I’ve spent the last hour or so reading my own blog posts from late 2007 and early 2008 - the months when our adoption quest came to an end, and little people changed our lives.
I’ve been sat here with a permanent grin on my face - reading about the excitement and foreboding as we reached the final hurdles in our adoption journey and went from “maybe adopting children one day” to discovering exactly who they were going to be, and when we were going to meet them.
You don’t notice the adventure when you’re in the thick of it. You’re just pedalling like mad, trying to keep up with the events of the moment. With that in mind, it strikes me that it might be nice to look back now with a little more perspective, and a little more openness.
In common with many people who adopt children, we pretty much “shut down”, and kept what was happening very quiet indeed in the final weeks of 2007. Of course, by this time we had become quite good at “not talking about what was going on” - we had been at it for a couple of years already.
In early 2006 we visited the local council offices for an introductory session on the adoption process - an open “this is how the journey works” forum presented by the senior social workers. When the floor was opened for questions I remember being shocked by several couples who asked for accurate statistics on their chances of adopting a baby. What I didn’t appreciate at the time was the meeting was only the first attempt to weed out those that might not be appropriate adoptive parents.
Minds immesurably superior to my own - that no doubt pick up the pieces of broken families on a regular basis - plan everything you will see, remember everything they ask you, and dig incredibly deeply into who you are, what you think about things, where you have come from, and where you think you are going.
None of that happened immediately though.
Several months later we had a week off work, and attended an Adoption Preparation Group along with several other couples (many of which became and have remained close friends). At the time we imagined we were being tested on our answers to questions, or the part we took in group discussions. Looking back, it was an acid test.
Each day we were confronted with stories of neglect and abuse, horrific case studies, and invited to confront our own prejudices, fears, and biases. By the midpoint of the week, I remember being physically and mentally exhausted.
We learned that there really are two sides to every story, and that “blame” isn’t really a term you can apply to many people when a child ends up in care.
What followed was months of interviews at home - some with both of us together, some with each of us individually, and some with our friends and close family. Every stone was lifted. Every dark corner poked with a stick. Relationships were examined, childhood memories recounted, views and opinions expounded and pulled to pieces.
The interviews contributed to an official report that was given to the “Adoption Review Panel” - where a room full of strangers would read about the minutiae of our life, and make an informed decision on not only our suitability to adopt children, but how many, what ages, and (possibly) which sexes.
Although you were not required to attend the review panel, we were glad we did - because we knew our presence would afford the members of the panel the opportunity to ask questions, and again assess our responses. One thing we hadn’t anticipated was the number of people in the room.
Policemen, councillors, psychologists, social workers, teachers, sociologists, doctors, healthcare workers…
My one abiding memory is the chairwoman of the meeting jovially remarking that we all have bad days when we don’t want to get our of bed and go to work and then asking me how having a family might impact that.
“I would like to think my family will become the reason I get out of bed each day”
I remember seeing the psychologist smile through his beard, and begin writing something.
Ten minutes later, while sat on couches out in the corridor nervously drinking horrific tea from a machine, the chairwoman walked in smiling and informed us;
“We are more than pleased to approve you for the adoption of up to three children”.
Relief. Total and utter relief. I can still remember the couch, the taste of the tea, and walking back through the building holding hands.
Having become well aware of the next step of our journey, we anticipated a lengthy wait - perhaps months - while we were potentially “matched” with children.
We didn’t wait months though.
While stood in the foyer of the council offices putting our coats on, and wrapping up warm for the walk back to the car, we asked our social worker what happens next.
She didn’t look at us. She had been looking through the window for the last few moments.
“There are these three girls”