Chapter Two

The year was 2020…

I had been working from home since March, and Sam was taking his classes online. Just three days from Halloween, Allison and I enjoyed breakfast together and I topped off my coffee before heading back upstairs. My biggest project of the year was set to launch in less than a month, and I still had quite a bit to finish for that to succeed. November would be a busy month, and life was going to get hectic for a while, but I’d be finished by Thanksgiving. That was the goal.

A short while after lunch, Allison was preparing to run a quick errand, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. I opened my email and saw it: a message from our adoption counselor, completely out of the blue. We had adopted in 2017 and finished all our follow-up early the next year. We hadn’t heard much from her since, save for a Christmas party at the agency where we said “Hi” and chatted for a few minutes about how much Collin had grown.

“A unique situation…”

That’s what it said. My eyes flashed over the whole message, and fumbling for my phone I called Allison. “Katie sent us an email. There’s a baby. You need to read it. We need to talk as soon as possible.”

It turns out that a hallway conversation at the Christmas party had nudged a door open. “If you ever need help with a tricky situation, give us a call. We’ll at least listen.” That’s where we are. That door remained ajar, if forgotten, and was now being thrust wide open.

Fast forward a week, now into early November. We did our homework, talked to some experts, and decided that we were ready for our family to grow. The boys were both excited at the prospect of having a baby brother, and although this was complicated, we were still a hearty yes. We asked Katie what we needed to do next.

A Home Study

Last time, it took us two years to do the full home study: classes, home visits, doctor appointments, interviews, CPR certification, finances, background checks, fund raising, and stacks upon stacks of paperwork, and all of that in a pandemic-free world.

Two. Years.

We had to climb that mountain again, but in two weeks. We submitted our application on Thursday morning. Every night we sat up working through paperwork, taking our classes, and scheduling appointments. Every day we sent an email with updates. We went through the whole checklist in 13 days.

Match Meeting

Two weeks after we submitted our application, we sat at The Cradle, where we'd begun our first adoption journey now five years ago, with mom and grandma. Mom is a sweet woman, already parenting a toddler, and just can’t imagine having two right now. She loves him. She had already made an adoption plan with another family while she was pregnant, but when they saw that the situation was complicated, they bailed. She puts on a strong front and smiles, expressing gratitude that we understand what's going on, and that we're excited to be his family. Even in her own family, not everyone knows that she has given birth, being either estranged or willfully ignorant. She brought pictures for us, and we lay them out on the table in front of us so we can stare at him while listening to her story.

The Hospital

That evening, she gives us permission to visit him in the hospital, in the NICU, where he has been since birth. We call and make arrangements to go see him for the first time on Friday. The hospital has a "No Visitors" policy with few exceptions. Parents may visit their kids in the NICU, but only one-at-a-time, and only in 90-minute blocks. The hospital even makes a special exception so that he can have three visitors a day instead of just two. We have our temperatures checked at the front desk, where they are screening everyone for symptoms of COVID-19, and they give us directions up to the NICU, where we must scrub in. Allison goes first.

There are no formal introductions, but the hospital staff has been waiting for us. Tears of joy and relief flow from the nurses who have cared for him the last three months as they meet us for the first time. Each nurse has a story to tell. He has been quite the charmer and insisted on having a crib near the door where he could greet each person who entered the room. Even other families know him.

For eleven days, we visit him there. He caught a cold and needed to be transferred to another room in order to keep it from spreading to the other children. Discharge moved back a week, but finally settled on a date. He makes progress every day. We learn about his routines, and about the care we will need to give him at home. We help change diapers, give baths, and feed him bottles. He sleeps a lot and loves to get cozy in our arms. We tell him about the brothers who are waiting excitedly to meet him. He smiles and tries to talk with us. We take everything one day at a time. His mother continues to visit, too, as her schedule allows, and we are able to connect with her a few more times. The nurses let us know that it's harder on her than what she reveals to us. After many months, "someday" for her feels like it is coming to a close.

On December 1, 2020, Katie brings us the final papers to sign. His mom has signed hers this morning. Thirty-four days after a most unexpected email, we bring him home and joyfully introduce him to the world.

Micah Joseph Hoskinson

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Thelma "Jean" Hoskinson

It will probably be a nostalgic and bittersweet drive this weekend. There are certain elements of the route that I have come to recognize, even take for granted. We'll see dozens of Biggby Coffee advertisements without a Starbucks in sight. We'll pass through the maze of Grand Rapids traffic knowing that once we get to Fifth Third Field (home of the West Michigan Whitecaps) we've already missed the good food exits. We'll hit the stretch through Evart, past the corner where I changed a flat tire, and finally turn onto Gladwin Rd by the old Spike Horn place. I'm saddened that these are some of my more vivid recent memories from visiting Gladwin.

I guess most of my memories of Gladwin are more frozen in time. This picture of Sam and Grandma almost ten years ago is still how I picture her. I barely recognize Sam, but that's how Grandma looks to me, in my mind, with her beautiful white curls and the sharp, bright twinkle in her eyes as she laughed. It's a place that perpetually stays in that state. In some ways, my mind still believes that Grandpa is there, too, and the house on Anchor Street is still their home, and Grandma has something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Just inside the door, all of Grandpa's old hats are on the hooks, and around the corner you'll find a bookshelf filled with Biblical commentaries and some of their favorite new releases. The old board games are still in the coffee table behind the sliding doors with their yellow velvet lining. Their simple red stockings are hung up on the fireplace, and it smells of eucalyptus from the hand-made arrangement on the wall. The anniversary clock still chimes every fifteen minutes on the piano behind pictures of all of the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. The floor in the dining room still slopes to one side just a little bit and creaks underfoot. The collectible plates and the painting of a barn and field in a windstorm are still hung on the dining room walls, and the little walking duck toy still sits in the corner propped up against the china cabinet, where Grandpa left it after chasing one of the little ones around the living room. There are still crayons in the little cupboard below the window, and we'll find a few unbroken pieces for coloring. In the kitchen, I’ll stop and look at the bulletin board of photos to see who I still recognize. They are the same faces that have smiled back for years. Uncle Mike is still there. In one photo, we're all wearing our Michigan shirts and posing for the camera at Indiana Dunes. In another, we're all dressed up and celebrating Grandpa and Grandma's 40th anniversary. I'll go up the uneven stairs, with the brown striped carpeting to my dad's childhood bedroom. His old telescope and a poster of a Saturn rocket are still there, and I'll probably spend a few minutes making sure I can find Grandpa in his old Navy photo up on the wall. The Carrom board is probably tucked behind the dresser in the other bedroom, which was always much brighter. Coming back down, I'll check to see if there's a 2-liter bottle of Faygo Rock & Rye in the laundry room pantry. There is candy- a small jar of red hots in the kitchen, and going back through the dining room, an ornate crystal bowl filled with tooth-shattering hard candy. After a nice visit, we'll pack our things, and Grandma will be smiles and tears as we get in the car to leave. She never could say goodbye.

Everything there is frozen in time. This is where they are- where they have always been. My memories of them are tied to the feeling of this place.

Of course, none of this is there now. This place only exists in my mind. It’s the end of a generation, when our extended family now rolls up to my parents, aunts and uncles. Our sons’ memories will be rooted in new traditions, new games, and new places with their own sights, sounds, and smells. I am thankful for my own memories, and a few precious photos that allow me to see with my eyes what I feel in my heart.

We’re going to see Grandma one more time. We’ll smile as we gather together one more time to remember her. We’ll say goodbye one more time, and this time when we leave, we’ll be the ones who can’t hold back the tears.

Merry Christmas 2017!

We will always remember 2017 as a great year!  In a word, it was a year of family.  We filled it with many stories and memories, waiting and expectation, and finding ways to have fun and stay grounded as the "three of us" became the "four of us."

The most obvious and exciting news for our family is bringing Collin home in November!  We have been delighted to have him home for almost two months already, with his handsome smiles and budding personality.  As he celebrates his first Christmas, we remember again God's kindness to us both today and in sending His Son many Christmases ago.

With all of the excitement in the last few months, we don't want to overlook the many good memories we made earlier in the year.  For spring break, we loaded up the Prius for a whirlwind trip where we visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, the Statue of Liberty and the 9/11 memorial at Ground Zero in NYC, and the White House and other museums and monuments in Washington DC.  Over the summer, we took a short weekend getaway to Lake Geneva, something we've always wanted to do.  We visited the Brookfield Zoo for the first time and surprised Sam with Cubs tickets for Adam's birthday.  (Yes, you read that correctly.)  Adam and Sam also went camping and fishing with the Miller men, and although we didn't catch anything, we have some stories that we'll never forget!  Sam and Allison also met the Cubs World Series Champion catcher, David Ross!  We will also remember this summer as the summer of mini golf.  We started trying out local mini golf courses and found at least one wherever we traveled.  It is now Sam's goal to travel from coast to coast in his grandparents' RV to find the best mini golf courses in the country.

Sam played up a level in his basketball league last winter and then played spring and fall baseball for the first time.  He finally broke the 54" height barrier and can ride everything at Six Flags, including a few roller coasters that even make his dad queasy.  He excels in school, where his favorite subject is math, and he is learning multiplication and division.  He enjoys his new role as a big brother and takes time to play with Collin, eliciting giggles and smiles from his delighted sibling.

Allison is now living her dream as a stay-at-home mom.  She worked at the school through October, and officially retired when Collin came home.  The school community poured out their love and generosity for us at that time, sending meals and gifts, and even throwing us a "Sip and See" shower for the baby.

Adam ran two more half marathons, and while he did not end up running the full marathon in Indianapolis, he still logged just under 1000 miles for the year.  He continues his work as an engineer for Grainger.  He is amazed, humbled, and blessed to be married to his beautiful wife for 11 years.

As we reflect on all that this past year held, our hearts are full!  We thank God for the memories and for His goodness to our family.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Adam, Allison, Sam, and Collin

Chapter One

The Profile

Driving to work in the early dawn hours on October 20, I prayed as I often had over the past few months: "Lord, let today be different."  We had waited more than three months since our last referral, but I forced myself to hope and believe that my prayers still mattered, and that in His timing, God would answer them.

That day was different.  After a meeting at our corporate headquarters, I drove ten minutes back across town to my office.  In the car, my Apple watch dinged to let me know I'd received a text, which I ignored.  A minute later, the phone in my pocket buzzed, an indication that I'd received a new email.  I cannot explain it, but I knew in that moment that these two messages were a new profile from our counselor and a text from my wife.

I pulled into my parking spot and confirmed my suspicion.  Glowing on the screen was the profile- his profile.  Allison immediately fell in love with this little guy we knew simply as “Collin.”  I tried to remain matter-of-fact, but I also felt the pull right away.  At dinner that night, while Sam ran around on the Burger King playground, I told her that I believed this profile was different, and that if we said yes, I “knew” we would bring him home.  With no pictures and just a few pages of information, we poured over every detail.  I reviewed it with our pediatrician twice, and by Monday we told our counselor that we wanted to be presented to his mother.

Over the next week we waited, but with more peace and patience than we’d previously experienced.  Without any answers, we guardedly let our hope build.  We reviewed our “baby readiness” shopping list and added a couple of items.  I had been training all summer to run the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon on November 4th – the one long-term event I’d had on the calendar since January, and I began to review the cancellation policy “just in case.”

The Call

On Monday, October 30, as I prepared to head into the kitchen at work to microwave my lunch, I got “the call.”  We had a match!  She wanted to meet us!  Trembling with excitement and disbelief, a flood of questions rushed in- Were we available Wednesday?  What time?  What should we wear?  Who’s going to pick up Sam from school?  Do we have everything?  Is this really, truly, actually happening?  I called Allie three times before she finally picked up, as she had just started work for the day and was standing in the middle of the school lunchroom.  I could barely get the words out without my voice breaking, and surrounded by students and teachers, she couldn't contain her excitement.  Within a matter of minutes, the entire school knew that something big was about to happen.

To be honest, I don’t remember much from Monday or Tuesday.  I talked with my boss (who knew our situation) and rescheduled a few meetings, but didn’t give much of a reason to anyone else other than to say that my schedule was probably going to be unpredictable for a few days.  Tuesday was our annual Chili Potluck at work for Halloween, which proved to be a pleasant distraction from the anticipation building in my mind.  Before I left for the day, I set my out-of-office email message and hoped for the best.

Our counselor had encouraged us to be cautiously optimistic, a line that we tried to hold even as our hearts raced.  I emailed the marathon organizers and they approved a last-minute deferral until 2018.  We called family and let them know that we really thought we were close, but reiterated that nothing was final.  We began washing baby bottles and blankets and installed a car seat while trying not to think about what would happen if we needed to put them all away again.

The Match Meeting

We met her Wednesday just before lunch in a small sitting room at the Cradle.   Allie handed Collin's mother a small tin with the chocolate chip cookies she had baked for the occasion, and we took our seat on an adjacent couch.

Our counselors led us through a few nervous introductions, which soon gave way to a more naturally flowing conversation.  We described our adoption journey.  She talked about her current situation, and her reaction to reviewing our profile.  We described what it was like to get a call from our counselor just two days early.  She talked about the TV shows she watches on Netflix, and I admitted that I've never seen an episode of Stranger Things.  She told us how her mom had personally reviewed every adoptive family profile on the Cradle's website (more than 60 at the time), and that we (thankfully) had made her short list.  She loved that we loved Christmas, and saw in our family pieces of a childhood that she enjoyed.

As the dialogue bounced from one topic to the next, I had the impression that even if we had met under more conventional circumstances, we might be the kind of friends who occasionally meet for a cup of coffee.  I hope she felt the same.  We saw in her a strong woman, who deeply and obviously loved this little boy.  During a brief lull, she pulled out her phone as a proud parent and showed us all the pictures of him she had on amassed over the previous weeks- the first time we actually saw his face.

The conversation quickly turned more serious, and with tears and sobs she talked about the time she spent with him and the future she wanted for him.  If I only remember one thing about the hour and a half we spent in the room with her, it would be the raw and unashamed love for him that carried her through this decision.  The joy in our home will always be appropriately colored by the pain of her sacrifice.  One does not diminish the other, but instead allows it to be expressed and experienced more fully.  It's something God knew I needed to see in her- to make it tangible and burn that into my heart.  Someday Collin is going to ask "Why?" and I'll share with him the memory of his mother in that moment.  

After a short break, we were invited up to the Belonging Room, a private third-floor room near the Cradle’s nursery, simply appointed with a few chairs neatly arranged around a small coffee table and a few toys in the corner, not unlike the room we had just occupied.  When we arrived, Collin's mother was holding him, offering him a bottle.  We washed our hands and donned hospital-style smocks, and she gently rested him in Allie's arms.  He slept, barely stirring, through our first time meeting him.

The Placement

We kept Sam home from school on Thursday, November 2.  Few days will ever be as important as that one.  We'd all slept surprisingly well the night before, owing in large part to some last-minute errands- a Target run and dinner at Chili's, where we'd talked him through what he needed to know about the match meeting.  When he finally woke up, he put on his "Big Brother" shirt for the first time.

Although we didn't need to be at the Cradle until 2pm, we left a little early and took a quick driving tour of Evanston, a city that figures prominently in all of our stories.  As we came up Central, I pointed out Ryan Field, where my Wildcats play all their home games and showed Sam the hospital where he was born.  We drove down Sheridan road through Northwestern's campus, my alma mater, and then made the quick jog over to the Cradle, just a block away from the apartment at Ridge and Noyes where I lived after college.  We parked and called our counselor, who told us we needed to wait outside just a few more minutes.  We were not allowed in the building while Collin's mom was signing paperwork, and it had already been an intensely emotional day for her.  A few minutes later, we were given the all clear, and quickly went inside through the light rain.

I wish I could tell you that the next few minutes were exciting and heart-warming.  The truth is that we spent the next hour with our counselor doing paperwork while Sam played games on his iPad.  Life-changing, yes, but perhaps not the emotional payoff you're looking for.  While we were making it official, Collin and his birth mother were spending a few more precious minutes together.

A little after 3pm, we made our way back up to the Belonging Room where we first met Collin the day before, but in 24 hours, his entire world had changed.  Collin’s birth mother welcomed Sam and placed his little brother in his arms.  She handed us a book for Collin with a handwritten note inside the cover that we will cherish and share with him.  We all pulled out phones and cameras trying to capture the pieces of the day that we wanted to remember.  One in particular stood out to me- both mothers holding Collin on the couch.  One mother was dressed in a black sweater and grey pants, the other in a grey sweater and black pants- two sides of the same coin.  As they sat there holding Collin, we had a short entrustment ceremony, recognizing our unique relationships moving forward and how much we love the little guy who brought us all together.  A few minutes later, his birth mother gathered her things and said, "See you later," a welcome reminder that this was a new beginning, not the end.

The Beginning

We submitted our application to the Cradle on November 1, 2014, exactly three years before we met our son.  We were on the waiting list for 198 days.  I write this mostly for his benefit, so that as he grows and the details of the last few weeks fade in my memory, we'll have something to go back to.  This is Chapter One of his story, when Collin came to be part of our family.

-Adam