A red-headed dream child

Red hair occurs on approximately 1–2% of the human population.

"Look at that beautiful hair!"

Throughout my childhood, strangers would stop my mother to comment on her children's gorgeous hair. Problem was, it wasn't mine they were interested in. It was my two red-headed sisters they were so taken with; Erin, with her straight strawberry-blond locks and Abby, with more auburn-colored waves. I developed something of a love/hate relationship with my sisters' ginger status, appreciating their unique beauty while simultaneously concerned that my own genes might one day produce a similar aberration of nature (afraid I'd have to hear about that dang red hair my entire life).

Clearly I was envious, as I love them both dearly and adore their truly lovely coloring. Which is why it felt so serendipitous that Shawn and I received a broadcast for J., a 9-year-old boy (an only child this time) with bright red hair.

J. is being placed out of a DFW area CPS office. Information on him was lighter than in some other cases, so we're not aware of the back story at this time. The one photo shows a handsome boy in a striped polo leaned up against the trunk of tree, posed, perhaps by a professional photographer. His pale white skin reminds me of my sisters who always required t-shirts over swimsuits at the beach or pool. In my mind I'm purchasing his high-SPF sunscreen and repeating the mantra we tried so hard to teach Abby..."reapply!"

We were turned down last week for the three boys described in my last post. Once again, the e-mail came like a punch in the stomach as I taught my fourth period class on Wednesday. Surrounded by middle school children who can't begin to understand how I feel, I wanted to run out of the room, fall on the floor, cry, something/anything to express my feelings but I could not. So again I just took the hit and kept on going. I wish I could say it gets easier. Currently J. is our only child to hope for.

"J. is a very sweet, loving, and calm little boy. He is a little shy when he first meets new people. He is likable, funny, and easily engages in conversation. He strives to do his best and does well in school. He is very inquisitive and is interested in the world around him. J. enjoys riding his bike and skateboard, playing cards, playing with action figures, and watching television. He is developmentally on target for his age and likes dogs and cats."

J.'s caseworker's description of him sounds like perfection. It is, of course, intended to make the child sound amazing. But when all you can do is dream, why not allow yourself to believe it? In fits and starts, my mind wanders on subjects like decor (would he like a space theme, like his father?) and education (give DISD a chance or plan on private school?). It can be so difficult to find this balance between hope and reality.

On the subject of descriptions, I decided after our latest rejection to request from our caseworker at the agency a copy of our home study, just to see what's being sent out on our behalf. As I suspected, she had written an extremely insightful and accurate account of who we are as a couple, as individuals, and potential parents. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to read an 18-page document about themselves? My husband and I both read it and agreed that for what it's worth, what's in there is the truth, so help us. If there's something in it that for some reason counts us out, at least it's something that's a fair representation of who we are and what we have to offer.

On that note, I wonder what kind of a world this would be if everyone had to be subjected to what we endured to create that home study. Imagine, if someone out there had to read YOUR 18-page history and decide whether or not it is time for you to be a parent, whether it ever will be. What would be in your study? Could you handle reading it? Could you handle the lack of control, the rejection?

In The Neverending Story, the young warrior Atreyu must look into a mirror and face his true self. If he cannot, he will die, as many have before him. I'd like to think that if nothing else, through this process we have put it all out there, seen our true selves, and survived. Happily, there's not much to fear about raising another human being after that.

My Three Sons?

It had been over a month since we received our last broadcast for available children. At the end of February we found out that Mark M., the original child for whom we submitted our home study, had run into legal issues regarding his availability for adoption, so that is no longer an option. It's hard to let Mark go; his was the first little face I ever dreamed about calling our own.

In all it was a month and a half of nothing. No broadcasts, no information coming our way. Mid-March Shawn and I took our first trip to Europe, and I resolved to give my mind a rest and just enjoy myself. As luck would have it, while checking email in Italy I saw that we finally got another broadcast, this time for three blue-eyed boys aged 7, 6 and 3. We were very excited to submit for them. The boys have experienced no physical/sexual abuse, instead suffering some relatively brief neglect and malnourishment which can leave fewer scars. On Tuesday it will be two weeks since we submitted for them, which is when the caseworker will check in on the status of their search. I dread another email saying we’re not in the running.
 
Late this week our caseworker sent another, different sibling group of three for our consideration. We were cautiously optimistic to submit our home study for them because the group had 2 toddlers, and we have not had much luck with young kids in previous broadcasts. Also, this group had one girl. I sat at home that night thinking about day care and what I am supposed to feed a two-year-old. When you are deciding whether these might be your children, you cannot help but become invested in the possibility. In fact, I feel it’s more responsible to think it all the way through.
 
The next morning our caseworker sent another email about those three. Someone at CPS had not made clear that they were “legal risk” kids intended only for foster, not for adoption. So almost as quickly as it came, the opportunity was gone.

This is such a roller coaster of a process, and each time a child is yanked off the table it hurts me and I mourn the loss. I wonder how long it will take for us to be chosen to parent children who need a forever family. I wonder how long I can take it until that happens. Discouraged, I reached out to other members of an online forum (people waiting for U.S. foster adoption) for comfort. Here are some of their words:

"Be patient. I’m a year in, with 2 considerations and both we had to decline. Our SW [social worker] said the average wait can be two years. Try not to be in a rush. It’s hard but you want the right match."

"...I keep all my dreams and plans in a notebook and try not to talk about each new listing to my friends…waiting until the time we really move forward with visits."

"Adoptive parents have to be hearty, if not - we would not be here for the real journey that arrives, when children come to live with you! Best Of Luck!!!"

"...it is sad in that you grieve the excitement you would have had building toward your baby if it was a baby you were carrying, but it also made everything easier to just try to be invested in other parts of my life. It has really helped me be in the moment."

"I had one failed match when I was adopting and it tore my heart and soul out. I really believe that, because we are so vulnerable and open during our adoptions, you can develop a bond very quickly with potential children, even sometimes without meeting them. And it is truly as serious emotionally as a late term miscarriage...Sending you lots of loving encouragement to persevere and keep the faith. It is SO worth it."

Patient. Hearty. Vulnerable. Perseverance and faith. It's a tall order; one that makes you wonder what kind of stuff you are made of.