We took some time after Paxton to just settle for a bit. After all of the rushing, we didn’t want to keep pushing ahead and were obviously scared about more heartbreak. We needed the time to reflect and figure out what to do differently the next time. We knew that there would be a next time, but we just needed some downtime in between.
It started in the new year. We got a call from Toronto CAS, just to touch base and see if we were ready to try again and without much discussion we both knew that we were. That’s when we met Jacquie – our incredible, supportive, kind and loving adoption worker, although we didn’t know all of those good things then. We cleaned and organized and made our home spotless in the days before she came to meet us and I spent the first part of that day just pacing, moving things around because I didn’t know what else to do with myself. Beyond the cautiousness that had built up, I was just far more nervous about this home visit than any of the others before. CAS didn’t know us the same way that everyone else did, they didn’t do our home study and I felt as though we had something to prove to them; that we would be amazing parents. Then Jacquie arrived and it was like she brought the light with her. She was so warm and friendly that she washed away any preconceived notions about CAS social workers that we may have had, we instantly felt as ease with her and more importantly felt as though we could be completely honest with her, which is such an important part of this funny relationship. We talked for a while about what our journey had been like, what our relationship was like, what our home and neighbourhood were like and then we started to get into the bigger stuff. From the outside, adoption can seem like such a beautiful picture: a family being created out of nothing: a child getting the home that they need, parents getting the child that they were meant to be with – but there is a grim reality to it that you only truly see when you’re part of the equation. One of the things that we come to learn is that adoption, regardless of the specific situation, comes from loss – it’s born of grief. Somewhere in this story a mother and a child have been separated and that loss is carried by both people for the rest of their lives, no matter what happens going forward. The other side to that is that this loss is not always voluntary – some children are removed from their birth families in the hopes that they will be given more stable paths and the social histories of these children varies and as an adoptive parent you have to be ready to face that and you need to be sure of yourself to know where some of these may fit onto your plate. That is where the list comes in, the list of questions about what scenarios you would be willing to consider. Would you consider a child who was exposed to drugs or alcohol? A child who has been exposed to violence or neglect? A child who is showing that they may have a hard time attaching to a new parent? A child born of rape or incest? Those are tough questions and it’s hard to picture what those scenarios might mean for your life, for your visions of a family, for the time and effort that’s involved. So when Jacquie asked us, “would you consider a child with Down syndrome”, the answer almost seemed too easy – of course we would – we knew Down syndrome. Down Syndrome wasn’t a scary unknown, it was us. At least that’s what Jess thought as she answered with (and this is a direct quote), “Hell yes!” I didn’t answer immediately and enjoyed the distraction of Jess’ enthusiastic response to give myself time to think. Could I do this? As much fun as camp was every summer, could I live that life every single day? What would I be giving up? How would that life be different then if we were chosen for a healthy, typical child? All of the questions that any parent facing a diagnosis of Down syndrome for their child thinks of. I caught Jacquie’s eye, like she was waiting for my response and then I looked at Jess: my wonderful, strong, loving wife, and I knew my answer. Maybe I couldn’t do this, but we could. And then Jess and I laughed and thought about how low the chances were that a child with Down syndrome would actually end up crossing our paths.
One week. That’s all the time that it took. A single week until Jacquie called us back and started to tell us the tale of a tiny baby girl, with Down syndrome, who had just recently become a crown ward. She told us a little more and then invited us to come and read the file of a little girl named Natalia. In fact, we were invited to read the file of 2 children that day, Natalia’s and another little girl around 18 months old whose file we never did see. We started with Natalia’s file and the first thing we saw were her photos and for Jess that was it, she was instantly in love with her tiny face. I, as is typical, ached at the photos and then forced myself to read the file. After everything with Paxton, I needed to know it all. I needed to understand what we were facing, I needed to understand her family and what type of relationship, if any, they were looking for. I just needed something in those words to speak to me and tell me that we were on the right path. And I found them in the words of a letter from Natalia’s birth mom to her written just before they surrendered their parental rights. I won’t share the details, as that’s a private conversation between baby Natalia and a grieving mom, but that letter made me ache for both this child, and this mother, in a way that I had never expected. I could feel the love this woman had for this infant jumping off of the page and straight into my heart. I knew that if we were chosen, I would make sure that child would always know love.
My guard was still up though and when Jess said that she didn’t want to even look at the file of the other child, I got angry with her for putting all of her hopes on this single child. After all of the heartbreak, I just wanted to play so that the odds were in our favour for getting any child, even though in my heart, I already loved one. And then we proceeded to wait. The longest, most agonizing wait of our lives. We waited while Natalia’s social worker looked at all of the potential parents, we waited while the list got cut down and we would get random phone calls asking us about what supports we could put into place or how long of a parental leave we would be able to take. It was an actual competition and while we wanted to win, I was so afraid of losing. that I didn’t dare let myself hope. For once, I pushed my natural inclination to always hold on to hope aside and I did everything I could to stay grounded and realistic.
And then the phone rang. Just after Mother’s Day and Jacquie’s voice on the other end of the phone told us that we could come and meet our daughter. Our beautiful little daughter who needed us far less then we needed her, our smart, courageous, willful daughter who made us whole. And somewhere in that wonderful package is Down syndrome – all mixed in with everything else that makes her the perfect match for us. The girl who laughs at the sound of bicycles driving by, who, we swear, is singing along to the Peppa Pig theme song, who will only say “Momma” when she’s upset that you’re doing her hair. Down syndrome is just her as much as her hair is brown and her eyes are hazel – it’s just there and we love it to bits.
