Sometimes it is hard to see the truth of a situation because of the circumstances.
Sometimes the facts muddle everything up and make a tender berry plant look like a pesky weed.
Sometimes the judgements of men destroy the beauty of truth.
We don't call the girl who gave birth to Henry "birthmother". She prefers we didn't. She has made it quite clear that the title of mother isn't hers to claim. She sees herself as a vessel in the hand of the Lord. Even in her darkest hour, she listened to the still small voice. She agreed to the path less taken. It is a path fraught with emotional brambles. She answered yes to this course.
She sacrificed her story so that we might begin ours.
The facts of the story are amazing and make for great chitter chatter. "She did what? And then this? Oh and did you hear..."
But here's the truth.
This our story. This is the story of the way our children came to our family. As a mother, this story sits deep in my heart. It is beautiful and miraculous and framed with type of love that only the people involved will ever experience. I would fight to the death to preserve the sanctity of it.
The true nature of adoption seems to be lost on most. It is a complex principal. It is an extended course of study for those that choose to undertake it.
The hospital social worker came by. She congratulated me on not having to go through the pain of birth. She questioned me down on the facts surrounding our sons birth. She made some observations.
I stood blinking back rage and wondering if she also pops into random offices on the University campus to offer up opinions on biomechanics and advanced engineering.
This is what I really want to say. This is what I want the girl we don't call birthmother to know. It's the truth as I know it.
Hey- It's you and us and the Lord. Everything else is confetti.
All photos by the photo zoo. Available here.