My astute reader(s) may have already deduced by now that silence = something, and they'd be right. Oh sure, when nothing's going on with our adoption journey, I blather on and on right here on this very blog that is supposedly about our adoption journey. But as soon as something happens, you better believe mum's the word around here. I'd say sorry, but I did warn you already. So just let it be a lesson to you, and in the future, if it gets quiet around here... take it as a sign, and just cross your fingers for us, ok? Can't hurt, might help.
So, what's been going on, you wonder?
Well, if you were here in my living room, I promise I'd present to you--live and in person--a three act interpretive dance chronicling the last two months of our lives. But, lucky for you (and for my feeble hamstrings), I can't dance on the interwebs. So, in lieu of that, I found this lovely video that sums it up nearly as well:
chhk-chhk-chhk-chhk....
We are just plugging along up the the giant hill that is this journey to open adoption. We get an email from the agency saying someone had added our profile to her "favorite family" list. Minutes later we get the email from her. She is young...pregnant...scared; only looking at gay families, and she really likes our profile. She wants to talk and gives us her number to call.
the excitement and anticipation build. the angle of the climb pushes us back in our seats. we grip tighter to the shoulder harnesses, and giddily twist and dangle our feet below....
Amber calls her first. They have a great conversation. It is short, but it is fun and easy. Not stilted and awkward like some of the calls before. I talk to her later, and it goes well too. There are things about her life and her family that concern us, and she is so early on in her pregnancy. We wonder, is she serious?...will she really place?...how will her conservative family feel about her choosing lesbians to raise her child? But, we just like her so much, and it just feels so right, we are willing to take those risks.
So, we keep talking. Once or twice a week. And then come the emails, the texts, and the facebook friendships. It just keeps getting better. We are nervous, but we are hopeful.
we reach the top of the hill, so high up we see nothing but sky. and for one split second, we just hang there. knowing we are about to careen forward down the slope, but frightened for just a moment that we won't make it over the hump. scared that instead we'll slip backward down the hill from where we came, only to have to start the ride again....
She's talking to another couple still. We've known this from the beginning, and we understand it as part of the process. We can't imagine how she has time or energy, because we can barely eat or sleep, so much of our energy is being poured into her. We can't imagine how she can have as great of a connection with anyone else, because this just feels so right to us. But we accept it. She only has one chance to get this decision right, and she needs to do whatever she needs to do to be sure.
we pitch forward and gravity drops the seats out from under us. speeding down the hill, with the wind blowing our hair and stinging our faces, we feel nothing but pure exhilaration....
She's picked us! I get her sweet, emotional email early one Sunday morning, and run screaming into the bedroom. Leaping onto the bed, I wake Amber to tell her the great news. We are thrilled. We call her that night and have a wonderful talk. We chat excitedly about baby names, nurseries, child care and parenting philosophies. We are all so happy to have found each other. She plans to call the agency Monday and tell them of her choice. The agency will call the other couple and tell them she has chosen us. They will bow out gracefully. She will submit her paperwork. Soon we will be matched!
we reach the bottom of the hill, speeding faster now. gravity pushes us hard down into the seats again, and we catch our breath for just an instant. then suddenly we lurch unexpectedly to the right. slammed against the side of the shoulder harnesses, we hang on tightly through the curve....
The other couple won't leave her alone, she says. They are texting and calling and begging her not to choose us. We are appalled. Who would do that? And who would think it would work? She's upset, put off, and maybe a little afraid. We are angry, not so much for ourselves but for her. To make a difficult decision harder for a young woman in this situation is deplorable.
She pulls back a little from us, and we understand. She is clearly shaken. She doesn't turn her paperwork in to the agency, and we understand. We don't push her. She's been pushed enough. We want her to know we aren't like them. We give her the space she needs. And she comes back, confident again in her decision, sending us ultrasound pictures and updates from her doctor's visits.
we are racing faster now, up another hill and picking up speed. the track in front of us shoots straight up, and as we enter it we realize we are about to flip upside down. through the loop we go. we can't tell up from down. the sky and earth tumble over one another. gravity pulls us one way, the whipping wind blows us another....
She's not who she says she is. There were signs from the beginning. Stories that didn't quite make sense, details that changed in the retelling. But we figured teenagers lie sometimes. They stretch the truth, embellish a story to make themselves sound better. The agency even assured us, it was not uncommon for someone to tell a few white lies to make their situation sound better or even sometimes, worse. We give her the benefit of the doubt. We try to put it out of our minds, and keep getting to know her, hoping the more she trusts us, the more honest she will be able to be.
But then there is Google. And sometimes the internet tells you more than you really want to know. And so we know for sure now, that she is not who she claims to be. She has two lives, really. An internet life and a real one, and she takes great pains to make sure the two never cross. But we have stumbled into both.
shooting out of the loop, we barely even get our bearings before we enter a corkscrew. upside down and sideways at the same time, over and over...
We don't know what to do. We try to come up with reasons why this is happening, why she is doing this. We give her the benefit of the doubt; far beyond a reasonable doubt. We actually read scholarly articles on false internet identities among teenagers growing up in this age of the internet, and convince ourselves what she's doing is not entirely insane. And then we realize it is, in fact, Amber and I who are being slowly driven insane by all of this.
finally the spinning and twirling feeling stops. we've come through the corkscrew, and are gliding slower now over small hills. we are still numb from the sustained disequilibrium, but we can see the end of the track in the distance. we loosen our grips, and just let the track jostle us along as we wait for this to be over....
The final straw was something silly. An untruth so slight it hardly seemed worth the effort of lying about. But there it stood, shining a glaring light on the fact that if she was lying about this, she could be lying about anything. And really what it meant was that she was probably actually lying about everything.
And so, with nothing left to lose, we press her on it. And she responds quickly and flippantly with another lie, and a promise that she'd finally turned in her paperwork and our match would soon be official. We know that it is her last, half-hearted attempt to keep us hooked. We are sad. But we are also strangely relieved.
the track flattens out, and we rattle slowly along, nearing the ride's end. we start to take full breaths again. we move easily in our seats now, noticing for the first time the bumps and bruises from the twists and turns. but we are both in one piece, and we don't regret getting on the ride....
As we expect, she doesn't really turn in her paperwork. Instead she tells the agency she is suddenly having doubts about her adoption plan. We aren't surprised. We email and tell her we understand, and we wish her well. And the strange thing is....we honestly do. We're not mad, just numb. If she is really pregnant and is really struggling, we hope she gets everything figured out and makes the best decision for herself and her baby. But, we also tell her that we know she has been untruthful. We tell her that we can't keep doing this, unless she's willing to be honest.
We send the email and prepare ourselves to never hear from her again. I hold on to a tiny kernel of hope that she will come clean, apologize, and explain herself, and eventually we will be able to move forward again together.
we enter the dark, covered area where the platform stands, and lurch to a sudden halt. we are once again thrown against the shoulder harnesses, this time a little harder than expected. the hydraulics of the ride let out a final loud sigh, and so do we....
She doesn't apologize. She doesn't say anything. She just disappears. Poof! The facebook profile disappears. The jig is up. This jig, at least. Maybe she has more. At this point, we don't care. We just want out.
we step out of the ride, and stand wobbly-kneed on the platform, blinking into the dark, trying to see which way to go next. we stumble for a minute, wondering how we will get on another ride, after a mind-boggling ride like this. we wonder if we'll ever even find another ride in this not-so-amusing park.
but then we step out into the light of day, put our arms around one another, and decide to just keep taking one step after another, until we eventually find the right ride. that's what we came here for, we know it's out there somewhere, and we're not leaving until we find it.
I just hope the next time it's more like a merry-go-round.
x's&o's,
Michelle
