My dream of creating a family was marriage, then adopt at least one child and, maybe, birth one child. Life, however, had profoundly different plans. I divorced my first husband by age 22. That same year, I learned that it would be virtually impossible for me to conceive a child on my own, and the medical intervention necessary was not yet fully developed. I was devastated and heartbroken. I tried to console myself with the thought that I had wanted to adopt anyway, so it didn’t matter all that much that I wouldn’t birth my own child (except that it did matter to me).
Over the subsequent years, I regularly thought about children and adoption. Life moved on, I went to college, got sober, moved states, went to graduate school, and dated some very unhealthy men. In my late 20’s I began seriously worrying about my prospects for having a family. I admired the strength and determination of women who were raising children on their own and knew that wasn’t for me. I understood that at any time a two-parent household could become a single parent household, however, I didn’t want to begin the parenthood journey on my own. I wanted to be in a committed relationship prior to children. As the years passed, I was aware that my chances of finding someone was steeply declining. So, I made a commitment to myself that if I was not in a relationship by age 30, that I would adopt a child on my own, as a single parent.
Then, I reached age thirty and was still single. I lived in an apartment in Chicago, I was employed full-time and continuing graduate school at nearly a full-time schedule. I couldn’t imagine how I would take care of a child, on my own, along with everything else. As I pondered my situation, the thought occurred to me “I don’t have to have children.” This was a shocking thought, and at the same time, I felt immense relief from the pressure of also adding children onto an already stressful life. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that I did not want children. I also figured if I did finally meet someone that the chances were high that, by this age, they would be divorced and already have children. Meaning that I would be a stepmother, so I did not have to adopt or birth a child on my own now.
A few years later I reconnected with someone I knew from high school. We began dating and I told him that I was not going to have children. We married four years later, when I was 37 years old. He had never been married and did not bring children into the relationship as I had anticipated. Over the years, I had become less sure about not adopting or having children. I began to think more and more about my desire to raise a child. After much discussion and research, we decided to begin the adoption process. That decision began one of the most intrusive and humiliating experiences of our lives, another was the invitro fertilization process.
We learned that there were many children in need of homes. We began by contacting the State Department of Family Services. In this state, potential adopters must first become foster parents. The process begins by attending a series of classes. At our first class, the “instructors” were quite hostile to the group. They made it clear to the group that they were doing all of us a favor by considering us for fostering. We learned about the numerous hoops that everyone must jump through to be considered for foster parenting. The group was also told they would not be fostering or adopting a baby. That didn’t concern us as we wanted to adopt a toddler. We adjusted our expectations again when the group was told we would likely foster a troubled 17-year-old as that is where the needs are. We learned about what we may encounter fostering a teenager and how to respond. Next steps included submitting letters of recommendation from people who know us, fingerprinting, background check, credit check, and a home visit.
I contacted the State about our situation prior to signing up for the classes. I did not want to waste our own time, the time of the State, or of our family and friends. We are also very private people and didn’t want to ask for recommendations if we weren’t going to be considered for foster/adoption. I explained the circumstances of our situation right up front: that my husband had been charged with a felony and served time in prison for an accidental shooting death. This was a terrible tragedy that affects him and others deeply, for which he takes full responsibility, and has fulfilled his debt to society. The State worker said that we would be considered and to begin the classes.
We asked our minister, my work supervisor (also clergy), friends and family for recommendations. They were all quite eager to recommend us for parenthood. We began classes and went to get fingerprinted. Then, we received the call that my spouse’s father died. Our world was completely shattered, he was such an important person to us. We flew out to be with family for his cremation and memorial service. While there, my husband received the call from the State. They said that his background check contained a felony, so we would not be considered for foster care. No discussion, nothing. When we returned home from the memorial service, I called the office to see if I could get an explanation. I had been upfront and told them about the issue beforehand and had been encouraged to begin the process. They refused to even speak to me. My husband called and was told “you have our reason, you have a felony.” And just like that, it was over.
We both felt defeated, humiliated, and ashamed. I was angry at everyone and felt deceived by the State. Had we known, I never would have subjected him or myself to this treatment. He already felt immense guilt, remorse, and shame for his negligence. He did not need to be subjected to more judgement. We researched adoption agencies. One agency did not see an issue with adoption for us, however, their insurance agency would not approve our adoption. There are other private adoption options, if we were wealthy which we are not. Eventually, we had to let go of adoption as a route for creating our family. We then looked to invitro-fertilization which only brought more humiliation, pain, and heartbreak.
Naturally, the people who gave us recommendations excitedly asked us about when we would get to adopt. All we could muster to say was “it didn’t work out.” We couldn’t bring ourselves to re-live the entire grueling process of loss and grief repeatedly. Then, after being beaten down and demoralized by the invitro process, people ask “why didn’t you just adopt?” Each time this question is asked, the pain of both processes and the pain of childlessness is dredged up. I want to scream. No part of this has been easy. Asking “why don’t you just…” minimizes the complexity of the processes and the toll it took on us individually and as a couple.
Anonymous
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