Have you ever had days in your life that have changed you?
Moved you to tears? Shaken you to your very core?
Days that alter the template of your reality, forever.
For me, that day was January 21, 2005.
It all started at 9:47 am.
After approximately 9 hours of fast and intense labor, Jace was born.
He was perfect.
Tiny, peaceful, wide-eyed, and curious about this world he just entered.
I had no way of knowing just how much that moment would change me forever.
The decision to place Jace for adoption did not come easily. In fact, it was one I fought for a long time.
I could raise this baby. I would raise this baby. He was mine. I loved him with all the intensity of my angsty teenage soul.
He was born to me for a reason. He would be my best friend.
I would figure out how to make our life work. I was only 16? But I was the most responsible 16 year old on the planet!
Right...
The stars aligned and through a weird twist of fate, I met his parents a few months before he was born.
They were perfect.
I could not raise this baby alone. I could give him all of me and it still would not be enough.
I learned early on that "all you need is love" is just a stupid cliche, peddled and pawned cheaply in sappy chick flicks. I blame the Beatles.
He needed more. He deserved more. And I found them.
They were everything I wish my parents had been. They were everything I wanted to be, someday.
If I was going to trust someone else to raise this baby, my baby, they had to fit the bill.
They exceeded all of my highest expectations.
Handing over Jace was the most difficult thing I have ever done. "From God's arms, to my arms, to yours" as the Michael McLean song goes.
To say goodbye, in a way was death. It was a tragic ending.
The grief hit fast and hard. The tears were relentless.
I woke up many nights alone, hearing his tiny cry and mourning for the baby I had lost.
I couldn't tell you how long it was before I started feeling normal again. The sadness felt deeper than the ocean, and I was drowning.
No one could possibly understand how this felt. I was angry at my parents for crying. They couldn't possibly feel the weight of my pain.
They did not create this life, or carry him for nine long months--months filled with dreams of all this baby would become.
Thoughts of all the "firsts" he would experience as he stumbled his way through life like the rest of us.
To miss out on those firsts would be devastating.
This pain was mine alone to bear. I was resentful of anyone who wanted to share it. How could they? I did a pretty good job of blocking them out.
I think at some point, I just learned to block it all out. To bury it.
But this time of year, it always resurfaces.
The complicated part about adoption is that there is grief and loss and pain, but there is also hope.
The beautiful baby that made his way into my arms that day did not die.
He is very much alive.
His presence has blessed the life of his family. Without him they would have been incomplete.
Without him, I would be incomplete.
Eventually the sadness that once consumed me, made way for joy.
Seeing his pictures over the years brought me a happiness that is hard to describe. I would run from the mail box with the excitement of a small child at Christmas to hear all about his life and to see the joy he brought to his family.
I felt a sense of connection with children that were his age, everywhere I went.
I had multiple opportunities in the following years to see this sweet boy and to spend time with him and his family to receive first hand confirmation of just how right this decision was for all of us.
Every year at Christmas, I get excited to pick out books and games that have been meaningful in my life to share with him and give him a small piece of me.
And then comes January 21.
Some years it comes and goes quickly. The day is filled with happy memories of the joy that came from this decision. My joy. His family's joy.
Other years it hits me like a ton of bricks. And I feel all the things.
It's complicated.
Every year on this day, I still mourn the baby I lost. I grieve for the life we might have had together. I feel sadness and pain. Tears are shed.
Yet, every year on this day, I also feel joy and happiness and hope. I am overwhelmed by a profound sense of gratitude. For this beautiful boy. For his family and the amazing love they have for him, and for me.
The significance of this day for me cannot be minimized.
So while to you, today may have just been January 21, an ordinary day in a sea full of days, for me it was the anniversary of a moment that changed my life forever.
So today I will honor both the sadness of the sacrifice, and the joy of a new life, a new beginning.
I love you, Jace. Happy birthday.
