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