Our pastors, who are wonderful, darling people, have adopted two children. Both children are grown now but the experience is fresh in their minds when we talk to them about our journey. One problem is they remind us constantly about the eleven matches that did not work out for them. In my mind, it's akin to those lovely but misguided people who tell pregnant women the statistics on miscarriage and warn them not to get their hopes up.
I find the horror stories difficult to handle. I already fear the worst: years and years of failure and disappointment. I know it happens regularly. I've been told in detail. But isn't it worth it?
We've had matches not happen already. It's okay. Those babies found wonderful adoptive families and that's great. But that's part of this journey called adoption. It's not like having a baby where you have a due date, a big belly and a child who is only ever yours. This child will always have adoption as part of his or her story.
I'd like to be able to find a place in my heart where I am safe from all this emotional turmoil, but I can't. I care too much about our baby, whoever and wherever and whenever... I guess I'll deal with it the best I can until I get to hold our baby in my arms. And when I'm blindsided by another adoptive parent's stories, I'll try to smile and listen politely even though it makes me that much more sad.