Adoption: As Long as We Both Shall Live

It has been a beautiful blessing in my life to be able to witness a lot of adoption ceremonies. Each time I’m present to hear the legal language, listen to the parents answer questions, and watch the faces of the children involved, I see it with fresh eyes. I notice something new.

This morning I was driving three of my kids (all adopted) to watch the legal finalization of a friend’s adoption. In our state, you have to live with your adoptive parents for six months before an adoption can be finalized, so although this little guy left China and became part of his family (and our church community) a while ago, today was the day it all became legal here– for sure and forever.

As I was driving we talked about the importance and and beauty of watching an adoption happen. When we watch a baptism at church, it reminds us of the beauty of our own baptism. As married people, when we witness a wedding, it reminds us of our own vows– the solemnity and sweetness of that moment. As an adoptive family, when we get to be present at an adoption, it reminds us of our own stories– the journey to that moment, the seriousness of the promises we made, and how happy we were to legally become family to each other.

I listened to the words afresh today. I heard the lawyer ask the questions and I heard a mom and dad vow to be parents and it hit me in a new way. That vow wasn’t limited to just until that child is 18 or has achieved some level of independence. The vow was to be the parents to this child for the rest of their lives. I remember during our adoption ceremonies the word “heir” was used and the implication that it would now be as though these children were the natural children of our marriage. We were agreeing to a lifetime bond, not just some kind of childcare arrangement. And it was even more than a lifetime bond. When we talk about an heir, we’re talking about those people who will continue to be our family, our legacy, our descendents even after our lives are over.

I looked down the bench at my three kids beside me and thought about how little I knew in the moment when I promised to be their mom forever.

I didn’t know about the special needs that would arise. I didn’t know about the struggles they would have with academics or identity or emotions or their own story. I didn’t know what it would feel like when they’d slam the door in anger or when they’d point their rage at me because I’m the safe person and they know I can take it. I didn’t knowing about the dance of trying to keep connections with biological family and the emotional cost my kids would pay (because even when you desperately want those relationships, they are still hard). I didn’t know that while adoption is an event that happens once in a courtroom, it is also a way of life for the rest of your life.

I also didn’t know about the pride of seeing my kids excel beyond what we ever dreamed possible. I didn’t know about their giftedness in academics or art or music or sports. I didn’t know what it would feel like for them to express their love of our family and how much more that would mean to me because of what we’ve been through. I didn’t know how much I’d come to love their biological family because of my overwhelming love for this child we share. I didn’t know the joy I would feel at their baptisms and as I watched their own spiritual development.

I promised to be their mother for the rest of my life. It was a promise made in hope and faith and ignorance, just like my marriage vows. I could never have imagined how hard some moments would be or the absolute, overwhelming preciousness of other moments. I didn’t make that promise because I could fully anticipate all it would mean and I was fully equipped to handle it. I made that promise hoping that the relationship we built together and the wisdom I would gain through living this life and learning from others would help me be ready for whatever happened.

I still cling tightly to that hope.

My oldest adoptee is 12. My youngest is 5. I pray there is much life left for us to live together. I know that I am still wildly unprepared for the challenges coming at me. And yet I’m committed to being here for these kids. The teen years, the college experience (or not), getting and losing jobs, searching for love, making their own vows, raising children, continuing to wrestle with their identity and birth family relationships. I’m in it for all of that. The unpredictable and the expected. The celebrations and the griefs. This is what I promised in that courtroom in our coordinating outfits and high hopes.

I know adoption doesn’t always work like that. I know some children run and never look back. I know some parents aren’t equipped to handle the extreme challenges of their children. Adoption disruption (when adopted kids end up in the foster care system) is something that keeps me up at night and is part of the reason I write, speak and work with foster families to try and help them have realistic expectations and preparation for what this life can be like. I want to be sure they have the support and education they need to deal with those unexpected challenges that stretch those vows we made and make us ask the hard questions. Did we do the right thing? Can we fight for this family we’ve created? Is it the right and best thing for all of us?

Adoption is not something we muscle through until this child is out of our house. It is a lifelong commitment to love, honor and cherish. It is a promise I made to my babies in the past and a promise I make to my 40-year-old children in the future. It’s a promise we make because we believe you never outgrow the need for a mom and a dad. If I outlive my parents, I know the day I reach for the phone and then remember I can’t talk to my mom will be the hardest moment and the deepest grief. The day I need my dad’s wisdom and can’t ask him my questions will leave me feeling adrift. I am not beyond needing a mother and father. My adoption vows remind me that this promise wasn’t just to successfully launch them into adulthood, but to be the mom they need at every stage.

I am so thankful to get to parent the kids I’ve been blessed with through adoption. Keeping my vows to parent them has been one of the sweetest and most rewarding parts of my life, even when it’s challenging. It’s a decision I’d make again and again to get to be their mother. I made that decision in hope and faith and ignorance, but today I make it with the full knowledge of what we’ve made it through and how beautiful our life has become. Whatever is coming down the road, I’m still in it. This is the vow I made. I am their mother as long as we both shall live. And beyond.