, motivators, and very good friends. We know the pain of our experiences and therefore we take that pain and channel it into something positive. I remember my last words to God that day in the hospital just after I made my final decision, "Lord ? please, don't let this be in vain."
Acceptance means finding purpose.
Many people assume that forgiveness means you have to forget. That whatever injustice happened must be left behind and never brought up again. WRONG! I'll get more into forgiveness in the next chapter, but it is important to know that acceptance and forgiveness BOTH are required, but they are not end of the road, don't pass go signs.
Anger, that sweltering hot house of disaster
Has been ambushed and burned to the ground.
Denial, the cold lake near the abandoned pasture,
Has been dried up for I did not drown.
Pity, that muddy sinking road to no where,
Has been seeded over with new life.
Self-hate, that reminding mirror of un-fair,
Has been smashed by the brightness of new light.
So I'll build a new house. And I'll fill a new lake.
I'll pave a new road, With whatever it takes.
I'll find a new mirror, And search a new face.
As I accept, I will not forget,
No ? I will not forget that old place.
I look now at all that has changed,
And I wonder how all this became.
It wasn't me who brought the bulldozer,
Or the sun that dried up the river.
I didn't plant the grass over the old road,
And I didn't break the mirror,
Though it was quite old.
It just happened.
One day when I stepped out.
Acceptance: How an Adoptive Mother Can Help
Unfortunately again, as we come to the last chapters you will not be able to "help" as much. Acceptance, just like validation, is a very personal journey.
It might help to understand though what some birth mothers experience during their "acceptance."
One birth mother recently wrote, "I am grateful for my visits with my daughter, but it is still so hard for me too be around her and know what I'm missing out on."
Accepting, for birth mothers, means experiencing the realities of her choices. She will undergo every painful emotion of what "separation" means. While part of her aches to be "mommy" the other part of her will admit that this choice she's made is the best choice.
Another birth mother wrote, "It really helps me to see how wonderful my son's parents are. It confirms, in a way, that I've made the best choice possible for my son."
Some birth mothers who relinquished fifteen or more years ago are faced today with not knowing if their child is okay. They have nothing to confirm their choice. Some of them find themselves, years later, searching for their birth children wondering if they will even find them. Acceptance is an uphill battle for them because the pain of not knowing blocks any peace they might have had.
In more recent, open adoptions, birth mothers can actually see the outcomes of their choices. This makes accepting easier, though acceptance is never plain and simple, easy.
Continue to send pictures and letters, and be a positive reminder of her choices. Confirm and assure her by your actions and your parenting of your child.
A keynote: If you accept that she exists ? who she is ? and your own experience as an adoptive mother ~ your adoption is on the right track.
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