Since my parents decided to pursue adoption, and then adoption subsequently threw itself headfirst into the Lowder household, the most common question I get from friends who know my folks is, "So...how is your family?"
Well.
That's a big question. Do you really have time for the answer? No, of course not, but I would never expect you to--because even if you have hours to spare, there's no way even that's enough time for me to sit down and process and attempt to explain and brag and cry and stumble through just "how" my family is.
The same is probably true for you--just because my family is no longer a simple story doesn't mean we're the only ones who are experiencing something extraordinary. So please don't think I'm trying to break the curve or be anything more or less than anyone else. I'm just answering honestly.
So, here goes.
Before I met my four youngest siblings, I had this completely unrealistic, weird, romantic idea of what adoption was. Here's what I thought (cue sentimental music):
Toddler, of either Asian or African descent, sits in a lonely orphanage and dreams about American parents who, surely, will come rescue him one day. He is completely unaware and disinterested in the fact that he was conceived by, born of, and somehow separated from human parents of his own. He somehow learns English, manners, and how to love and be loved. One day, someone white and wealthy steps off a plane, walks into the orphanage, picks up this child (who is the cutest in the room), and walks back to the airplane. Toddler holds close to mother while giving father affectionate high-fives and kisses. On the plane ride back, after the toddler thanks his new parents profusely for coming to find him, and pledges to be precious, grateful, and obedient for his entire life, the parents rock him to peaceful sleep and make a list of all their generous friends who they will talk into adopting the remaining children in the orphanage, so no one is left out. Once home, the child keeps his pledge to be a perfect child, and is always completely accepted and treated with gentleness and a careful tongue by those he meets.
Before my sassiness gets the best of me, let's get one thing straight here. The romance of adoption is real. There is no love like the love shown to an adopted child. It is not the biggest love, or the most fancy love, or the most anything love (none but Jesus!), but it is a unique and beautiful and cracked love that is a picture of God's unwavering affection for us orphans here on earth.
But it is not a Disney story. Sassy time.
Children from hard places are from hard places. That place may be the slums of a Chinese city or the outskirts of San Antonio or anywhere else in the world. Geography doesn't make a child more or less healthy, though culture can definitely mean a lot in the transition from one family to another. Also, they know they were conceived by, born of, and somehow separated from human parents of their own. The separation may have come at day one, or year one, or the day after they turned fourteen. They may know exactly why, or they may have no idea, but no matter what, they know, and there will come a time when they ache for that connection. They may or may not have learned what love is. They may have been best friends with their mother or she may be their greatest fear, or they may be completely apathetic about her. They may have been hurt. They may be resilient, or they may be weak-hearted. They may be looking forward to a permanent home, or that could be the furthest hope from their heart. They may not sleep at night. They may not wake up during the day. They may not understand the grace they have been given, and the great expense at which their new life comes, both financially (less important) and emotionally and relationally (desperately important).
And people don't know this, because...well...how could they? So well-intentioned comments and questions like, "You are so lucky now!" or "Do you know who your mother is?" or "What grade are you in?" or "You look so much like your Dad!" can sometimes deliver a sting that no one expected. People who would would be great babysitters don't get called, because parents want to protect their children's hurts, and not expose their secrets to the world. Sometimes, it's not okay for people to drop by and visit, because disruptions just don't work for this new family. Holidays probably won't be celebrated the same way. Maybe Mother's Day and Father's Day are minimized, even though their parents are as good as gold, because the first parents aren't there to be celebrated as well, so it hurts. Everything, and nothing, is normal.
I feel like I need to emphasize that my younger brothers and sisters are the coolest cats in the world. I love them more than life itself and have learned more from them already than they will ever learn from me. I love that they have two families to love, and two families who love them. No one can ever take that away from them.
There's probably more to say, but really, I'm not an expert on this. These are just my observations as a daughter and big sister, and maybe it's enough information for you to know how my family is doing. We are so blessed, and we are growing so strong--complete with scars, growing pains, and awkward stages--the works. We've got it all. So, when I say, "We're great! How's your family?", please know I mean it with all my heart, and this is the back story, and sometimes "great" is pretty hard.
xoxo Bec
) doesn't mean I can't miss him. I should miss him! We were friends. Period. The level of relationship between two people does not dictate emotions, if they're appropriate or not, etc. The fact is, we were friends. I valued him in life, period. I value him still. Period.
