Let's see. . . where were we. . . Oh, yeah. First time I saw him.
That first night was amazing. We didn't actually have that much time with him, because I got there just before shift change. But the 30 or so minutes that we were able to spend together, standing at the side of his little NICU treatment crib were priceless. I couldn't stop myself from reaching in and letting him hold my finger with his little tiny hand, or from brushing his head of thick black hair. The staff were telling us that we needed to stop stimulating him, that he needed to rest and not be bothered, but it really is not possible to avoid touching such an adorable child.
He was hooked up to a lot of machinery, and had wires and tubes coming out of him from all over. He was on a ventilator out of his mouth, had IVs into his umbilicus, three wires stuck to his chest measuring his heart rate, and a pulse oximeter attached to his foot. He looked like he was hooked up to the Matrix. I hated it. It looked alien and painful and like he didn't like it, either. The worst was the ventilator - it was a kind I had never seen before, that cycled at like 300 breaths per minute. The staff explained to us that this helps the developing lungs start to pick up oxygen without being stretched too much. It works by only partially filling the lungs, and then rapidly pushing tiny breaths in and out. The end result is that Tristan looked like he was shivering non-stop, or maybe like he was having a little seizure. It was not fun to watch, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was good for him.
All the foreign and unwanted gizmos and contraptions, the heated bed with phototherapy lights overhead, the noise and the beeping alarms every thirty seconds would have really gotten to us if it weren't for our absolutely fantastic nurse, Lisa. She was amazing. Funny, informative, patient, kind, professional, and very very gentle with Tristan. We could not have asked for a better nurse. She put us at ease, answered all our questions, and generally made us feel like he was in good hands. If not for her, we would have been in tears that first night. As it was, though, we were able to just feel happy that our little miracle had finally arrived and that he was being well taken care of.
But he still wasn't completely ours. He wasn't ours at all, really. Birth mom was still recovering from her labor and delivery, so I didn't see her at all that night. By the time I got there it was too late to go visit her, so I didn't have a chance to talk with her at all during Tristan's first two days of life. On the third day, she came to visit him in the hospital, while we were there, and we had our first chance to spend some time together. She looked pale and like she was in a lot of pain, and she was really quiet, but she was warm and polite and gave us both huge hugs while we stood together at Tristan's side and admired him in his tiny perfection.
Of course, we didn't bother her with a bunch of questions about the adoption. It was neither the time nor place. But we were certainly worried about it. We started making phone calls as soon as business hours hit on the morning of Saturday the 12th. We called our agency, called birth grandma, called our worker back in Tennessee, trying to set up a relinquishment, (the legal handing over of custody rights) which by law could have happened that day. We were under the impression that it would be happening that morning, based on the conversations that we had had with birthmom and her family in the months preceding But it turned out that her adoption worker had not made any plans with her at all due mostly to the fact that Tristan decided to come two months early. So we were all left to figure things out as we went. None of this uncertainty did anything to ease our minds. Our last failed adoption was looming very large at this point, and we were terrified that we would have the carpet yanked out from under us again.
But we were trying our very best to not let our anxiety and worry show, and to focus instead on the love, appreciation and gratitude that we felt for our birthmom and her family. It was really strange to have these warring emotions going on about the same people: to feel love and warmth and this incredible gratitude while simultaneously feeling apprehensive and fearful that these people could completely destroy you with a single change of mind. I think it might be something like someone giving you a check for 5 million dollars that may or may not be laced with Anthrax. You take the check, and just hope that the next days don't turn into the worst in your life.
The family never really gave us any indication that there were problems, but there were moments when our hearts dropped into our heels. The first was that our birthmom changed her mind about doing an agency adoption, because she was told by her agency that using an attorney would be an easier option. This meant that relinquishment would not happen on the 12th as hoped, but would be put off until after the weekend. This also meant that we would have to find a lawyer who could meet with us on a Saturday, on same-day notice. Otherwise, we would have to wait until Monday, which would put relinquishment off until sometime in the middle of the week. Each day of delay was like one more piece of security and hope falling away into heartbreak. We were still hanging on, but the fall below us seemed closer and closer with each set-back. You remember that rope bridge from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom? Yeah, it was like that. Just nobody shooting arrows at us. And no crazy heart-grabbing priest.
Anyway, in another miracle, we were actually able to find a lawyer who would meet with us on a Saturday, with three hours notice. His name is Dean Ellis, and he is amazing. We drove from the hospital down to his home in South Jordan, where he sat down with us and told us that he was on his way to Stake Conference but that he was happy to meet with us ahead of time. See, he is the Stake President there. Yeah, he was pretty much a complete Godsend. We explained our situation, and he laid the process out for us, took us on as clients, and charged us less than the agency would have. We were more than a little pleased with him, and incredibly relieved. He told us that he would go to the court first thing on Monday morning and put in a petition for adoption, at which time we would be assigned a court date. He thought it would be either Monday or Tuesday, but probably Monday.
So we went back to the hospital, encouraged that we would not have to wait through too many more days of uncertainty, and were able to enjoy the rest of our Saturday with Tristan and various visitors. Phone calls continued to fly as we made preparations and arrangements, but we felt like we had gained significant clarity on the relinquishment front.
The next day, Sunday, saw one more rope on our bridge threaten to snap. In the afternoon, after a wonderful and peaceful day watching Tristan breathe like a race engine and get a little jaundice (they put him under phototherapy, and gave him a cool little eye-protector mask) we got a call from birth grandma saying that birthmom was having a harder time than expected, and that she would not be ready to relinquish on Monday. Instead, she wanted two or three more days as Tristan's mom. Of course, we could sympathize with this request, and it was entirely reasonable. We wanted more time as his parents, too. That is the tight-rope walk of adoption. And it was completely her decision to make - she didn't need our permission, and didn't even really need to let us know. She could have done whatever she wanted. Which is precisely why we felt so vulnerable and scared. But we trusted her, and she is an amazing young woman. She had only ever been wonderful and amazing and very very kind to us, so we trusted that she would continue as she commenced. But it was a very large amount of trust that we were placing in her, and it was one of the hardest conversations I have ever had in which I said almost nothing. Sometimes saying nothing takes much more effort than saying everything. This was one of those times.
There was another practical concern at work, though. As long as birth mom had custody of Tristan, he was covered under her medical insurance. Which she didn't have. Only when we became his legal guardians could he be covered under our insurance (which is awesome, because I am in the Army). Until then, the little guy was in insurance limbo, which is not a great place to be when racking up a daily NICU bill. We were worried about this, of course. Worried that the bill would fall back on birthmom, who wouldn't be able to pay it. Each day of putting off relinquishment was one more day that would fall at her feet. We talked about this between ourselves all day Sunday, debating whether to bring it up to the birth family at all. Would it be seen as pushy, insensitive, snobbish, rude? All things that we couldn't afford to risk, give our precarious position. We had to show them that we were understanding, patient, and willing to put birthmom's needs first.
The next day, Monday, our awesome lawyer headed off to the courthouse first thing in the morning. We had told him that birth-mom had requested an extra day, so he put in a request for Tuesday, which he called to tell us we had been given, with Judge Faust of THE Faust family. Awesome. But then we got another call from birth grandma, saying that birthmom was talking about wanting to wait until Wednesday. I fielded the call, and at this point I didn't have any more patient, understanding, wonderful people stuff left in me. Instead, I pushed back - citing the practical and emotional reasons Dana and I had talked about over the last two days, I strongly encouraged her to not push back the day any further. Tristan needed to be insured, and a difficult thing does not get easier the longer you delay - it gets harder. Even as I said those words, part of my brain was screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" I was worried that I had pushed too hard, given offense, and completely botched things for us. But on the other hand, I felt peace and reassurance that everything was going to be OK. I have had enough experience to know that this was the Spirit, so I kept on. And by the end of a phone call exchange, we were told that birthmom would be ready to relinquish the next day, Tuesday the 15th of January.
And that, I am extremely happy to say, is exactly what happened. The feeling of peace and reassurance that I got during that phone call never left me. I just knew it was going to work out, and it did. We arrived at the Matheson Courthouse with plenty of time to spare, and grabbed a bouquet of flowers for birthmom to mark the occasion. We had also spent some time on Sunday trying to find a suitable gift for her, which we felt would be appropriate given the enormous gift she was giving us. We were the first to arrive, and the last vestiges of our uncertainty were very present while we waited for the birth family to get there. But then suddenly they were there, walking around the corner. Birthmom with her mother, sister, boyfriend and our dear aunt Chris. Birthmom looked amazing - she really is a beautiful woman - and much improved over the previous times we had seen her. She didn't look like she was in pain or feeling weak anymore. We all hugged one another, but nobody really knew what to say. Fortunately, our lawyer was also there, and he greased the skids for us, had papers for us to fill out, etc. Before we knew it, the bailiff was opening the door, calling out our names.
Birthmom went in first, with her mom and boyfriend. When the doors closed, we knew that nothing less than our fate as parents was being decided on the other side. There was nothing for us to do but hug each other and wait. I continued to enjoy a strong sense of peace and comfort, but I don't think Dana was feeling so comforted. We held each other, and didn't say much of anything, kind of just held our breath. But we didn't have much time to wait. After what could not have been more than ten minutes, the doors to the court opened up, and our birth mom came walking out with tears in her eyes, being held and comforted by her mom and boyfriend. One look was all it too to know that she had signed her part of the paperwork. We instantly ran to her and gave her a huge hug, even though the judge was calling us to come up to the table. It was a long hug. Long enough to make me worry that the judge was going to get mad.
As we sat down at the table with it's microphones, and received encouraging smiles from our attorney who stood at a lectern in front of the judge, my fear of angering the judge seemed to be confirmed. Our judge was not nice or funny or kind. He seemed really stern. Not angry, but not happy either. He seemed to be annoyed with our attorney, didn't like the way the paperwork was being presented, took issue with some of the language, and was generally grumpy. Dana kept squeezing my leg under the table, which is her way of saying "What in the world is going on here!?!" We were both more than a little scared that our adoption would hit on some legal/administrative snag just because this judge ran out of Cheerios this morning or something. There was a lot of tension for the first five minutes or so.
But then all of a sudden, the Honorable Judge Faust seemed satisfied. He asked us a bunch of questions about our understanding of the adoption, its permanence, legal implications, etc. and made sure that we were entering into this with the right understanding. He asked us both the same questions independent of one another. When he was done asking, he signed a few pieces of paper, and just like that - we were parents.
Once he had signed and all his official work as judge was done, his demeanor completely changed. He looked down at us from his elevated desk, and there were suddenly tears in his eyes. He told us that he was "deeply touched" by the hug he saw us give our birthmom, and that he appreciated the affection and respect that he saw us give to her. He wished us luck and congratulated us, and then we were dismissed from the court.
We were a little stunned by the suddenness of everything - the quick changes in the judge's attitude, the sudden decision to approve everything in spite of the earlier grumpiness, and also just how quickly everything was done. It could not have taken more than ten minutes from the time we entered the court to the time we left. So we walked out of the enormous double doors hand in hand, having just been given legal custody of our son, and we were completely unable to emotionally grasp what had happened.
The whole party was waiting for us when we came out. We all hugged one another, and a mixture of congratulations and condolences were shared. Having both of those emotions in the air at the same time is a strange mix, but I have come to learn that those are precisely the two emotions that are always present for an adoption. One family's loss is another's gain, so happiness and sadness have to learn to co-exist.
We all stepped into one of the side chambers next to the courtroom, and had a little gift giving ceremony. We gave our birthmom a charm bracelet, and told her that we would be sending her additional charms as Tristan reaches major milestones in his life. Her family gave us some wonderful gifts for Tristan, including a blanket that birthom and grandmother made by hand together. It was a sweet little gathering, and a confirmation to us that we had been blessed with the best possible birth family - they are loving, kind, sweet people who have given us the biggest gift it is possible for one human to give to another. No matter how many emotionally difficult moments there may have been, there has always been an overwhelming sense of love and respect from them. We only hope that we managed to make them feel as loved as they made us feel.
We had expected that after court they would want to go off on their own, to emotionally recuperate, but instead they invited us out to lunch, which was great and delicious. The conversation was easy and fun, and everyone was in good spirits. We joked and shared stories and just hung out together. For me it was like a foreshadowing of what our relationship could be like moving forward, and I truly hope that it will be. I want our son to know that he has a lot of family and that they all love him and love each other. I don't believe a child can be damaged by having too many people who love him. Our son is blessed in that way - he has three families who adore him.
And that is the story of our adoption. How eight heartbreaking years of waiting for a child turned into one week of almost frenzied action once that child finally arrived. How a family of strangers reached out to us from across the nation to bless our lives through their own selfless sacrifice. How we suddenly not only became parents, but also suddenly became adopted in to a whole new family. Most of all, it is a story of how our Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers, and how He can take any situation, no matter how difficult, and turn it into a blessing if we let Him. And we most certainly have been blessed.
