Open Adoption

Truth is, I am the one who gets up in the middle of the night, fixes boo boos, knows my child’s needs, takes the hits -- it doesn’t get any more real than that. I am not playing a game of make believe or pretend. Recognizing and valuing the birth family’s position in my child’s life does not discount mine.

Renée Longshore Tweet

“So who am I to Elijah?” Noelle’s question was direct and to the point. I was kind of caught off-guard. After two years of an open adoption, both of us were still figuring it out.

When the idea of “Open Adoption” first originated, no one knew exactly what it would look like. It was the beginning of a new way to look at things. No longer was adoption meant to be secretive. The veil of shame was slowly being lifted.

For centuries, birth moms were sent away to hide an unwanted pregnancy, babies were born into a stranger’s arms, and then handed to the adoptive parents as a sacred gift. Countless children grew up sheltered from the truth of their origins. We weren’t supposed to talk about it — “people” were being protected.

Those children grew into adults. Some families were able to maintain the facade, while in other cases truth leaked out, identities were shaken, and lives were shattered. This effect initially fueled the argument to maintain secrecy and avoid truth. But eventually, the truth of the matter was that things needed to change.

Research in the 1970s argued for more openness in adoption. By 1975, things began to shift, and in 1990 open adoption became a key topic in the adoption conversation.

Our First Child: What is “Open Adoption”?

When we started the adoption process, getting licensed as foster/adoptive parents in San Bernardino County, open adoption was touted as the “mature” choice. If you couldn’t consider it, you obviously weren’t able to “adult” yet. It was an offensive suggestion at best, meant to stong-arm prospective adopting parents into accepting and agreeing to participate in it.

“No, you don’t have to. But many birth moms won’t even look at your file if you’re not willing to consider it.” The thought of birth moms not looking at our file, and social workers not showing it because we still needed time to “grow up” concerned us, and pushed us into agreeing to consider it, not because we wanted to, but because ultimately we had no other choice if we wanted to be a viable adoptive family.

We agreed to offer an open adoption, but had no idea what that would entail. “Usually letters and pictures once a year. The birth mom might even want to meet you,” the licensing social worker explained. Well it was definitely doable Paul and I reasoned. In the end, if it didn’t feel right, we could adjust as need be.

When we first heard about Lydia we asked about her birth mom. “Does she want an open adoption?” Much to our relief, she did not. We tried to contain our excitement. “How about meeting us?” That, too, was a negative. “Oh man,” we tried our best to look disappointed.

As adoptive parents, open adoption was threatening our sense of purpose. We were adopting because we wanted to be parents. Any other parents in the equation, we felt, would undermine the position we held in our child’s life. We were also afraid he/she might like them better than us.

Open adoption was a direct threat to our hopes and dreams. Why were we doing all of this if we were only going to be over-glorified babysitters? As teachers, we had already accomplished that.

But being able to say we were open to the idea and then not have to commit to it with our first child? That was amazing, really. But of course we would have never said it aloud.

When Lydia turned one year old, I did write a letter to her birth mother, and another to her birth father and gave them to the social worker along with some pictures. After that, we respected their decision and made no more attempts to contact them.

Considering Daniel: “What Have We Done?”

As we updated our file, and waited for our next placement, we wondered if we’d have the same results. When our portfolio was chosen specifically because we were open to family contact, we were concerned. Since Daniel was removed from the home, this added a whole ‘nother dynamic. His parents hadn’t chosen us. In fact, they wanted him back.

I remember bringing Daniel down for his first visit since coming home with us. Paul and I both went so that we could meet everyone. We parked far away from the entrance so no one could identify our car or take down our license plate number. We were afraid we’d be traced.

Walking toward the entrance we spotted Jimmy smoking in the distance. He kept taking awkward glances in our direction and then redirecting his gaze. Through the glass doors we walked, up to the front counter and gave our names discreetly. “What is your first and last name?” the receptionist inquired again, louder this time. We had no other choice but to say our names again to the whole waiting room.

We were forced to be vulnerable, show our license plate number, and loudly announce our first and last names to a room full of strangers. Right after that, Jimmy walked in the door, gingerly looked at us, and shuffled his feet.

“Is this one yours?” I asked, looking at him. A smile quickly spread across his face as he stepped forward, said yes, and put his hands out to receive Daniel. Daniel smiled and leaned towards him, falling into his outstretched arms. With that short question, I gave him permission to approach us, and my own words shot like a clumsy dagger into my heart.

At that moment I realized that he was Daniel’s safe place. As I watched my new son surrender himself happily to Jimmy’s arms and out of mine, it hurt. But Daniel had only been with us for a few days. It made sense, I reassured myself. We had not earned that trust yet. I tried hard not to be jealous, grateful Daniel had that consistency in his life.

Shortly after that, the rest of the family showed up. Grandparents came in with his siblings, and Cheryl, their mother, followed closely behind. They filed to another corner of the room as we all waited just a short time for the social worker to join us. Once Stacy entered the room, she took a moment to introduce us to everyone, and then led Jimmy, Cheryl, and the kids through a door and down the hallway. I will never forget that moment, how Cheryl dodged eye contact and half-heartedly offered me her cold, clammy hand. She was not any happier to see me than I was to be there.

We continued bringing Daniel down for his weekly visits. In time, Daniel became more hesitant to be handed over. He would not look at them, and held on tightly as I tried to hand him off. It didn’t take long before they were having to pry him from my arms, Daniel crying as they walked with him down the hall. “Could you just walk him to the room?” Jimmy asked.

I tended to leave pretty quickly afterward. It was heartbreaking having to listen to him scream as they carried him away. I wished he could understand — there was nothing I could do.

Eventually his social worker escorted him into the room. This seemed to help the transition as Daniel did not cry as freely with her. This gave me the opportunity to stay and wait for him to finish the visit. It also gave me the chance to get to know his maternal grandmother, who normally brought the other kids for the visit.

I purposefully chose a seat close to her. In just a short time we were able to start talking pretty comfortably. Each week it was easier to strike up conversation and pick up where we had left off. I would ask her how her week went, and she would wonder how we were all doing. We got to know each other well and I enjoyed her company.

The idea of open adoption slowly started to change for me. I no longer felt threatened by the idea of maintaining a relationship with Daniel’s birth family. They were not the scary unknown, but people that reminded me a lot of my own. I continued to open myself up to them, getting to know Jimmy more, and even staying up on the other kid’s activities. I felt like I had slowly become a part of their family.

When Cheryl’s rights were terminated, she stopped coming to the weekly visits. Jimmy continued to show without fail and the courts eventually moved to extending them. I was coming down twice a week and, in time, Jimmy was allowed to meet with Daniel in extended, unsupervised visits, eventually taking him off-campus.

This transition was difficult for everyone. I felt my son slowly slipping out of my hands as I watched the courts award Jimmy more time and liberty in his visits with Daniel. I grieved for the direction I saw it all headed but still desperately held onto any hope I could find.

Daniel’s maternal grandparents became concerned for us as well. “Daniel should stay with you. Jimmy can’t take care of him.” But time and again, I had no choice (other than breaking the law), and had to follow suit.

I strapped him into the skeleton of a car-seat that Jimmy had picked up (generously used) from someone. There was no padding, and Jimmy couldn’t figure out how to work the thing. “I love you, Buddy.” Kissing Daniel on the forehead, I closed the door. I cried alone in my car as I watched them drive away. No mother should have to do that.

It helped me to see the other side, though. To understand the desperate love and loss of a woman who has to give her son away. It helped me to live in a position of helplessness, at a time when things were spinning out of my control. This experience gave me a perspective I could not have gotten any other way. I understood what it meant to make purposeful decisions for my child that ran contrary to what I was feeling, because it was in his best interest to do so.

And so every time I brought him down, handed him over, and buckled him in, I smiled and told him how much I loved him. My composure steadied him. When Jimmy shared how excited he was to buy Daniel his “first toy” I feigned excitement for him, trying not to discount his efforts. As I cared for Daniel following each visit, changing over-soiled diapers that hadn’t got changed, and comforting his excessive tantrums, I offered patience and understanding in the midst of the storm I also had no power to control.

In all of this, I learned the pain of losing a child, all the while making purposeful decisions as it headed in that direction, because I loved him. Daniel didn’t understand what I was doing, or why I was doing it, but I was protecting him because I knew something he did not. It had to happen this way, and the best thing I could do was try to help him through it.

After everything was said and done, many people were shocked and disappointed. We had become family, and this loss impacted us all. I saw Daniel a couple of times after Jimmy was awarded custody. He invited us to his oldest son’s birthday party at Chuck E Cheese.

It was retching for me to see Daniel that day as he spotted me and ran, exhausted into my arms. He wouldn’t let go. But it didn’t take long for that to change. After about 15 minutes he wrestled out of my arms to get down and ran around with Lydia a bit. Then, all tuckered out, he refused to look at me, and rested in the solace of Paul’s arms alone. I believe Daniel blamed me, with whatever understanding he could muster in his mind, I let this happen. Just me being there was painful for him. I was devastated.

It was my fault. I was his mother, his protector, and I failed him miserably. I accepted the truth of his reality and tried not to take it personally, and once again it brought another level of understanding for me.

Still, a couple of weeks later Jimmy scheduled to meet us at the park. Daniel played with Lydia on the jungle gym as I watched from a distance, being careful not to approach him. After some time, Daniel slowly walked toward me, reached up and, as I bent down, tightly wrapped his little arms around my neck. After a little time, that felt like an eternity as I soaked in all I could, he released his grip and let some space come in between us as he kept his arms draped loosely on my shoulders and locked eyes with me and smiled. “I love you, Buddy,” I said quietly, adoringly, smiling as he came in for another hug. I was so thankful for that moment, grateful for his gentle offer of mercy and love. I never saw him again after that.

Walking away from this experience, I was not the same person who stepped innocently into the adoption world years ago. I had been tried and tested, broken and healed in a way that I could never look at it the same way again. Adoption was not just a blessing — it became a penance. In order for there to be gain, there had to be loss. And the loss is real. And it hurts, worse than anything I could have ever imagined.

No longer able to be blinded by optimism and aloof to the devastating pain, Paul and I stepped wholeheartedly into the world of open adoption. It may end up being messy, but it was necessary. We had to do what we could to minimize the loss for everyone involved. We hoped our efforts would help bring some healing to the brokenness.

Bringing David Home: Our First Open Adoption Experience

When we updated our file with the county, for the first time, we genuinely noted our willingness to have an open adoption, to whatever degree the birth family felt comfortable. Shayla chose us because of our willingness to be open. We met with her before we brought David home. She agreed to a letter and pictures every six months. We eventually “friended” her on Facebook, where her mom and grandma reached out to us as well.

Over a year after David was born, we agreed to a visit at Burger King. Laura picked Shayla up and met us there. She was young, and generally more interested in her phone than David, but in time she relaxed and became more engaged, playing with him. David was a little awkward and quite standoffish. I wondered if he could sense the tension in our time together. As I embraced her, he did, and before long he was smiling and engaged.

After we parted, Shayla invited me one more time to a dramatic production of Suessical the Musical her high school was putting on. She was a singer/dancer in the performance. Delighted to be invited, but thinking David was too young for the event, I came alone. I could see the disappointment in her face when she met up with me afterwards. My explanation did not suffice.

This was the first time I was faced with the displeasure from a birth mom who didn’t agree with a decision I had made. I felt horrible, even though justified to be making decisions in the best interest of David. But it was hard for her to stomach, and difficult for me to watch. She stayed connected on Facebook but did not make any more efforts to meet up in person after that.

Brace Yourself!: Elijah and The Wide-Open Adoption

After connecting with Nightlight Christian Adoptions, looking to bring home our third child, we offered the same openness in adoption — whatever the birth family would be comfortable with. Noelle was excited by our willingness to embrace them as extended family. She wanted to spend time with us pre-birth, get to know our children, and invite us to her own family gatherings. I was able to go to doctor visits and even be at the hospital for Elijah’s birth. Overnight, our family had grown exponentially.

It was truly an exhausting two months as we learned to navigate this new world of wide-open adoption. I was not consulted for doctor visit dates and times, but invited to be there (which, of course, was very kind). But everything I was planning got thrown to the wind — I made it happen according to what worked for her because I didn’t want to make any waves, and she hadn’t asked for my input.

I remember waking up at 2:30am on a family vacation in Yosemite Valley in order to make it to an ultrasound appointment on time. I was prepared with snacks and a four-pack of Starbuck’s double-shots to keep me awake for the journey there and back in one day.

Whatever it took, we were going to make it happen. The burden of keeping things running smoothly was real, and we felt like it fell to us. We attended a family dinner, went to Chuck E Cheese repeatedly, Scandia, and various other activities, always offering to pick up the check (which she did not always accept).

Expectations, spoken or not, self-imposed or suggested are pressing and real in open adoption relationships. The burden always falls to someone. I think that’s important to consider. Pre-birth and pre-homecoming, adoptive parents feel the pressure to make it work. In post-adoptive placement, that burden shifts to the birth family.

There were many things we hadn’t discussed ahead of time, like if and when Elijah would be circumcised, who would be allowed to attend family gatherings, and how much say his birth family would have in Elijah’s upbringing. Maybe we avoided them because the conversation would have made things uncomfortable or threatening.

I viewed them as extended family, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Elijah knew they were his birth family, and Noelle was his birth mom, but we were Mom and Dad. We were the ones who listened to suggestions but ultimately made the decisions for our family.

That’s where I think the line is easily blurred. Open adoption creates the false sense of security that someone else will raise your kid, but ultimately he/she is still your kid. Someone else will do the work of parenting, but you will retain the position of “parent”.

Truth is, I am the one who gets up in the middle of the night, fixes boo boos, knows my child’s needs, takes the hits — it doesn’t get any more real than that. I am not playing a game of make believe or pretend. Recognizing and valuing the birth family’s position in my child’s life does not discount mine.

This is the point I had to constantly remind myself of. I am Mama. In declaring that to myself first, and then walking the walk, I was not being selfish or mean. I was preserving my child’s view of the situation, and the security of who he believed me to be. At the same time I was not discrediting who they were. We held two distinctly different, but equally important roles.

In time, this was hard for Noelle to accept, and I believe that is what prompted the question. “Well, I guess you’re sort of like an aunt.” Her disdain for this spoken reality was palpable.

As our relationship moved forward, it never fully recovered. We still maintain an open relationship to this day, but it feels different.

She had another son and decided to raise him. We did not tell Elijah until we felt he was old enough to be able to process it all in a healthy way. A fellow adoptee suggested I wait until he asked.

I hated that I wouldn’t be able to protect him from the inevitable pain of this situation — one was “given away” and the other one “kept.” I had to come to radically accept another situation that was completely out of my control. He knows now, has even briefly interacted with his half-birth brother over Facetime, and writes Noelle letters from time to time.

I follow his lead, and encourage him to continue processing all of it when I feel like he is disconnecting. In the end, I want Elijah to be able to say he navigated these bio relationships in the best way he could, that I encouraged and supported him through it.

A Portrait of the Not-So-Typical American Family: Naomi’s Journey Home

By the time we got around to updating our fost/adopt license, we felt pretty adept at the open adoption thing, and when we offered it again, we thought we knew what we were getting ourselves into.

Pam selected us because of our willingness to be so open. At the time, she was just trying to take care of herself and get back up on her feet. Pam already had one daughter from a previous relationship. Open adoption would allow her the opportunity to find a family who would adopt Naomi and also welcome them to be a part of their lives.

The relationship I have with Pam is the most open and healthiest I have had with any of my children’s birth mothers. One reason for this, I believe, is that we are close in age, can really relate and connect. We have also been able to be truly open, genuine, and vulnerable with each other. We haven’t always agreed, but we have respected each other’s feelings and position in Naomi’s life. And when things get uncomfortable or dicey, Pam stays present, and dons an epic sense of humor, which always helps.

Pam and I have written together about our experience in open adoption. With her permission, I hope we can share that with you all soon.

So I stepped into this social experiment of “Open Adoption” first because I felt coerced, but after having walked it myself through the loss of a child, and then of my own free will, I can say that I’m glad I did. Not because it was expected, or because it was easy, but because I believe it has helped my children navigate their identity in a healthy way.

There is no walking around the profound loss of a parent (or child), and open adoption creates an avenue to walk through it. My children have benefited from facing their loss, fears, and hope head-on. And that’s the job I signed up for as their mother. I would not have done it any other way.