Adoption Here We Come! Part 1

My husband, Jose, and I found each other late in life.  It is actually a love story that took almost 25 years to percolate; we are both a little slow. I once asked him why it took him so long to fall into a permanent relationship, however, I already had the answer in my mind, not allowing him enough time to reply I answered for him, “It took all this time for you to mature.” Because he is smarter than the average bear, he countered with a “What about you, why did it take you so long?” Of course my response was that I was waiting for the right man.  For you see, even if men and women have similar experiences, the reasons are always different.

Three years into our marriage (State of Texas paperwork submitted at the courthouse as Common-Law Marriage, recognized by law, the IRS and our insurance company) we both decided we wanted a child – Adoption here we come!

At the time of our decision I was 48 years old, obviously I had lost my mind in wanting to have a child at my age. I am a planner and happiest when there are no surprises, no curve balls and have planned my path forward. The path does not have to be the easiest route, or even a straight route, but it must be planned for me to feel a sense of peace.  Because of our age and my very demanding work schedule my idea of the perfect adoption was an older male child, preferably a child that could drive in a few (like one or two) years to limit his dependence on me, or better yet provide a designated driver for my parents to doctors appointments, grocery store, and fun outings, etc…. How wonderful to have a child to love, care for and nourish in todays’ world but one old enough to forgo night time feedings, potty training, and the full demand on ones time. An older child sounded like a perfect fit into our established routines.

We attended a state workshop to learn more about adopting a child in state custody. The video portion of the class was a gruelingly heart wrenching experience. The video was narrated in a child’s voice, the unseen child asked for a family, a home, food, medical care and above all love, patience and understanding. The child described that his reactions to a new environment displaying love and care may cause him to retaliate with anger, denial and resentment as a natural mechanism of protection, that his greatest fear is being vulnerable and allowing himself to accept love for fear of it being taken away later, as it already has happened, usually more than once in his young life. Here was vulnerability planting itself in my face once again. I wept silently in a room full of strangers and my husband beside me for all of the young children in this world who were not provided what God intended for any child. I wept for their pain, praying through my tears that these children would find peace. I wept because I could not save them and heal their wounds. I wept for the children that do not find homes, graduating out-of-the-state-care structure without a support system to help them through life. I wept because I wanted them to know the unconditional love of a family and the strength that comes with that love. I wept. I controlled my tears, I pushed beyond the emotion and said prayers nightly for weeks for these unseen children. Damn, I hate admitting vulnerability, particularly publicly.

I learned through the workshop and talking to state workers that an older child is much harder to integrate into a household, not impossible but more challenging. In one off-the-record-after-hours calls with a state worker she recommended that we attempt to adopt a much younger child particularly due to my work schedule. I travel (at that time) four to five days almost weekly, it would be greatly unfair to bring an older child in the house and then not be available for him daily.  My husband has a less demanding job, but we live together with my parents and it would be unfair to them to bring into the household a child with emotional and/or physical without me available on a daily basis.

I will take a rabbit trail here and explain the living situation. We are like the Mexican Ewing’s (you know JR, Bobby, Miss Ellie and family - 'Southfork', the TV show from the 80's for the young readers if there are any). 

After a brief discussion (my husband doesn’t have long discussions, he has a maximum word limit per day) we decided that we would adopt a child from the age of 5 to 7 years of age. We began the process, realizing that it could easily be two to three years down the road before a child was found for us and generally we would begin with a foster situation making ourselves available for adoption if the state deemed it appropriate. It looked more and more likely that this would not happen, for how could I become a first time Mother at the age of 50 or 51, it didn’t seem like a good idea to me. So Planner that I am, we set an age-limit to how long we would attempt to adopt before we stopped the process.

To be Continued......

© Yvonne B. Pérez and The Life and Confessions of an Older Mother, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Yvonne B. Pérez and The Life and Confessions of an Older Mother with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.