Reflections on referral day

Wednesday, May 10, our lives changed forever. I had imagined "referral" day a thousand times, and it was nothing like I expected. When we started this journey, we, like many other parents, went straight into the "traditional" program. As in file your dossier and wait not-so-patiently for the CCAA to match you with "your" child. So this whole time, I was imagining that I would eventually tell people at work, and I would have people on the referral countdown with me... I planned to shout it from the rooftops when the call came in. Things worked out very, very differently. And I am so thankful, because the way things worked out gave me a few days of quiet introspection to enjoy the pure, pure joy of learning who our daughter is. When we began this process, we had not thought much about the waiting child lists, for a couple of reasons. First, to be frank, we were not very educated on special needs adoption. Second, we were apprehensive about looking at a list and "picking" a child. But as the wait stretched on, I saw more and more families receiving special needs referrals. J and I started talking about these "special needs" and discussing how we would handle various situations. Ultimately, we came to the conclusion that we had better be prepared for a "special needs" child, because there are simply no guarantees, no matter how your family is formed. We discussed the various special needs that could arise if we have biologicial children. We discussed the various special needs that could arise if we stayed in the traditional program. As we discussed it more, we realized that to be parents means to be equipped to deal with whatever "special needs" could arise. The two are inextricably intertwined. Around the same time, our agency announced a new list would be coming out soon. I asked J if he thought we should look at it. He said yes. Together we decided we would identify the special need we would be comfortable applying for BEFORE the list came out. We felt a little less like we were "shopping" this way, because it wouldn't necessarily be about the pictures of the children. I was sure that there would not be any children with the special need we discussed on the list. The list was posted when I was at work. I was so sure I was going to be disappointed. I scanned quickly, and there were four children! I still hadn't looked at the pictures... how was I going to decide? I didn't decide. Something larger than me took that on. I clicked on the first picture, oh how precious. The second, cute as a button. The third... and my stomach dropped, I let out an audible "oh!" and my eyes filled with tears. I immediately called J... and he knew too. (Oh, and this was payback, for all the times I shook my head and said, I don't know how you can choose from a list... turns out, the choosing goes the other way). I sat for a few minutes, in the quiet of my office with the door closed, and listened to the silence. And I knew we had to apply for this little girl. The next week and a half dragged by in slow agony. We were not the only ones applying, and I knew it. I jumped every time the phone rang. My cell phone was glued to my body. Still, no word. On Wednesday, May 10, just around 2:00, my cellphone rang. I literally threw a paralegal out of my office and slammed the door. It was my agency, calling to get more information from us. My mind and heart raced. I babbled. She thanked me and said she hoped to have a decision in the next day or so. I hung up, called J, and practically cried. I knew I'd blown it. He said he was sure I did fine. I was definitely not so sure. I tried to stay calm. I reached out to the handful of people who knew we had applied to help keep me sane. (We told almost no one, sensing the disappointment would be too great for our families, and we just did not want to tell friends). I, of course, could not keep it totally in and told a few close friends. (Thank you, P, E, L, E, and A, for being with me during this time). I tried to figure out how I would survive until the next morning. My cell phone rang again. Too soon! I thought. It had only been two hours. It was my agency again. She spoke so calmly, I was sure it was the rejection phone call. "I just wanted to let you know that we have completed our review of the applications for ___," she said, "and we have decided..." My heart stopped. Her voice was too low. Not good news. "...and we have decided that we would like to place her with your family." If the world could spin, and stand still, all at once, that is how I felt. I squeaked... "oh my god!" I cried. I giggled. My hands shook. My agency coordinator was fantastic... sat on the phone and laughed and cried with me, even though she had many more families to call that day. I called J. "She's ours," I said. "I knew it," he said. There was no shouting from the roof tops.* I was still a work, where this was all a big secret. I sat by myself and felt an incredible peace flood my body, my soul, and my heart. I looked around my office, turned out the lights, and went home. I opened the door to her nursery for the first time in months and breathed the fresh, clean scent of all-things-new. And I smiled. I'm a mom. J is a dad. Lillie Katharine is on her way home. *ok, there was a little shouting, as I frantically sent messages to those who had been enduring the wait with me... you know who you are, and after putting up with me, you certainly deserved to share the good news.