Crossing Over... Part 2

The birthmom's mother was in the room. I introduced myself and let her show me how to change the baby's first tiny diaper. She called him by his name and I wondered how she felt. I knew that she only had one granddaughter and she was about to say goodbye to a grandson. I believe that diaper change was the first and last time she touched him.

I was overwhelmed with joy, wonder, and adrenaline as the hospital social worker asked Tim and I to leave the room. We waited outside as the birthfamily signed documents granting us temporary custody, power of attorney, and the ability to care for the baby while in the hospital.

The next thing I knew, we were ushered into our own room and given wrist bands with an acronym and code, but no names. When a creaking and knocking sound approached the doorway, a nurse wheeled in the metal bassinet with our baby and supplies stocked in a drawer. He was so tiny, but perfectly content, and now in our care. I was almost surprised that someone had entrusted the job to me. Were they really going to let me feed him and hold him... and keep him!?

I remember how it felt when those little brown eyes tried to focus on my face, as if he was processing what was happening. I held him tight, and told him, "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm your mom."

The first night in the hospital, I had the hospital bed, and Tim had a roll away with loud springs and metal bars in all the wrong places. I didn't sleep at all, even though Jude was on a perfect 3 hour feeding schedule. I couldn't stop holding him and remember getting teary when I heard his hiccups and saw those dimples for the first time.

We had company throughout the next day. My parents, sister, and Aunt Lori and Uncle Bert made the trip to Oklahoma City to meet Jude. I have a hard time believing that the love covering Jude looked much different than if he was our biological infant. The gifts, tears, laughter, pictures, hugs, and flowers looked the same in our hospital room as the other families with new babies.

For me, the wonderment of new life collided with an unexpected sentiment of indescribable gratitude to a young lady a few doors down, physically and emotionally spent, who was quite possibly facing the most difficult, brave, and loving decision of her life. This sacrifice had delivered our miracle. When I went to visit Jude's birthmom the second day, the air in her room was different: somber and quiet with the curtains pulled. She was alone, and I offered to keep her company, which she welcomed. The only flowers on the table next to the television were the tulips Tim and I had brought her. She asked me how the baby was doing and between pressing the button for her morphene drip, asked if Tim, Jude, and I would join her that evening for dinner. I took note to remember her face, her fair, clear complexion with those dimples and sweet smile. One day, I would tell Jude of her beauty. Never had I seen a person more beautiful.

Back in our room, I wrote a letter to go with the necklace (a delicate chain with a sheild shaped charm depicting the French medieval emblem of a sword piercing a heart, symbolizing sacrfice) we would later give to her. How on earth do you thank someone for your son?

Together in her hospital room, the four of us (her, the baby, Tim and me) shared an hour I will never forget. She told us things like, "I know he may be mad at me one day, but I will always know that I chose this life for him because I love him. He'll have opportunities I could never give him, and I know the two of you will treasure him." I tried to memorize everything she said. I tried to think of questions that I might have wanted to know. Did she have braces when she was young? Did she know a lot about the birthfather's talents or interests? I didn't know if there would be much contact after this time together and knew that I would one day recount this evening with Jude.

The next morning, the phone in our room woke me up from my light sleep. It was her. She wanted to know if it was alright if the nurse brought Jude to her room, alone this time. I said that it was perfectly fine, but inside, I knew that if there was a time to change her mind, this would be it. I knew that we would all be discharged sometime that day. When the nurse came for Jude, swaddled tight without a care in the world, I looked at him and wondered if she would hold him in her arms and change her mind.

Thirty minutes passed. Fourty-five, an hour... I called our social worker and asked her to come to the hospital and make sure everything was alright. When she finally came to report her findings after visiting the birthmom, it felt like Jude had been gone for hours. She recounted how she approached the birthmom's room and heard her talking. She said she stood in the doorway and could hear the words, "Your mommy and daddy are going to love you." Basically, Jude's birthmom was cradling him in her arms, telling him goodbye. When I heard that, I almost lost it. I couldn't believe her strength.

When Jude returned to our room, we learned that it was time to go. As we packed up our things and prepared to buckle Jude in his carseat, I wondered how the final group goodbye would go. I knew that the hospital would not let us carry Jude out of the hospital. Many times, they make the birthmom do it, then hand the baby over to the family... as if it wasn't hard enough! Our social worker then entered our room to announce that the birthmother was gone. She had checked out and the hospital had granted our social worker with permission to carry Jude out the front door. No dramatic scene, no final goodbye. I knew that it was for the best.

People tell me all the time, "I wonder how someone could give up her baby." Give up is not what happened. Jude's birthmother made a gut-wrenching decision to sacrifice her role in his life for a chance that he might have the life she dreamed for him. That woman loves my little Jude, and her heroic act has rocked my world. Every time I look at my son, I think of her. Adoption is a miracle, and I have witnessed something rarely demonstrated in mankind... true, radical, sacrificial love.

I thank God everyday for the life Tim and I have been entrusted with. I also thank him for the woman who gave us a family.