Saturday, April 14, 2012

The talk I dreaded...

I've been dreading this talk for as long as I've been an adoptive parent. The talk where I have to tell my daughter that she wasn't born from my body. I've been dreading it, because I've been afraid of the implication that she is any less my daughter. Every fiber of my being denies any truth to that implication. I'd give my life for her and any of my kids, in a heartbeat! She and Elijah are such a part  of me there are times when I have to remind myself that I didn't give birth to them. 

She's known for as long as she's been able to know, that she is adopted or chosen. She knows she was born in China and we went to China to bring her home to the U.S. She has had no clue what it means to be born or adopted or the difference between the two. I've been waiting anxiously for her to say something, or ask a question that would lend itself to discussing that she had not been added to our family biologically.

The opportunity finally came the other day. She was watching a show about Jesus being born. She said to me, "God gave birth to Jesus." I corrected her and told her that no, God didn't give birth, but Mary did. She then said, "Just like you gave birth to me." Here was my moment and I didn't let it pass by. Taking a deep breath, saying a little prayer,  I said, "No, I didn't give birth to you. You were born in China. I wasn't there. But, God gave you to us and we went to get you. You were adopted. Some babies are born to their Mommy and Daddy, and some are adopted." There! I said it. I then waited. No response. Nothing. So I said, "Do you understand how special you are to me and Daddy?" "Yes," she replied. And that was it! Nothing else was or has been mentioned yet. I guess she heard all she needed or wanted to, for now. I know we aren't done with this discussion, but, hopefully, I started the thought process that will lead to her being secure in our and God's love for her.

So, now I wait until she lets me know that she is ready and wanting to hear more of her story.




Photobucket

4 comments:

  1. What a beautiful pic of Abbey! I think you did just the right thing in giving her the information that she asked for, but no more. Maybe one day she will understand how special she is because of everything you went through to adopt her...and Elijah!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Glenda,
    I am so happy to re-connect with you! I love your story. Be prepared for the best moments of your life....about the adoption talks. They have always been special in our home. When our daughter was 6 or 7, she used to go around the house singing to Spencer, "I have 3 Daddies, I have 3 daddies....!!" Spencer looked shell-shocked the first time she said it, and he asked K, "honey, why do you have 3 daddies?" K says, "Silly daddy, I have God as my daddy, my birth father as my daddy and YOU!!!!!" She was sooooooo happy when she said that! To this day, even at 14, she is very secure in her adoption story. Our son, adopted as a toddler from Russia, is not as secure and his adoption story is still very painful to him and it is hard because he has no pictures and nothing tangible from his birth parents; whereas, our daughter has a lot of info, photos, presents, and cards from her birth family. As painful as it is, we have to let our daughter celebrate and rejoice in her adoption and then at the same time support our son, who often ends up sobbing and wanting to die because of his emotional upsets from the orphanage. Both children are deep feelers, dramatic, and intense. Life is NEVER boring in our home. I look forward to following your journey! Kathy

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. P.S. In the above post, I did not mean to say that it was painful to hear our daughter rejoice about her adoption beacause that fills us with joy. What I meant was that it is difficult to see our son go through so much pain because he would like to have photos and more information on his own birth family. The Lord will bring healing to our son but it is challenging to have two such different adoption stories in the same family.

      Delete