Lately I've felt a bit different...again. I went through these same kinds of feelings a couple of years ago when we first started the adoption process and then once again when I had close friends who became pregnant. I can't have conversations with mothers or mothers-to-be about pregnancy...I can't relate. I listen to their stories, but I have no story of my own...not that they can relate to. I think, unless you're living it, adoption is confusing for most people...the emotions are (I think) hard to explain. Anyway, I started looking over my old website (link is on the right side of this blog). The old website had very few pictures and a lot more serious thoughts by yours truly. I intentionally wanted this one for "fluff" and to make it more easy going and nice to read. I came across this story that has been passed around in the adoption world and it's the closest thing that I've found that really helps explain metaphorically the adoption experience.
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans... the Coliseum, the Sistine Chapel, Gondolas. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After several months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland!" "Holland?" you say. "What do you mean, Holland? I signed up for Italy. I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy." But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine, and disease. It's just a different place. So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It's just a different place. It's slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy, but after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around. You begin to notice that Holland has windmills. Holland has tulips. And Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, " Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that experience will never, ever, ever, go away. The loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.