On March 17th, my world came crashing down around me in a way I never expected. The son I thought I would be holding in my arms became someone else's son.
And the world moved on while I lay in bed unsure of how I would survive the future without this little boy. No one outside of my husband really knew the utter pain and sadness I was in, knowing I had lost a son.
Today he is 4. Perhaps running through the beautiful Texas sunshine. Making a mess of his little hands and face as he digs into his birthday cake. Surely, being loved on by his parents. The ones meant for him all along.
I still wonder about him and wish that somehow I could convey to his parents how thrilled I am that they were the ones who were chosen to be his daddy and mama.
Of course, I always think of her, "R", the brave woman who had to make a decision she didn't want to make that day. She chose them and I wonder if she had her doubts. Doubts that she was doing the right thing, doubts that even though she originally chose us, were they really who she should have chose? I wonder if she knows him and has been able to see him like she wanted? Most of all, I wonder if she knew how much it killed me that day to not be able to give her everything she wanted?
I may never know the answer to those questions. I may never know who exactly "R" is, or even who that sweet little boy is. But I do know this, not a day has gone by in 4 years that I haven't thought of them. I've written about the loss several times over the years. I've prayed for both "R", the little boy, and his parents many times.
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Have you recently known someone who had a failed adoption? Check out this short post that I wrote on how to help someone who is going through one.
