Final!

On Thursday, our attorney called me to report that S's bio mother had finally signed the open communication document--but with a scribbled-in addition that expressed how angry she was at the "harassment" she's faced and how she wanted her criminal record expunged. Although her note most likely wouldn't stand up in court, I had to respond. I wrote an addendum saying that I agreed with her other additions, but not this one. I noted that she had abused my daughter, and the scars are indelible, permanent--she did not deserve to have her record expunged, and she had not been harassed by anyone. I faxed the addendum to the attorney, then called her to make sure she'd received the fax.

"Is this going to delay the adoption again?" I asked our attorney.

"Do you want to adopt S?" she asked me.

"Yes, more than anything."

"Does she wanted to be adopted?"

"Yes, more than anything."

"Then we'll make it happen," she said. I didn't realize until after I'd hung up that she hadn't really answered my question, but her confidence made me feel better.

On Friday morning, I got another call. I was in the middle of conferencing with a student, but I took it anyway, walked down the hall into the faculty lounge where I'd taken another call a few months earlier--the call telling me I had been chosen as S's family and would be able, finally, to talk to her. It is an ordinary room, an old-fashioned refrigerator, a sink, a microwave, a round table with stacks of student newspapers. It seems strange to think how much of the drama of this adoption has taken place in such a nondescript space.

"Are you ready for the next update in our little drama?" the attorney asked me.

My heart sank. She sounded frustrated. "Yes, I guess so," I said.

"S's bio mom's attorney has had a signed copy of the document all this time, without any of her insane additions. So that's the one we're going to file in court." There were about two seconds when I was angry at her attorney for not turning over this document earlier--but then, I realized what this meant.

"So we're really finalizing today?" I asked.

"Do you want..." she began again, but I stopped her.

"I need to know. Is this really going to happen?"

She sighed. "I think so. I just...with all that's happened, I can't be sure. I'm going to do everything I can."

A few hours later, our attorney and social worker sat down before a judge and presented our case. We were more than 2,000 miles away; S. totally unaware of what was happening, me trying to focus on a series of student conferences and listening for my phone.

He could have simply seen this case as a routine matter, or, worse, asked questions about the open communication agreement or the reasons S. had been taken from her home, whether placing her with a single, lesbian mother in another state was the best choice. Instead, he walked into the courtroom with flowers (he thought we were going to be there). He spoke about how inspiring our new family was, how glad he felt to be a part of the process, and how sorry he was that it had taken so long.

I got the call in my office and immediately posted an update on my facebook page. I haven't checked since, but I am sure the word has gotten out. Then I called the people who are closest to S. and/or to me. Everyone was ecstatic.

That night, we had an impromptu celebration at the local burger joint. K, her horse teacher, picked her up from school and stalled until I could pick up a Dairy Queen cake and get a few people together. When K brought her to the burger joint, using an excuse that I'd asked her to meet me there because I didn't feel like cooking, she scanned the table--but didn't get it. "Oh, lots of people are here," she commented, giving everybody hugs (and picking up S, the smallest of her college buddies whom she can lift several feet in the air). She sat down next to me and took off the new bright pink hat she'd made in home ec to show me. I told her I loved it, then put the adoption decree in front of her (I had asked to get a faxed copy immediately, needing to see it for myself).

"Do you know what this is?" I asked her.

"No," she said, scanning the front page. I turned to the last page, where her new name--her original first and middle name, my mother's name, and our shared last name--was typed in ordinary script. She stared for a couple minutes, then a smile began to creep across her face.

"It happened today," I whispered. I was, of course, crying. She grabbed my hand and kissed it.

Then, she looked up at everyone and announced, "I want a mushroom swiss burger."

It took awhile for the news to really sink in. After a few minutes, she walked happily around the table, kissing everyone. She smiled for the cameras. We went back home, and she stared, a distant smile on her face, at the "Happy Adoption" message. Still...I could tell she felt a little like I did, as if this couldn't possibly be real.

That night, S. wanted to sleep with me. We had taken the animals to the kennel because, the next morning, we would leave to make the long drive to Ohio to see my father to be with him during his cancer treatments. (I wasn't supposed to take S. out of the state until the adoption was final, so I was planning to sneak her out, tired of waiting, because my father needed me. The homework assignments and clothes were all packed; we were leaving no matter what). Anyway, S. claimed she didn't want to sleep in her room alone without the animals. I wasn't thrilled by the idea--I wanted a good night's sleep--but I let her. Luckily, we were both so exhausted we fell asleep immediately; I had forgotten she was in my bed until my alarm went off the next morning.

And here's how I know she REALLY gets it: as I reached out to press snooze, she opened her eyes and sighed. The first thing out of her mouth was, "I never thought this was going to happen."

"What?" I asked, sleepy, confused.

"I never thought I'd REALLY get adopted, not until I saw the papers," she said. "I didn't think anybody would ever love me as much as you do."

"I love you so much," I said.

"I know," she answered. "Greek kisses, right now!" she shouted then, and proceeded to pull me up so that I was sitting up in bed and to kiss my cheeks over and over until they were practically sore.

"We need to get ready to drive to Ohio," I said, playfully pushing her away and turning off the alarm.

"I know," she answered, and she rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom.

---

S. and I have a little song we sing back and forth in a made-up melody, and here's how it goes:

"Do you really love me?"
"Yes I really do."
"Are you really my mother?"
"Yes I really am."

As we began the 16 hour drive, sleepily and silently staring out the window, S. suddenly came to life, sang the first line loudly, then the second line. Unenthusiastically, I sang back. But then she added a third line:

"Is it finally legal?"
"Yes it really is!"

We've been singing this song at least once each week ever since :-).

Little Blessings

I'm finding a lightness in my center lately, sustained by little blessings, which, once I list them, I'll bet won't feel so little anymore...

--I have a poem in my head--not on paper yet, but still. Good considering most of my writing time has been spent tinkering with older projects--nice to have something new.

--I got quality time with one of my closest friends last week--a brief visit, but full of long walks and time for her to get to know S. and an awesome dinner party, the likes of which I realized, suddenly, that I've not attended since S. came into my life.

--Coming Out Day: woke up exhausted, bitter I had to go to work to do a six-hour training that has nothing to do with the job I'm actually paid to do. But then, the participants reminded me of how lucky I am to live in a place where I feel safe and affirmed and loved most of the time, where people are willing to leave their kids and homework and lives to reflect on how to become better allies.

--I spent the last two days with colleagues who do the same work I do (service-learning coordinators) from other campuses. We talked about how to collaborate more effectively. It was a terrible time to leave the office, and some parts of the meeting were frustrating, (others wonderful)--but we met in a beautiful place, and my 2 1/2 hour drive each way was lovely, the leaves turning spectacularly, totally silent (I even turned off NPR and left my political obsessions behind). Every stiff muscle in my body seemed to let go. More importantly, it was good to be around people who believe, as one of them put it, that it's important to bring "our whole selves to our work, and to honor our students' whole selves, too." Over supper last night (delicious food, good wine), we laughed a lot, and I felt re-energized on my way home. And S. survived an overnight without me.

--S. has two tests tomorrow, and she's truly ready. She's back to working hard, focusing again--at least for awhile, but I'll enjoy it while it lasts. We are trying a chart method to keep track of her successes and the things she needs to work on, suggested by our family therapist--I think it's actually working so far!

--My father is, yes, sick, but not as sick as we'd thought. He'll need chemo, some radiation, an operation--but the cancer is in the early stages, and he's going to be OK. Frustrating: we can't visit him, even though both S. and I have fall breaks coming up, because we can't leave the state until the adoption is finalized.

--But good news: we will finalize the adoption, we hope, by the end of this month. There has been another series of delays, due to S's bio mother's refusal to let go, to allow this good thing to happen. She signed and sent the document we'd agreed upon, but, oops, nobody could find it, or her. And when they did find her, she said she wouldn't sign it--she didn't say she had actually signed it, did she?--all bets are off. But, she's already broken a contract that hasn't been signed, has sent inappropriate letters to the agreed-upon neutral address (which neither S. or I have seen, but I'm taking our social worker's word for it). And so it goes...so far I have initialed two ridiculous changes to said document, S. has sustained two major flashbacks, one of which had her non-verbal for a couple hours, playing with toys as if in a daze, remembering things I can't even fathom. (We were supposed to finalize Friday, but learned two days before that there was yet another hold-up). But, today, a positive turn of events: the attorney general in the state S. is from is now saying we don't need to finish this negotiation to finalize, so, tentatively, we'll do so in the next two weeks. But, for the first time, I'm not giving S. an update. Too much heartbreak. I need to protect her, just in case there's another turn of events.

--I finished everything I absolutely need to have done by 8 a.m. tomorrow. OK, small victory, admittedly, but still...at least I don't go back to the office tomorrow behind.

--My cousin, S's age, who, at an earlier time in my life and hers, when I lived in Arizona, had been very close to me, was hospitalized recently--very sick, at least partly due to a lack of self-care and nourishment. But when I talked to her, I was amazed by the maturity and beauty with which she described her experience, her newfound desire to live a more authentic life. "This sounds crazy," she said, "but I've had what I think people call a spiritual awakening." Of course, I told her that didn't sound crazy at all. She said she couldn't wait to meet S.--I'd been long worried about how they might get along (and if), given the intense nature of my relationships with each of them. When I hung up, I wept awhile, but mostly I felt incredibly blessed to be a part of her life.

--I got a card today from an old friend who'd read my last blog entry and wanted to tell me she was sorry about my father's cancer. It was short, but (as strange as this sounds), it was really comforting to see her distinctive handwriting, hear her voice in the two short sentences. In it, she included what might be my favorite poem of all time, though I hadn't read it in a long time: "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver. I'll leave with a few of my favorite lines (and hope you'll look up the poem if you don't know it):

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again...

(The rest is equally beautiful, the end so perfect it is breathtaking...but I'll let you look it up. P.S. Thanks, P!)

I was right. The little blessings don't feel little anymore, now that I've written them, not at all.