The machines in the hospital room beeped, sighed and groaned to keep the tiny life from death. As I stood there staring at her nearly lifeless body, the room began to spin and I struggled to breathe. I quickly sat down and tried to process this situation. The thoughts collided in my brain. We have six other children in our care. We were told she was healthy. She may be hooked up to a ventilator for life. Why, God? Why would you bring us to her under these pretenses? My husband and I couldn’t converse in the hallway, so we sat for two hours in wordless anguish. Finally, we departed and returned to our hotel.
Devastation is defined as a “sheer and overwhelming sense of shock or grief.” Several months back when we were going through our home study, we discerned how much we could handle in light of our family circumstances. We both agreed that as a homeschooling family, we could not take on a child with serious health issues. We did not have extended family in our area for support, and at the time, it seemed to be a prudent decision. Now, though, this was no longer a hypothetical situation. There was a real child in need of a family – but were we up to the task?
We spent the next day at the hospital on our own with Annie. We held her tiny frame, making sure not to get tangled up in the tubing of the machines that sustained her life. We were overwhelmed with emotions and riddled the medical staff with questions. Before noon, we were present as the medical team made rounds. We listened attentively and had an opportunity to inquire more. Annie was a sick little girl. She would need 24/7 care, possibly for life if she lived at all. She could not breathe, she could not suck, she would be on medication for life. These were the facts we were dealt. We left the hospital in somber silence.
The next morning, we met again with the birth father. We told him what we had learned from the medical staff the day before and that we did not feel equipped to parent Annie. We explained that when we were presented with Annie, we were told that she was healthy. We assured them of our prayers and that we hoped they would find the perfect family for her; unfortunately, it was not going to be us. Somehow, we were able to convey this message without emotion. We had convinced ourselves that we were making a wise decision. In reality, we were in shock. Like robots, we loaded our car and began our journey home.
I focused my mind on the highway ahead, letting it lull me to a restless sleep. Eventually, we began to talk and question everything. Why would God do this? How were our children going to cope? What would our friends and family think? Why were we given false information in the first place? Mostly, we cried. Hard. Now we found ourselves in the same place as the birth family had found themselves. Our anticipated joy had turned to sorrow.
The next day was Saturday. It was a dark day as we wrestled with feelings of abandonment and confusion. We woke up Sunday and prepared to attend Mass as we do each week. We were still feeling angry at God, but knew that cutting ourselves off from Him would not help our situation. The date was September 23, 2012. September 23rd. Why did that date seem familiar? Wait. It was the feast day of St. Padre Pio, one year to the day that I had miscarried. In the storm of the previous week, I had forgotten. We sat together as the priest began to read the Gospel for the day. “Then he sat down, called the Twelve, and said to them, ‘If anyone wishes to be first, he shall be the last of all and the servant of all.’ Taking a child he placed it in their midst, and putting his arms around it he said to them, ‘Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but the One who sent me.’” (New American Bible, Revised Edition, Mark 9:35-37). David and I glanced at each other.
The following Monday morning, I had an overwhelming sense of peace in regard to Annie. Yes, Lord, I will receive her. She is our daughter. I stared at the computer screen and began this email to David. “I am at peace. I believe that Annie is our daughter. Let me know your thoughts.” Coming to the same conclusion at work, David was uploading Annie’s picture from the first day we met her to the background of his computer when my email reached his inbox.
Annie Mei became part of our family on October 1, 2012. Our oldest daughter wrote the following post for our blog:
Is this really happening? This is so surreal! It seems like just yesterday that my mom told me she felt called to adoption, but really, that was over a year ago! I always knew that your life could drastically change in a short amount of time, but now have I really experienced it full on. The love my family has for this 7 pound blessing is unfathomable. I cannot wait for her to get home — which may even be this weekend!
God used our journey to stretch our faith and teach us that His plans for us are good, although not necessarily easy. Annie is now a healthy and feisty girl with a passion for life. Words fall short to describe our feelings for her. We believe her vocation is love. She touches others with her generous hugs, stares and innocence. We feel honored to be her family and thank God for her precious life.
Nora and David married in April 1991. They have eight children here on earth and two awaiting them in heaven. Since adopting Annie in 2012, Leo joined their family through adoption in 2015. Annie and Leo have Down Syndrome and are both healthy and thriving. Their “special needs” bring out the best in everyone they meet.
