Sweet baby, I will always remember August 4th. The morning my phone charger decided not to work and I woke up in a panic that I might have missed the call of your birth.
But just as my phone had enough charge, it rang. The urgency to get to the hospital left my head spinning and I couldn’t even tie my shoes.
We decided that it was faster to run then call a cab, so I ran as fast as I could down that steep hill, hoping not to face plant, while hoping not to miss your entrance.
We made it in time. We heard your cries. We cried. We waited. You came to us on a rolling cart.
You screamed and screamed until you were safe one me.
Then you settled.
The greatest few hours of our lives.
Skin to skin.
Breath to breath.
Heart to heart.
We gave you your first food, daddy gave you your first bath like he had with all our other babies.
Nurses and doctors glowed at the miracle of our story.
We had believed. And you had come.
I insisted that it was mama’s job to spend the first night and made daddy go back and sleep so I could trade him off in the morning.
You didn’t sleep much that night.
We rocked. You ate. I sang.
Jesus love you. This I know. For the bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong, they are weak, but he is strong. Yes Jesus loves you. Yes Jesus loves you. Yes Jesus loves you. The bible tells me so.
I grew tired knowing the long journey ahead. I chose to be wise and called daddy to come at 5:30 so I could sleep a bit before the doctor checked you out one more time.
Daddy came. I left. You slept, daddy prayed.
Bless our baby. Bless her Lord.
I came back with the car seat. Discharge was moments away.
We basked in the beauty of a hope fulfilled.
Then they walked in.
They said your mom wanted you back.
I shook. Violently. Pure shock causing me to throw up.
Not our baby. Not this one we had just spent all this time bonding with. Years praying for this moment.
We had one minute to say goodbye. We blessed your life. We kissed your cheeks.
They took you away.
We crumpled onto the floor.
This could not be happening.
We wept as though no one could hear us. Unashamed grief that surged through our bodies.
We left, we prayed, we fasted, we hoped, we praised, we believed that you would come back to us.
We were the first birth adoption anyone had seen fall through. Us.
My beautiful girl, you may never know who we are, or of those 30 hours we spent with you, but we will never, ever forget you. We will always pray for you and a big part of my heart is left with you.
I leave empty armed and broken-hearted trusting with all my heart that Jesus will keep you safe and the one who holds your future has wonderful things in store for you. You have awakened in us a passion for adoption and we will not let this heartache steal our brave decision to always say: yes.
Your 30 hour mama
“By your mighty power I can walk through any devastation and you will keep me alive, reviving me.” Psalm 138:7 TPT