Losing an Adoption

Practical Advice for Moving on after a Uniquely Painful Experience

The following article first appeared in the January/February, 1997, issue of Adoptive Families magazine. It has been adapted from Launching a Baby's Adoption, however Wendy Williams and Pat Johnston are at work on a book on coping with the loss of an adoption and welcome your input.

Sometimes the placement of a baby in what starts out to be an adoption just doesn't end up that way, and this seems to be happening proportionately more frequently than it did before. Whether adopting parents should accept the pre-adoptive placement of a baby whose birthparents' parental rights are not fully terminated; how long, if at all, birthparents should have to change their minds about adoption after a baby's birth; whether reversed placements should or could be prevented are all issues about which people have strong opinions.

This article is not about those issues. It is about helping would-be adoptive parents who have experienced a birthparent's reclaiming of the baby they both love to recover from their loss. It has been adapted from substantial material contributed by Wendy Williams (who with her husband, Rob and their son, Jamie, experienced the reversal of the placement of Terry, two weeks after his birth) for Pat Johnston's book Launching a Baby's Adoption: Practical Strategies for Parents and Professionals (Perspectives Press, 1997.)

The pain and loss of a reversed adoption needs expression and acknowledgement and support. Of course we all know that. But finding the best way to offer that is challenging. Parents who have suffered adoption reversals express frustration at the attempts of professionals and caring others to comfort them by suggesting that this loss is like some other, more commonly experienced parenting loss.

No! these survivors say, experiencing an adoption reversal is not "like" a miscarriage or stillbirth. This baby lived and was a concrete part of a family's day-to-day lives for some time. No! This is not "like" a sudden infant death or losing a baby to illness. This baby lives on in another's arms. And yet one feels a need to find something in common with other parents who have lost children, and so adopting parents seek comparisons, too.

A few parents express some identification with birthparents whose children's involuntary terminations led to confidential adoptions, cut off from their still living children. And yet these disappointed adopters are not "like" voluntary birthparents who struggle for months to decide what is right thing for their children and chose adoption.

Other images are darker. There is a unique and terrible violence in being forced to stand by and watch your child being taken from you against your will. This is an infinitely dark and angry thing and Wendy notes that it can be consuming if mourners allow themselves to get drawn into it.

Many parents liken adoption reversal to surviving the murder of a child. Why? Because of the sudden and violent nature of their loss; because their experience was that someone (for some blame lay with the birthparents who changed their minds, for others blame lay with agencies that hadn't done an adequate job) was responsible for a loss that seemed avoidable.

For other parents, the reversal seems analogous to being raped. They feel victimized and are recognized as victims, and yet there is a tendency for others to blame them for their loss. ("At least he's with his birthfamily. It's for the best.") In the midst of a reversal the sense of being physically threatened can be powerful. One wants to struggle, and yet to struggle carries the risk that future adoption hopes will be killed.

Loss reactions in a reversal may include confusing and ambivalent feelings about the loss of a valued relationship with the birthfamily, too. And yet dealing productively and empathetically with the concerns and needs of others experiencing this trauma--our extended family, the birthfamily, social workers--is nearly impossible for grieving adopters, adding to their guilty feelings.

A reversed placement brings with it all of the traditional stages of grief (shock and denial, isolation, bargaining, anger, despair, resolution), but there are unique components as well. Along with the burden of grieving there is the constant struggle to find the right words to describe this, even to oneself.

As well, this is an ongoing loss, for which there can be no closure. This child is growing up somewhere, in another home, with another name. Parents will continue to be aware of the milestones as time progresses. It will hurt less as time goes by, but one will not forget or lose any of the intensity of the love felt for a child. Ultimately, after grieving the loss of parental rights and the loss of control for a while, parents must consciously choose between gratitude and bitterness. This step is not easy, nor is it a passive decision. It is hard work to decide to let go, and even harder to begin to forgive.

In the end, adoption reversal is like no other parenting loss. It is its own uniquely painful experience. Families seek ways to move on. They look for practical advice. Wendy and Rob offer this...

Understand that while this loss may not be recognized or validated by society in general, this is a significant loss.

Have someone else make all those first calls to friends and relatives and field the initial questions and reactions. You can talk to everyone when they call you to offer support and when they are ready to listen to you.

Have someone call your employer to explain the situation and pass along news to co-workers. Let this person include suggestions on how you want to be treated when you return to work.

If possible, arrange for a bereavement leave from work--a week or two or three, if available. When you do return to work, try to do so gradually--an hour or two the first day, which will be the worst!

Remember that people grieve differently. One partner may need to cry and talk a lot, while the other needs to withdraw and be alone. Try to compromise and find ways to let each of you get what is needed.

If you already have children in your home, try to find a way for them to feel safe and comfortable while you get time together as a couple. Trying to "hold it together" while comforting a grieving confused child is brutally draining. If your child is too traumatized to let you leave, plan for special times together after they are asleep.

Hug one another a lot. It may be sadly and quietly, but it builds a pathway back to the future

Ask for help wherever you can find it. Because you don't want to overload your spouse or members of your friends and families, a good counselor is recommended, especially when you feel a lack of validation and understanding from the people around you.

Find someone who has been through this experience who is willing to talk to you. This is the place to be yourself without explanations or guarding of feelings.

Make use of the Coach Model. A personal contact/phone call from someone every day for about fifteen minutes for the first few weeks, moving to weekly for as long as you find this helpful. These talks should be structured, beginning with a discussion of how you are and how you are feeling, a report on how you've done since the last call, and a setting of new goals for the next day (may be as simple as making dinner or taking a walk.)

Getting the nursery packed up can help you to say goodbye and to admit the finality of your loss. It can also give you a brighter, fresher place to begin when it is time to prepare for another child. You may feel that this is something that you should do by yourself, but if it would be helpful, ask friends to do this or to come and help you do it.

Your home may be painful for a while. Find some safe places that aren't full of constant reminders. This may be a friend's home, a favorite restaurant, or anyplace where you feel that you don't have to "perform" before others.

Don't take on any new challenges (work travel, a new job, a move) for a while. This is not the time for big decisions and new stresses.

Look for activities that aren't full of constant reminders of loss. Choose books, movies, TV programs and social activities that give you a break from the constant emotional strain.

Take care of yourself physically, eating healthy foods and exercising often, avoiding alcohol. Grieving often makes sleep difficult, but healthy practices can alleviate this, aiding in emotional healing and keeping you fit for your ongoing or next parenting experience.

Allow yourself to tell your story over and over to those who will listen. Write a journal and letters to friends.

Writing letters to your lost child can be helpful too, but have a concrete plan for what you will do with them--a symbolic action such as burning them in the fireplace and sending your love up the chimney--to prevent yourself from using them as something over which to brood.

Find concrete ways to say goodbye and express ongoing feelings--plant a tree, make a donation to a charity for children, buy a plot of rain forest in your child's name. Choose a favorite photograph of your child to place in a prominent place in your home. People may be surprised, but most will respect your grief and be glad for an opportunity to express their concern and support for you.

Of crucial importance is to find ways to rebuild your self worth by expressions of self affirmation. This can be a private project or habitual act (such as lighting a candle at special times, wearing a favorite piece of clothing or jewelry regularly), or the process of creating a concrete object that is symbolic to you.

Prepare for major holidays and family celebrations. If you need to, avoid gatherings such as baby showers or christenings that might be difficult, participating only as much as feels right and safe.

After the initial time of grieving, gradually start to reclaim control over your life. Look for laughter; acknowledge what is good in your life daily.

Consider rituals to help with various stages: saying goodbye, dealing with the sadness, moving on to considering another adoption. If you belong to a faith community, consider some kind of service.

Thoughts of the past are too painful, thoughts of the future too scary. The present can make one restless. Try to focus on celebrating the people you have in your life.

After the initial shock is over, consider taking a trip or vacation. Delay this until you feel that you are strong enough to walk back into the house, with all its memories, when the trip is over

If or when it feels right, become an advocate to explain this loss. This can help others as well as to help you deal with your own anger and sense of helplessness.

If and when you are ready for another adoption, the waiting can seem excruciating. Plan an absorbing activity designed to give you plenty of rewards and success to keep you busy

There is no fairness here. Wendy observes that there will never be reunion registries for adoptive parents who lose their children and no legal system will ever recognize the connection between you and your child. Parents don't have to like it, but the only victory comes with acknowledging the injustice. Refuse to be drawn into fighting it emotionally or into brooding continually. She advises that disappointed parents save their mental energies for more hopeful things: their future family, for instance.

And as for the final stage of moving on--the arrival of another child, Wendy notes that the adoption loss experience steals the last vestige of innocence left after infertility. The arrival of a next child cannot be the same. There will be less spontaneity and much more fear, and once-disappointed parents will become acutely aware of the vulnerability that comes with parenting. There will be painful memories and associations. Body and mind will try to protect you from being hurt again. However, this is not a bad thing. Loss changes people, providing them with opportunities for growth. One who has experienced a reversed adoption is not the same person he or she would have been, but is just as ready to parent.

Memories will always be there, but this tendency is not unique to adoption reversals. All parents compare child-arrival experiences. This is instinctual, parental behavior.

"Parental love is not competitive," Wendy reminds families, "and it does not rely on erasing the past to make room for the new. Grief for a lost child has nothing to do with loving the next one. After the initial shock, time is not a factor that trades off between grieving one and loving another. The processes will be forever intermixed.

"Becoming parents again brings special healing. There is a fine, but critical, distinction here that is often misunderstood: while seeking healing for your loss may not be the cause for choosing to parent again, it is the effect. Your empty arms are full again. That brings its own special blessing. Of course it feels wonderful. Would anyone really want it to be otherwise?"

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Sidebar: The Unfinished Symphony
By Wendy Williams

"A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen." (Edward de Bono (b. 1933), British writer.

I wonder why it is so difficult to talk about this? Why do I feel so much ambivalence about the memories? They are no longer painful, and it is not that I want to forget. Maybe it is just because there isn't a place to put them. I doubt there ever will be.

The loss of a son was devastating enough, but that is not what lingers in my day-to-day life. I can think back over the whole experience and still touch the happiness, warmth and innocence of each one of those golden days with my son. Although it is not a place I seek out on my own, it is a gift and a miracle that I turn over and over in my mind, once something brings the memories unbidden to the surface.

I sometimes wonder if it would have helped to fight. By doing nothing, we have been reassured that we have done the best we could. I have come to know this was wise advice. But it cannot penetrate the void of not even being allowed to struggle. How can one find completion in a vacuum?

Mostly there is the senseless waste of it all. The lost happiness. The lost love. Lost ownership of the past. A lost future. And the lost present of living with an empty nursery until the time when we could take up our lives and begin moving forward once more. To go forward past this impasse, we would have had to change the definition of who we were and where we were going.

This waiting was like no other waiting I have ever known. We waited ineffectively, marking off our sentence as time moved backwards to the pivotal point where we had been before. Only then could we begin to move forward once again with a new future.

By bringing us a daughter, the future rediscovered our present and built a new timeline for us to follow. It was not a continuation or replacement timeline. It was a glorious new beginning, bringing the opportunity to choose between bitterness and gratitude. I no longer feel victimized or powerless. My life and that of my family is full and good. I am grateful and content.

Yet I will always live with a shadow child, and one foot in the twilight of that disrupted timeline that once was, but never will be for me. My life flows in and around the holes left behind in my daily experiences. This has become familiar and comfortable, rarely demanding conscious thought. But the aspects of my loss remain in the present, because I know that the original timeline continues to exist for my son. I am always aware of the other timeline, shimmering on the distant horizon of my unconscious thought.

The strangest aspect of this loss is that the past and current timelines of my life are not parallel. Instead, they weave in and out about each other, sometimes crossing when I least expect it, distorting the boundaries between past and present. Sometimes for an instant I am pulled unexpectedly into that other timeline to experience what-might-have-been. This blurring of reality occurs most often at pivotal moments in my son's life, as if some inexplicable force continues to draw our lives together.

These moments are less and less painful each time, despite the jarring shock of the return journey. The blurring of reality brings a new clarity of perception in its wake that highlights the infinite value of the present moment, the relationships that are now and the constant blessing of gratitude.

For better or for worse--no, for better--I am the mother of three children. One is always distant, but he is no less my son.

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Some of this information has been adapted from Pat Johnston's new book Launching a Baby's Adoption (Perspectives Press, February, 1997) and more comes from a book on adoption loss now being developed by Wendy Williams with Pat Johnston. They welcome your personal anecdotes, suggestions for healing and coping strategies. Submit c/o , PO Box 90318, Indianapolis, IN 46290. While the book is being developed, we respectfully request that this article NOT be recopied and broadly distributed without the authors' express permission.

Credits: Pat Johnston, Wendy Williams