All hope gone

I continued to call Viviana, and they always let her talk to me. Her house coordinators treated me with such kindness. She lived in a loud environment, so I did a lot of listening. I no longer understood my purpose in her life, but I loved her still the same. God built that relationship for a reason.

“Tía, is your son there? Please tell him I love him.” She felt connected to all of us.

The next time I called, she said, “Tell your husband I miss him.” I wanted nothing more than to give that little girl the biggest hug ever.

“Okay, Sweetheart. I will tell him. Please tell your brothers I love them.” I couldn’t stop thinking about Julian’s sudden involvement in the story. I didn’t know him that well yet, but I loved him, too.

When I called Juan David’s home, I got a different answer every time.  On Wednesday night, they said, “Oh, I’m sorry. He’s at the doctor this evening.” On Friday, “He stayed at school to celebrate an end of year school function.”

“Oh. Can I call him later?” I asked.

“I don’t think so tonight. I really don’t know when he will get home.” I’d called many times throughout the year on evenings he wasn’t there, but it rarely happened twice in one week. I suspected they didn’t want me to talk to him anymore, but the kindness in the lady’s voice always threw me off. I didn’t know what to think.

Mike kept his hope alive, believing God still held a miracle. Our agency seemed to do more to fight for us than ever before. Looking back now, I should have demanded direct contact with the agency’s lawyer. So many aspects of our case could have and should have been handled differently. But out of pure naivety, we didn’t know any better.

I already gave up the fight in my heart. Deep down inside, I couldn’t keep holding on. I had to let myself grieve, and I needed to help my son grieve this loss, as well.

 David couldn’t even begin to understand what happened. “Mommy, it all made sense. Juan David loves what I love. I love what he loves . . . their decision doesn’t connect.”

He suddenly felt lonely. Thinking about the fact that Juan David and Viviana weren’t coming home, after all, made him aware for the first time of how much he looked forward to their coming. My heart broke for him.

I had to release myself from the process to offer my full presence to David. He needed me to hang out with him, play games with him, and enjoy our days together, the way we always spent our summers, just the two of us. Only now, we both carried a huge void inside us everywhere we went. 

Somehow we all put on a brave smile to enthusiastically celebrate David’s birthday the next week. We spent more money than normal this time, knowing he needed the extra attention and focus. We told him we couldn’t afford things due to the adoption expenses far too many times. We didn’t dare use that excuse for his birthday now. We bought him the Wii he’d wanted for so long, went out for pizza and celebrated with our close friends. God blessed us with good memories of his birthday, preparing us for the hard days that quickly followed.

Four days later, on November 20^th, we reached the end of the road regarding the adoption. The committee in Colombia told the agency’s representative we couldn’t do anything more. Their final decision held firm. Despite all of our prayers, Juan David and Viviana would not be coming home.

I had no words. I couldn’t make sense of anything we went through over the last year and a half or why God even let our paths cross with those two precious children. I went numb. The hurt cut deeper than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. I felt like the biggest failure. My heart couldn’t handle all the emotions it held. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Devastation. Guilt. Depression. Overwhelming grief. Confusion.

I felt so lost.

My phone rang while we ate dinner out that evening, but I didn’t answer it. I put my phone up to my ear to listen to the message my mom left on my voicemail.

“Honey, I just wanted to say how so very sorry I am.” She cried through the message, as did I. Tears streamed down my cheeks the entire evening. So numb, I couldn’t talk to anyone. I never even called back. I may have already given up fighting nearly three weeks before, but hearing the absolute finality of our case still tore me apart. Not a shred of hope remained.

What in the world was it all for?