Six years ago yesterday, we met our daughter for the first time. She was six weeks old. We also met our daughter’s other/birthfather for the first time that day.
She was (still is, by the way) astonishingly beautiful, almost otherwordly. Her other parents seemed…so young (even though they were adults) and understandably devastated by what they were getting ready to do. The hard, brutal reality of it was that they were giving their child to two complete strangers; with merely our reassurances that they would see her again, even if it was only pictures and letters.* In fact, we met our daughter on the day her parents voluntarily terminated their parental rights. Less than two hours after they went to court that morning, we met up at School Girl’s foster family’s home. That was not by our choice; that was determined by our agency. It was also determined that School Girl would stay with her foster family for another two days as well, to accomodate our social worker’s schedule.
We had been told all sorts of things before that day. The one thing that stuck in my mind the most was that we were told that S (School Girl’s birth/other father) would most likely not show up at court. But he did. It was probably the most difficult thing he’s ever been asked to do, and he did it.
M, School Girl’s other mother, wanted to place her in my arms. I’m pretty confident that it was the most difficult thing she had ever been asked to do, but she did that too.
And when we left that day…I still didn’t believe that this was going to happen. I was convinced that her other parents would realize their mistake and take it all back. I knew we would get a phone call. I knew…
* In fact, we have ongoing contact with School Girl’s other mother/her family; letters/cards/pictures several times a year, phone calls, and the occasional visit (much more occasional with M than with her parents). S has, for various reasons, no contact with us at this time.