Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Not Ready

We got "the call" from the adoption agency a few weeks ago. The one we've been waiting for. We were offered the opportunity to start the adoption process by attending a 6-week Homestudy class beginning in April. And?

We passed.

I know what you're (probably) thinking. Why would someone who has lamented over waiting endlessly for adoption for 19+ months actually choose to wait even longer? It's difficult for me to put how I feel into words, other than to say this:

We just aren't ready.

It seems crazy, really. But I've always believed in following my heart--and for some time now, my heart has been telling me that I am not ready for this yet.

In fact, I brought this up to my husband several months ago. On some random evening, as he was getting ready to leave the house for a meeting. It seemed like the right time to drop a gigantic bomb on someone. So, I did it. He was shocked. But he's the kind of person that needs some time to digest things---so I gave it to him.

A few days later, he told me that he felt the same way. And it felt like I could finally breathe again. Like maybe I wasn't the awful person I thought I was for feeling this way. That's the funny thing: I feel really guilty about this. I can't put my finger precisely on why I feel that way, however.

Maybe it's because it feels like there are so many people rooting for us. Or, that I have successfully spilled every ounce of my guts on this blog for so long that people feel attached to our story. Whatever the reason may be, the bottom line is this: I hate feeling like I have disappointed someone.

Like every other part of my life, I have to follow my heart here. Even if it's not the popular choice. Even when it means doing something a bit out of the ordinary. Life is way, way too short to do anything else.

This doesn't mean we will never be ready. Or, that we have closed the door on pursuing adoption or having children. In fact, we're still on the waiting list at the adoption agency--I'm told we are at the top of that list, actually. Maybe the day will come when we are ready. I don't know when, but our hearts (and minds) are completely open.

Here's the thing about our situation: it's nearly impossible to work on moving on while also living in a place where you need to remain hopeful for the very thing you are trying to get over. I have realized that I cannot do both. So, I chose to (try to) move on.

The space and time that have passed after being told we couldn't have children have been my life's greatest healer. Back then, my husband told me time would heal those wounds. I thought he was crazy--and completely wrong. Turns out, he was right.

I have never been happier or more satisfied with my life than I am today. I sincerely believe that I have my journey to thank for that. I guess the journey isn't over quite yet. Right or wrong, we're choosing to wait a bit longer.

Every time I think about that guilt I feel for making this choice, I remind myself: it is more important to follow my heart than it is to worry about my choices disappointing someone else. I would be doing myself an injustice by denying how I really feel. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the right choice.

More than anything, it's just really complicated. My emotions, my heart, my perspective on the world---it's very, very complicated. It's also a very delicate balance.

It's hard, sometimes, to put into words how I feel. It comes out wrong most of the time in my moments of anger or frustration. There are things I will never accept--or ever understand--about my life. It is difficult, at times, to process the idea that things were meant to happen this way. We never figure terrible things into our destiny--death, loss, the absence of something beautiful--how is it those things are meant to be? Why are good people denied good things?

In that way, I think my heart will always be wounded. There will always be a part of me that simply doesn't understand why things are this way.

But life isn't about making sense of why things happen. It's about accepting that we cannot change the past. It happened, it's over---and we waste our life by wishing we could change it. Maybe it wasn't OK. Perhaps it wasn't fair. Or, it makes absolutely no sense. It matters not; it matters that you take the hand you were dealt and continue to play. And dance. And do whatever else it is that makes you happy. Even if it means going against what everyone else expects you to do.

That's where I am today: staring at my cards, dancing to the music and making the most of it. It's all I can do, sometimes, but that's just the way things go. We all have our scars, remember?

They will fade, those scars, but they aren't going anywhere.
"It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy." - Lucille Ball

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