“Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still miraculously my own. Never forget for a single minute, you didn’t grow under my heart but in it.” —Fleur Conkling Heyliger
It feels profoundly fitting to conclude this deeply personal adoption story as Father’s Day approaches, having initiated its narrative around Mother’s Day. This particular segment, without a doubt, encapsulates the most triumphant and transformative chapter of our journey. While it marks the culmination of this three-part series, it is, in essence, just the genesis of our greatest adventure. For those seeking to immerse themselves fully in our path, I invite you to revisit Part I and Part II. Otherwise, let us pick up precisely where the emotional intensity of Part II left off.
The Anticipated Call: A Glimmer of Hope Amidst the Storm
Then, the world seemed to hold its breath before that pivotal call finally arrived. It was a bleak, relentlessly rainy day in June, the kind that perfectly mirrored the turbulent emotions churning within me. I was at work, immersed in my daily tasks, when the agency’s number flashed across my phone screen during a brief break. A sudden surge of adrenaline coursed through me, my heart launching into a frantic rhythm that echoed loudly in my ears. I retreated to the small, unassuming living area at the front of our store, collapsing onto the couch, my gaze fixed on the phone as I waited to connect with the director. The air grew thick, my body felt disproportionately warm, a clear sign of the immense pressure building. When her voice finally broke through the static, it delivered words that would forever etch themselves into my memory:
“Lorie, I’ve just had the pleasure of meeting the most wonderful girl. And she’s expressed a strong desire to meet you and Anthony. Her name is Hope.”
For a fleeting moment, a wave of profound emotion washed over me, a sensation akin to my heart sinking deep into my core – not literally, of course, but the visceral impact of those words unleashed a torrent of feelings. Sheryl, our director, continued, gently outlining the situation, sharing a few precious details about Hope, and her eagerness to arrange a meeting. The revelation that Hope had chosen *only* us was an incredibly powerful sign, a beacon in the uncertainty. Often, birth mothers consider multiple couples before making a selection, adding layers of apprehension. This singular choice instantly alleviated a significant portion of our anxiety; our sole focus now was to connect with Hope, to foster a bond that would hopefully lead her to entrust us with her child.
Navigating the Emotional Labyrinth: Weeks of What-Ifs and Wardrobe Dilemmas
The ensuing weeks leading up to our meeting with Hope were a tumultuous blend of soaring excitement and gnawing anticipation. Every waking moment was punctuated by an endless parade of “what ifs.” Our minds raced, conjuring every conceivable scenario, from the most idyllic to the most daunting. We speculated about Hope’s personality, her background, and how our interaction would unfold. This period was an emotional minefield, where anxiety was undeniably the reigning force, shaping every thought and conversation.
And then, the designated day finally arrived—the day we would meet Hope. My morning dissolved into a frantic search through my wardrobe. I meticulously tried on at least ten different outfits, each one scrutinised for its subtle implications, before finally settling on what felt “just right.” The desire to make a favourable impression was overwhelming, but how does one dress for such an extraordinarily delicate and life-altering encounter? It felt like an impossible tightrope walk: not too casual, but certainly not overly formal; nothing flashy, yet not bland; and absolutely nothing that hinted at being outdated. It was, without exaggeration, the most time I had ever dedicated to choosing an outfit in my entire life. In the end, I reverted to a simple, authentic version of myself: jeans and a comfortable top, my hair worn down, minimal makeup – a reflection of who I am, albeit with the reluctant inclusion of jeans, which I confess, I typically abhor.
Prior to the meeting, Sheryl provided a crucial briefing, detailing the expected protocol. She would meet with Hope alone for approximately fifteen minutes, creating a comfortable space before texting us to join them. This pre-meeting was designed to ensure Hope felt completely at ease and understood the next steps. Hope was scheduled to arrive at 3:00 PM, so our arrival was planned for around 3:15 PM. Anthony and I met at a nearby coffee shop, sipping water in near silence, the weight of the moment rendering us almost speechless. Our nerves were frayed, each of us grappling with the magnitude of what lay ahead.
The Moment of Truth: A Block That Felt Like Miles
3:07… 3:11… Then, the ping. The text message confirming we could proceed to meet her. The short walk down to the agency was merely a block, yet it stretched before us like an interminable mile. We clasped hands, taking deliberately deep, measured breaths, seeking to anchor ourselves against the storm within. We entered together, and there she was – the woman who held the potential to become our hope, our guiding light, our everything.
For some inexplicable reason, I had constructed an image of Hope in my mind as someone with a tough, perhaps even hardened, exterior. I suspect this was merely a defensive mechanism, a manifestation of the “worst-case scenario” anxieties that had relentlessly replayed in my thoughts. Yet, the instant my eyes met hers, every preconceived notion dissolved. Before us stood the brave, timid, and exquisitely sweet young woman who was about to irrevocably change the course of our lives. Despite the clammy discomfort of my own perspiration, I managed a genuine smile and a steady breath as we were introduced. In that moment, an undeniable sense of rightness settled over me, a feeling that everything was exactly as it was meant to be.
During the thirty minutes or so we spent together, Sheryl expertly guided the conversation, posing questions to all of us. Hope’s best friend, who had accompanied her, proved to be remarkably kind and easy to engage with. Hope herself was naturally more reserved, her friend even gently boasting about her qualities when Hope, in her humility, shied away. Our discussions spanned a wide array of topics, from the deeply personal reasons behind her choice of us to more mundane subjects like our favorite Netflix shows. As our time concluded, Hope and I shared a warm embrace, and then we departed, secure in the knowledge that Sheryl would soon be in touch with an update.
A Step Closer to Forever: The Thrill and Fragility of Hope
Anthony and I left the agency in a similar state of quiet reflection. We walked to a nearby wine bar, found a secluded spot outside, and ordered a glass of wine, attempting to divert our attention with unrelated conversation, trying desperately not to fixate on our phones. Fortunately, the wait was brief. Sheryl called us almost immediately, her voice brimming with positive news: Hope wished to move forward with us. Furthermore, she wanted us to meet her mother in a couple of weeks, a crucial step given her desire for an open adoption arrangement, involving four annual visits with the baby. She also expressed a strong preference for the name Noah and asked if we would consider incorporating it into his name. Our response was instantaneous and unequivocal: of course, we would – we would do absolutely ANYTHING!
This was, without a doubt, the most exhilarating news I had received in nearly five years, and perhaps, truly, in my entire life. It was another significant stride closer to our forever family, another tangible step towards bringing our longed-for baby home. Yet, amidst the jubilation, a formidable wall of guarded emotions and deep-seated hesitation persisted. It was June, meaning we still had months to navigate until October. And the stark reality loomed: Hope retained the right to change her mind at any point between then and 72 hours post-birth. The mere thought of reaching that precipice only to have to walk away empty-handed induced a physical nausea. It was the constant, insidious torture of reality, and consequently, becoming overly invested or deeply connected felt like a perilous gamble for our vulnerable hearts. We had become painfully accustomed to loss, and in the quiet recesses of our minds, failure often seemed the most probable outcome. A cynical part of us believed that cultivating a degree of detachment might cushion the blow should things fall apart. And yet, despite these defenses, Sam was all we could think of, all we dared to dream of, day in and day out. He was already our baby, but the brutal truth remained: there was absolutely no guarantee.
The Rollercoaster Continues: Setbacks and Shifting Plans
A few anxious weeks elapsed, and a deafening silence emanated from the agency. My concern steadily mounted, particularly since our last conversation had included plans to meet Hope’s mother within two weeks, a meeting for which no date had yet been scheduled. I cautiously reached out to Sheryl, only to learn that she hadn’t heard from Hope either. She explained that it was considered poor practice for the agency to push or force communication; they had to respectfully wait for birth mothers to initiate contact. So, we waited, and with each passing day, our anxiety levels soared to new, unbearable heights.
Approximately a week later, Sheryl finally contacted us. The news she delivered was a fresh blow: we would not be meeting Hope’s mother. Hope’s mother, Sheryl explained, was not fully supportive of the adoption and had urged Hope to keep the baby – precisely the update we had desperately hoped not to hear. At this juncture, however, Hope remained committed to the adoption, but she expressed apprehension that an open adoption would be too emotionally challenging for her. Instead, she requested a semi-open arrangement, which would involve us sending pictures and letters. For us, this was perfectly acceptable; again, we reiterated, we would agree to anything to bring our child home.
Sheryl committed to meeting with Hope every other week, serving as a vital bridge for communication and enabling her to gauge Hope’s emotional state, address any emerging doubts, and note any changes in her resolve. After each of these crucial meetings, Sheryl would promptly update us. For the subsequent two months, these bi-weekly check-ins proceeded positively, and we received a reassuring call every couple of weeks, confirming that everything remained on track.
The Invisible Journey: Anticipating an Arrival with No Guarantee
Throughout this intricate process, as I’ve mentioned, emotions and anxiety operated at consistently elevated levels. We found ourselves compelled to maintain a near-constant state of activity, desperately trying to prevent our minds from spiraling into unmanageable despair. It was incredibly difficult to prepare for the arrival of a baby that, in the most agonizing sense, might never truly materialise. Consider the stark contrast: when a woman is pregnant, she publicly prepares the nursery, celebrates with baby showers, and is openly doted upon when seen shopping or dining out. Her visible pregnancy provides countless opportunities for external celebration and connection. And crucially, at the culmination of the pregnancy, the expectation of taking her baby home is virtually a certainty.
When you are adopting, however, very few people beyond your closest circle of friends and family are aware of your “expectancy.” So, while you internally live with the profound anticipation, there’s no overt acknowledgment from the world outside. This makes public celebration and communal connection around the impending arrival infinitely more complex and delicate. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of a baby shower, knowing I wouldn’t be able to truly enjoy it, haunted by the ever-present uncertainty. We knew the fundamental necessities: a crib, essential baby items. Yet, venturing beyond these basics felt presumptuous, an act of tempting fate. So, we adhered strictly to the essentials. The nursery received a fresh coat of paint, modest furniture, and the bare necessities. The act of walking through a baby store, registering for items, felt deeply awkward, almost surreal, precisely because we couldn’t be sure if any of it would ever come to pass. The uncertainty alone was enough to bring me to tears.
The Final Stretch: Mounting Uncertainty and a Glimpse of the Plan
As our preparations cautiously advanced, Hope’s behavior became increasingly unpredictable, leaving even Sheryl somewhat bewildered. Hope inexplicably missed one of their scheduled meetings, then rescheduled for later in the week, only to cancel again. During this period, Sheryl’s updates to us subtly shifted in tone, often including gentle reassurances like, “If it’s not this baby, there will be another one,” and similar phrases aimed at easing our escalating anxieties – a noble but ultimately futile effort. Finally, Hope did attend her next scheduled meeting, and together they meticulously crafted a comprehensive birth plan for the hospital. This detailed plan included her preferences for who would be present in the delivery room, who would have the honour of holding the baby first, and how he would be cared for during the hospital stay. Going over these concrete details with Sheryl, seeing a tangible vision and a clear plan emerge, offered a much-needed, albeit temporary, sense of relief and solidity.
Paradoxically, it seemed that the closer we drew to the due date, the more palpable Sheryl’s own nervousness became about the adoption successfully proceeding. Her phone calls began to sound less like updates and more like gentle preparations for potential disappointment, a subtle foreshadowing born from her recent meetings with Hope and her own intuitive gut feeling about the complex situation. The notion of experiencing another devastating loss felt utterly inconceivable, yet in this precarious situation, it remained tragically probable. And with only a month remaining until the due date, the emotional pressure intensified dramatically.
The Agonizing Wait: October Arrives
Sam was due on October 12th. The final weeks leading up to his anticipated birth are now nothing more than a profound blur of intense emotion and physical discomfort. I have never in my life experienced such deep, visceral anxiety. Breathing became a conscious effort, eating felt repulsive, and the thought of sitting still bordered on madness. Honestly, I have no idea how I survived that period. It was truly dreadful. Each night, as I struggled desperately for sleep, I would repeat a mantra, an insistent whisper to God, “I trust in You. I trust in You. I trust in You,” over and over again in my head. I would inhale, “I trust,” and exhale, “in You.” It was the only technique that offered even a semblance of calm, eventually lulling me into a fitful slumber. And after countless repetitions, I would often conclude by asking God to genuinely help me trust Him, acknowledging the immense difficulty of finding that faith in such uncertain times.
And then, October finally arrived.
My singular hope was that Hope would deliver early; I felt an overwhelming readiness. I had met with Sheryl to meticulously review all the hospital protocols and expectations. I was somewhat surprised to learn that we wouldn’t be permitted any visitors in the hospital, but I fully understood and respected the established protocol. Sheryl walked me through the post-birth timeline, detailing when legal papers would be signed and what interactions were permitted until that crucial point. She was also particularly insistent about the necessity of obtaining a hospital bracelet for myself before a specific time, emphasizing that without it, we would not be allowed to be alone with Sam without Hope’s presence in the hospital. Naturally, this immediately became another significant source of apprehension – ha!
During the week of Hope’s original due date, we received a call with an unexpected update: her doctor didn’t anticipate she would deliver on the 12th. Instead, it was highly likely she would be induced on the evening of October 19th. My initial reaction was disbelief, a frustrated internal question: Seriously?! Was this some cruel, twisted joke? Nope, it was simply another unpredictable turn in our already complex journey.
So, once again, we settled into the agonizing rhythm of waiting. A deep sigh escaped me.
The Dawn of Our New Beginning: October 19th
Every night from that day forward, my phone rested beside my head, its volume turned to its highest setting. But it remained silent… until approximately one AM on the morning of October 19th. Hope was in labor. We were initially advised to try and get back to sleep, with Sheryl assuring us she would meet us at the hospital in the morning, and that the baby likely wouldn’t arrive until around noon. Go back to sleep?! That was a laughable impossibility. I climbed out of bed, and for some inexplicable reason, took a shower, dried my hair, and then simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, until around six AM when Sheryl called again with an update. She instructed us to head to the hospital around 8 AM, but cautioned us not to rush.
We quickly got ready, grabbed a hurried bagel, and then set off for the hospital.
The drive to the hospital remains another profoundly surreal chapter of this journey. What words can adequately capture the mixture of ecstatic hope and paralyzing fear when you’re en route to a hospital, yearning to leave with the most precious gift imaginable, yet acutely aware of the devastating possibility of walking away utterly empty-handed? Each time that dreadful thought intruded, I had to physically shudder, a desperate attempt to shake it from my mind. Anthony, ever my rock, valiantly tried to keep my spirits positive, and we both focused on maintaining a facade of calm – always easier said than done, wouldn’t you agree?
Sheryl was already at the hospital when we arrived, though she had no significant new updates, merely confirming that things were progressing as expected. Our next update indicated Hope was 8 cm dilated, leading everyone to confidently predict his arrival before noon. But of course, it wouldn’t be our story without further tests of patience. Noon came and went, and still, nothing. We sat, we paced, we compulsively checked our phones. We ventured outside for some fresh air, grabbed a drink at the cafeteria, and still, no news. But at least we had managed to pass another agonizing hour. Then, Hope’s mother entered the waiting room, introducing herself, an interaction that surprisingly brought me a profound sense of calm. Her presence and demeanor suggested she was now fully supportive of Hope’s decision.
“We Have A Baby!”: The Surreal Moment of Arrival
Around 4 PM, Sheryl received a phone call. She returned to the waiting room moments later, her face alight, giving us two emphatic thumbs up as she declared, “We have a baby!” That moment exists in my memory as if viewed from a distance, a dreamlike, almost out-of-body experience. It was utterly surreal. The family who had shared the waiting room with us all morning immediately enveloped Anthony and me in warm, congratulatory hugs. Then, Sheryl gently escorted us away for a private conversation.
Hope was spending the first hour alone with Sam, a detail that caused a fleeting concern for Sheryl. However, she was informed that this was a new hospital policy, granting the birth mother a private hour of skin-to-skin contact with her newborn. So, inevitably, we waited yet again. This time, our breaths felt impossibly shallow, our hearts suspended in breathless anticipation.
Then came the message we had been yearning for: Hope decided she wanted us to come down to her room to meet Sam. We were beyond ready, yet simultaneously numb from the sheer exhaustion of emotion and anticipation. As we received the official “go ahead,” we paused for a moment, our hands clasped tightly together, drawing strength from each other. As we walked down the bustling hall of labor and delivery, tears began to flow uncontrollably. Everything and nothing raced through our minds, creating an almost ethereal experience. We noticed nurses along the corridor standing, their faces wreathed in genuine smiles, as they watched Anthony and me pass by, Sheryl following closely behind us, a silent testament to the journey we had embarked upon.
We were gently guided into Hope’s room, and there he was, bundled securely in her arms. She looked at me, her gaze steady, and asked, “Do you want to hold him?”
Shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face, I managed to whisper, “YES.” And in that moment, my eyes beheld the most perfect, beautiful boy I had ever seen. Samuel Noah, our perfect baby boy. Suddenly, the three of us seemed to be the only souls in the room, the world outside fading into insignificance. And all I could utter, over and over, was, “He’s perfect.”
And now, he is undeniably, wonderfully, and completely ours. FOREVER.
The Journey Continues: A New Beginning
The subsequent days of our hospital stay, the solemn signing of the paperwork, and a few other minor bumps along this new road are still integral parts of our unfolding story. But for tonight, this is where I choose to pause and conclude this particular narrative chapter. In truth, this glorious moment is only the very beginning of everything.
Adoption has not merely touched my life; it has profoundly saved me, irrevocably changed me, and exquisitely made me complete. And for this immeasurable gift, I am eternally grateful for Hope’s extraordinary selflessness and profound bravery.
xoxo
And an extra, heartfelt Happy Father’s Day to the exceptional man who navigated this challenging, at times hellish, journey alongside me. To the one who held me up through every rocky turn, every moment of despair – know that it was all worth it, every single bit, one hundred percent. Our beautiful family is a testament to your unwavering strength and love.
