On March 17th, my world came crashing down around me in a way I never expected. The son I thought I would be holding in my arms became someone else's son.
And the world moved on while I lay in bed unsure of how I would survive the future without this little boy. No one outside of my husband really knew the utter pain and sadness I was in, knowing I had lost a son.
Today he is 4. Perhaps running through the beautiful Texas sunshine. Making a mess of his little hands and face as he digs into his birthday cake. Surely, being loved on by his parents. The ones meant for him all along.
I still wonder about him and wish that somehow I could convey to his parents how thrilled I am that they were the ones who were chosen to be his daddy and mama.
Of course, I always think of her, "R", the brave woman who had to make a decision she didn't want to make that day. She chose them and I wonder if she had her doubts. Doubts that she was doing the right thing, doubts that even though she originally chose us, were they really who she should have chose? I wonder if she knows him and has been able to see him like she wanted? Most of all, I wonder if she knew how much it killed me that day to not be able to give her everything she wanted?
I may never know the answer to those questions. I may never know who exactly "R" is, or even who that sweet little boy is. But I do know this, not a day has gone by in 4 years that I haven't thought of them. I've written about the loss several times over the years. I've prayed for both "R", the little boy, and his parents many times.
Have you recently known someone who had a failed adoption? Check out this short post that I wrote on how to help someone who is going through one.