Tomorrow

They call it "Gotcha Day."

And I'm still not sure exactly how I feel about that phrasing, but still I get overwhelmed just thinking about it.

In case you were wondering, I've been in a perpetual state of lumpy-throat and tears for the past 4 days.  And I have a distinct feeling it's not quite over yet.

The truth?  I've been picturing it in my mind for about 6 months.  For about 3 months of that, the minute it came to mind I would dismiss it and replace it with something else entirely.  It was too painful to consider when there was still so much unknown and so many obstacles yet to overcome.  But the past 3 months?  I've pictured it often.  Dreamed of it.  Longed for it.  Feared for it.  And shed many tears over it.

Gotcha Day, Finalization Day, Family Day, whatever you want to call it-  tomorrow, it will be here for us.  The day when we will go to court for the very last time.  When we will finally file our last packet of documents in the second filing cabinet that we had to purchase last January for our mountain of paperwork.  The last bill from the lawyer.  The last meeting with the social worker.  The last time before the Adoption Commissioner.  The last time that our daughter will bear a different last name than ours.  We will stand before the commissioner, the recorder, the social worker, the attorney, and our family and once and for all pledge to love and care for Isobel for the rest of our lives.  And we will get our chance for the holy grail of adoption photos.  Our family photo with the commissioner in her chambers, commemorating the finalization of Isobel's adoption into our family.

Now that it's here.  That I'm ironing Jesse's shirt and tie, planning Izzie's dress, checking the memory card on the camera, and coordinating with the family members who will be there.  I'm in a constant state of heightened emotion.  All.  The.  Time.

190 days.

190 days will have passed since she was born and we brought her home, wondering if this day would ever happen.  And now, after 190 days, it will all be done.  The last document will have been signed.  Her name will be changed.  And we will experience the greatest level of permanency that this life can offer.  And I suppose this piece of writing is my attempt to somehow put into words what the anticipation of all of that feels like.

Surreal?  Relief.  Joy.  Healing.  Grief.  Gratitude.  Humility.

Bittersweet.

I know that after two and a half years of grief and loss, it's time for celebration.  And we want to do just that.  We want to celebrate the utter miracle that God has done in our family and the healing that He has brought to our hearts.  But the bottom line is that every adoption story, sweet and miraculous as they may be, are tinged with the bitterness that comes from loss.  If we believe that God brings man and woman together as husband and wife and gives them the gift of children, then we also believe that when man and woman come together and are given the gift of a child, but are unable to parent that child for whatever reason, whether circumstances within or beyond their control,  then the end result isn't really as God had designed it from the beginning.  And parents and child experience great loss.  Don't get me wrong.  I don't believe that any of this was an accident.  Isobel.  Was not an accident.  If you only knew.  She could not have been more purposely chosen for life.  And her birth parents did nothing wrong by choosing to place her in another family.  On the contrary, what they did was brave, noble, and demonstrated an incomprehensible depth of love for their child.  I believe it was God's perfect plan that brought every single teeny tiny bit of this to pass.  But I also believe that as much as I am to honor Isobel as tried and true, 100% my daughter, then I must also honor the fact that in order for that to happen, loss had to occur.  The loss of her biological family, raising her, parenting her, as was originally designed.  They will carry that for the rest of their lives, as will she.    And at some point as she grows to learn of how she came to be in our family, I am guessing that she will deal with a great sense of loss and all of the emotions that come with that.  Thankfully, we have a God who heals and restores and comforts us when we are hurting and our heart and our hope is that Isobel will know Him too and will find wholeness and healing in Him from whatever grief or pain she may face as a result of her past or her future. And we will do our best to walk alongside her in whatever may come.

And while I'm at it, can we talk about just one other thing here?  Can we work together to revise our adoption language a bit?  There is no shame in what's been said because we are all learning this process together.  Myself included.  And I say we because you have all been with us every step of the way, and we would not be where we are without your kindness, love, support, and crazy out of control generosity.  So in the same sense of brotherhood and sisterhood, let's work to embrace positive adoption language that let's my kid know how deeply loved she has always been.  Let's work to embrace a different mindset altogether that communicates to these brave birth mothers that deserve to be honored for their courage, not berated or belittled.  Let's start with the phrases "gave up" "give up", and "given up."  Let's throw them out.  And instead, lets use phrases like "lovingly placed", "chosen", "prayed for" and "wanted."  Let's do what we can to let the children who come into our lives and our homes through adoption know that they were loved from the very start.

(dismount soapbox)

I didn't mean to get philosophical here (quite the opposite, this has been a very long day and my brain hurts), I just find myself in a constant state of trying to maintain this balancing act.  Honoring Isobel as our daughter.  Honoring myself as mother.  Honoring her birth mom as tummy mommy.  Honoring the Lord for His great miracle.  And honoring the losses that He used to make that happen.  And I will never get it exactly right.  I am imperfect and I will fail at times.  But honoring all involved in this very special and unique adoption triad of child, birth parents, and adoptive parents will always be something that is near to my heart.

Perhaps one of the best examples is the Etsy order that I placed last week.  I wanted to do something special to commemorate this special day tomorrow.  I don't know what it will look like for the future, as to whether we will always celebrate it in a tangible way, or whether it will be more of a quiet day of gratitude that we remember in our hearts.  I suppose much of that will be up to Isobel and what she wants that to look like.  At any rate, I decided to order a couple pieces of special jewelry.  And I knew that I wanted something for Isobel and I knew that I wanted something for our birth mom.  And the more I looked and the more I thought about it, I realized that I was leaving a pretty important piece of that triad out.

Me.

Why would I honor the other two parts but not honor the gift of motherhood that I have waited so long for and has so undeniably come from the hand of God?  And so.  I ordered one special piece for our birth mom and ordered two different pieces that matched each other for Isobel and myself.  And they are beautiful and I can't wait to get them and to share something so special with both my daughter and with the woman who chose me to be her mother.

Tomorrow everything changes.  And yet nothing changes.  We will have our daughter.  Our. Daughter.  She will be our daughter.

 But then...wasn't she always?