Adoption. Strong word. The dictionary defines adoption as: the act or process of adopting a child. Seems cold. Perhaps unfeeling. Becoming a parent to another person's child. Simple court proceeding. But yet in reality, it is so very much more than that. Adoption is so complicated. It is complicated for the child, the adoptive parent, and even more so for the biological parent.
A lot of people think of the newly formed family. They think how lucky that new parent is to have the child they have longed for. They look at the children as truly blessed to have these new parents who can give theses children all that they need and all that they long for. All of this is true. All of this is a miracle. However, there is a snag in the garment. A flaw. A small minute thread that if pulled too hard, will and can unravel. There was this life. This entity. A family that came first.
Whether children are adopted from a foreign country, the foster care system, or even right from birth, there is still someone who came first. Someone whose existence is sometimes brushed under the rug, not acknowledged, torn down, belittled, deemed insignificant. Biological parents. The one major flaw in an otherwise perfectly woven family. Necessary. But sometimes frowned upon.
But life for our children, our adopted children, life could not exist if not for these parents. And just as every adoption is different, so are the lives that our children lived before they became part of our family, added to our quilt, wrapped in love, and stitched in as if the snag were not there, but it is. And fortunately, it always will be.
Our attitudes about our children's biological parents has always differed somewhat than those who have never adopted. Not only do we acknowledge their existence, but if the law permits, we welcome their participation in our children's lives. This attitude also extends to any biological family members who want to participate in our children's lives. Why? You might ask? Why would you want to complicate your children's lives, your family's bond, your very delicately balanced woven life? The answer is pure and simple. Love. Love for our children and there need to have a relationship with people whom there will always be a natural bond. Love. Love for a parent, whom, for whatever reason, had to give their child/children up for adoption. Love. Why would you not give your child every option to to be well balanced, whole, and have a clear idea of who they are and that they are loved? Love. The love of a parent whether adopted or not, is to provide their child with stability. And does that love not permeate and override my need as a parent to place a territorial flag into my children and declare them mine, solely mine? Love. A love so deep that I as an adoptive parent can look into my children's heart and feel, literally feel, their need for me to love their biological parent. My acceptance of who they were will only facilitate who they are ante and who they are yet to be. Love. The single most significant element that can heal any wound, any misunderstanding, any flaw.
I am not bragging. My love for my children's biological parents does not supersede my right to protect them or keep them from further harm. But it does give me the insight to see and know, first hand, that the role that a biological parent plays and has played in a child's life, is much more than the womb or the sperm donor. That parent/parents is the reason my child exists. They could have chosen adoption. The could have chosen parenthood. They could fail miserably at parenting itself, yet still love their child beyond measure.
Why is that important? Why do I even care? Because I owe all that I am, all that I have, all that Imy life is to theses parents. I owe them my respect. I owe them my friendship. I owe them my prayers. I owe them my love. I owe them a place in my child's life because, quite frankly, they gave up their place for me. I will never forget that. Nor will I ever take their role lightly. Nor will I ever talk bad about them, defame their character, or in some cases reveal their inability to raise their children. It serves no purpose. It does not help my child. It does not help me. My ability to love my child goes beyond my need to judge people for whatever reason cannot parent their child.
Where does this leave me? What does it mean? Love. It means that I answer a thousand questions about who my children are. It means I paint a picture of love and longing. It means I show them that they were wanted. They are needed.mthey did matter. It means I give them something that perhaps the other parent couldn't give them without me. Security.
I guess what I am trying to say, is that in a world where people use children as pawns in a custody battle, where they forget about the other parent, and brush them under the rug, in search of this precious perfect family, I embrace the truth. The truth that we all, biological or not, cannot always control life's events. That children need their pasts to grow into their futures. That perhaps, just perhaps, my love for them is not threatened by their need to love and understand who they were and who they are.
And so, I pray. I pray for the biological parents, their relatives, their friends. Anyone who touched my child in any way. Am I a saint? Never, I do reserve the right to control any relationship that I or the courts deem harmful to my child. However, ego aside, I love. Pure and simple I just
Ove.
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