It’s Been Two Years


April 24, 2014 by greenhouse04

Today is our Adoption Day, the second anniversary of the adoption of our children.

I am once again amazed at what happened that day two years ago. I am so thankful for my children. My heart is filled with joy at the thought that they are my children.

But beyond that it’s been an emotionally complex day.

The first thing I did today was say goodbye to Baby M. when he left for a visit with his birth parents. As he left we got the news that there’s been a “hiccup” in his mom’s case, so her visits have been reduced dramatically. And we’re still waiting on the paternity test, which will change the direction of M.’s case one way or another.

Then, I was updating links on my blog, and I came across a post I’d written exactly four years ago, on April 23, 2010. I wrote about the inevitable goodbye I faced with Jake and Ellie, our current foster kids. Little did I know, I was writing on the day that two years later would become the day we welcomed Eddie and Emma as our forever children.

I am eternally grateful that I never have to say goodbye to Eddie and Emma. But at the same time I can’t forget their birth parents, people who did have to say goodbye. I can’t forget that Eddie and Emma had to say goodbye to their first families.

Eddie and I watched the video of their adoption this morning. He remembered that day, and he remembered the face of Susan, one of the case workers that worked with Eddie’s mom before his case changed to adoption.

I explained that Susan had tried to help his Mama J. fix things in her life so Eddie could live with her again. I said that she and judge decided that he should live somewhere else, so we adopted him. I told him that we are so glad he’s our son now, but that it’s very very sad that he can’t live with Mama J. anymore.

Soon after this, he got really sad. I held him for a while, stroking his back, and felt really sad, too.

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, which seems fitting as it’s also the week we adopted. I am infertile. I don’t like to use the word “infertile,” however. I like “barren.” It seems to describe my emotions about my inability to have children so much better.

My barrenness is something I will never, ever get over. It’s something I don’t think about often now that we’ve adopted, but when I do think about it, it hits me in the gut. Adoption hasn’t taken away the pain. Having adopted children of my own does not lessen my desire for biological children.

I would never change the fact that we adopted. I wouldn’t trade Eddie and Emma for seven birth children if I was given the choice. They are no less dear to me than a birth child would be. I’ve also come to the place where I can honestly thank God for my barrenness. It’s forced me down roads that I would never have traveled, and opened my eyes to things I never would have seen.

But it’s still so, so hard. I have to admit that at times I envy even the women who miscarry, because at least they can get pregnant. At least their loss is seen and acknowledged by others. At least they have a genetic child waiting in heaven for them.

But a barren woman isn’t sent cards or flowers. She can’t name her child or erect a grave marker. Being barren is like suffering terrible grief and loss. . . in a void. The loss isn’t the loss of something that was there, it’s the loss of something you always thought, always dreamed would be there. It’s the loss of something shared and highly valued by women all throughout history. It’s the loss of something beautiful that God created women to do. It’s being empty and dry and alone and . . . barren.

All these feelings ran through my heart as I held Eddie. We were both rejoicing that today marked the beginning of our forever family, but we were also both grieving over what we’d lost.

Today, on our Adoption Day, I look back. I remember our first foster children and our goodbye. I think about my kids’ goodbyes to their birth families. I’m hit all over again with the fact of my barrenness.

And then I look back to that joyous day when God brought four broken, grieving people together and made them into a family.

I also look forward. I think about Baby M. and the uncertainty of his future. The “hiccup” with his mom and the paternity test results run around and around in my mind. Will he stay or will he go?

And then I look forward to many years (Lord willing) of parenting Eddie and Emma without that worry hanging over me.

The past is past, and the future is always uncertain. So mostly, I look at today. Today I’m the mom of sweet, curious Eddie and of tender, independent Emma. I’m also the foster mom of rolly-polly, smiley Baby M.

And today, despite my barrenness, I’m whole in my Savior. I’ll never, never, never lose Him. And He’ll never, never, ever lose me.


4 thoughts on “It’s Been Two Years

  1. Colleen says:

    that’s awesome, are a testimony. we love you

  2. Jean Schweizer says:

    I so enjoy reading your blogs. I have experienced some of those emotions. Even though I am not barren, I faced the hardest decision in my life and gave my twin sons to another woman. I felt “barren” then and even though I had 3 other beautiful children I still had that emptiness and loss that I could hardly bare some days. I can with certainty say I will never have to face another heart break like that again. Nothing can compare to that feeling of loss. A part of me was torn away to never have it back. I made that decision for the love of my children. I wanted them to have a mother and father that could raise them in a christian home that I was unable to give them. I made a promise to them that I would never try to find them because I didn’t want to harm them in any kind of way. I thought of them every waking hour of every day. I wondered how they were, where they were. Are they okay? Are they alive? Are they sick? I morn those days that I didn’t get to see them grow up. I am so sad that my sacrifice for them ended up to be less then perfect for them. The stability I thought I gave them ended up in 3 divorces and numerous men in their lives. They were not raised as christian children I thought they would be. But, I rejoice that I do know them and that I do have a relationship with them now as adults. I praise God for allowing me to have them in my life. Even though they weren’t raised how I had hoped and they aren’t living for the Lord I love them with all my heart. I hope to keep being an example for them and pray that one day I will lead them to Christ so that I may get to spend an eternity with them. I would be sad to lose them twice. I am not good at writing my feelings down, but I wanted you to know that I can understand some of what you are going through and want you to know that I pray for you often.

    • greenhouse04 says:

      Thank you so much, Jean, and thank you for sharing your story. I can’t imagine the emotions you went through when you placed your sons for adoption, and I’m so glad you found them again!! I’ll pray for them, too, that they would find the Lord.

  3. Ruth Malstead says:

    Thanks for sharing you heart Larissa. I am so glad you have your family now. I think about you and your family. Thank you for sharing your feeling on your bareness. I too grieve that you can’t naturally have children. It’s also encouraging to hear about the family you do have. I must admit I envy you at times. Eric still will not consider fostering or adopting. My heart grieves for my children, though I have the promise that I will see them again someday. Thanks again for sharing you heart.

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