And then there were three...

I haven't written much lately. And to be honest, I'm really not in the mood to write much now, but I need to get back into blogging.

The reason for my lack of excitement is because the Whitfield family is now down to three members. We finally had to put Bojangles down. The medicine he was taking to treat his inflammatory bowel disease caused him to develop diabetes. He was a sick little kitty, and it just wasn't right to make him suffer any more. One month ago today, Bo passed away peacefully. Part of me can't forgive myself for ending his life but I also wrestle with the knowledge that he wasn't feeling good for the last couple years of his life. Oh, I so selfishly wanted to keep him around forever. And I still ache to hold him.

Bo and I went through so much together. I got him when I hadn't quite gotten over the loss of my other cat, Lyric. It was too soon so our relationship started off a bit rocky. He sensed that I was still grieving. And he was a stray cat so he had a bit of a wild streak in him. Boy did he ever! He was often like the kid (or celebrity) who thinks all attention is good attention, even if it's because you've gotten attention for doing bad things. He wouldn't sit on my lap for the longest time, and I honestly prayed he would come around. When he did start sitting on my lap, he always wanted to sit on my lap. And I mean always - on the couch, at the dinner table, when I was standing up, on the commode! If I left a room, it was rare that he didn't follow me. Naps together were non-negotiable. And he was a talker. Or, maybe I should say a grunter. He often grunted instead of meow. And his grunts had meaning; each sound designated for a specific need. Get up - now! Feed me - now! Take a nap - now! Pet me - now!

Bo was my only source of comfort after 9/11. I remember going home after leaving the Pentagon area and holding him close to my face. He rubbed his face against mine as if to say he was there for me. He was the only one who seemed to understand my fear, my pain, my grief. He was my constant companion in the healing process.

When Kurt and Fletcher came into the picture, he fought hard to maintain his status as tops in my life! And if he ever felt that Fletcher overstayed his welcome, he stalked him like an undiagnosed schizophrenic certain the world was after him. And then Kurt and I had to go and get married. That meant the dog was never leaving! I had high hopes that they would become the best of buddies; that one day we'd find them curled up together snoring away the hours. That never happened, although I do think they befriended each other in a non-assuming way. Today Fletcher seems lonely. Now he is the one who follows me around the house every time I move. Thankfully he hasn't tried to sit on my lap while I'm on the toilet or jump on my dresser to knock things down (in an effort to get my attention in the middle of the night) yet.

Fletcher is the best dog anyone could ever ask for, and I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. But my home and my heart is empty without Bo, without hearing his purr at the slightest touch. Sleep isn't the same without feeling his little body snuggled next to mine, fitting perfectly into the curve of my frame. I can't believe I hurt so much over what so many would say was "just a cat". But he was so much more than that to me, and I miss him terribly.

I'm one of those people who believes that all God's creatures go to heaven. And I believe that Bo is in heaven playing... and he's playing with Hunter.

Hunter is the son of my dearest friend, Trinette. Hunter went to be with the Lord the day before Bo died. Our Little Man suffered so much in his short eight-and-a-half years but we know that he's whole and complete now. For Hunter, there is no more pain and for those he left behind, that knowledge brings us peace, even amidst the tears. Trinette is the strongest woman I have ever known, and I constantly marvel at her faith and tenacity. She's an inspiration to me, and I hope to be the loving, devoted mother she was with Hunter, her only child.

As for the adoption, we continue to wait. We completed our home study interview this past week, and we're thankful to have that behind us. We will need to complete 10 hours of adoption preparation but that should be a fairly simple task. Beyond that, we wait. It's been five months since we started this process, and the wait is becoming more difficult day-by-day. We will soon assess what we need to do to let expectant mother's who are considering adoption know we're out there and available. If anyone has any good ideas, please share them with us! In the meantime, please continue to pray for us as well as the birth mother and child God has chosen for us.

Until next time...

The Wait

I have said it before, and I'll say it again. In fact, I'll quote Tom Petty because he said it so eloquently in his song: "The waiting is the hardest part."

I've never been pregnant, but in many ways, I feel like adopting has to be worse than being pregnant. At least a pregnant woman knows the E.T.A. for their child. We don't even know if our birth mother is pregnant yet, and that means we don't know when the child will join our family.

I believe I have been fairly constant in remaining patient in the midst of the wait. I keep reminding myself that God is working behind the scenes, and even though I can't see it, everything has already been set in motion. The few times I have wavered in my calmness, I felt guilty. I beat myself up thinking that I'm not being a strong enough Christian if I doubt or allow a crack to weaken my wall of faith. So, I straighten myself up and remind myself of God's awesome promise, and that He never fails. And that pep talk usually works. Until today...

Earlier this afternoon, I heard a news report that a baby had been found dead in a dumpster. This is when my faith wavers. How? Why? Why would a mother (or father) just let a baby die? Don't they know there are people out there who desperately want to add a child to their family but can't? Don't they know there are people who would willingly take their child if they just don't want it anymore?

In this age of technology and education and resources, why would someone allow death for their child? And yet there are still too many irresponsible people thinking only of themselves in the midst of their chaos - chaos they probably created.

I never dreamed that some day my whole soul would ache so much for a child. Sometimes I feel like the love I already have for our child is so overwhelming that I just can't breath. And this is only the beginning!

There is a purpose for everything, but time is standing still in my life right now. Every minute without a child feels like a moment of lost living. I know I can't put my life on hold (and I don't) but it's just knowing that someday... but not knowing when that someday will be. And in the meantime, another baby dies needlessly.

When One Door Closes...

Everyone's heard the phrase, "When one door closes, God opens another."

My Canadian friend and politician, Serge, often says that in order to be ready for that door to open, you first have to be in the hallway. Well, Kurt and I are in the hallway waiting for the next door to open.

The door to adopting from Russia has closed permanently and apparently has deadbolts on it. We sent in our application - and non-refundable $250 application fee - to America World Adoption Association early in May. There were a number of things that drew us to this organization but one of the biggest things is that I had a positive conversation with a representative about my previous diagnosis of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. She felt that the diagnosis would probably not be an issue even though we wanted to adopt from Russia, a country that will not consider anyone with a history of "mental health issues" such as depression, etc.

A few days after sending in the application (and our non-refundable $250 application fee), we received a call from another young lady from the agency. After going back and forth with them for about a week, we received word from them: We would not be considered as adoptive parents in Russia. Final answer.

I expressed my frustration with the young woman and told her that we felt deceived. They now had our $250 non-refundable fee but we never made it past the application process. (I am curious to know what they did with that $250 - aside of just telling us that we can't adopt from Russia after they told that we probably would be able to adopt from Russia.) She recommended we go through the Grievance Procedure to see if we could get our money back. I'm not holding my breath.

Kurt and I are incredibly disappointed but it has become clear that God doesn't want us to adopt from Russia, and we're learning to accept that. This experience has also shown us the tremendous risk in adopting. We specifically chose to go with international adoption because there seemed to be less risk than domestic adoption, where a birth-mother could easily change her mind. But if you look at it from the international perspective, it may not be the birth-mother changing her mind. It could just be the country that changes its mind for one reason or another.

My mom was pretty ticked off when I told her the news. And a few others have made similar comments: "They'd rather leave a child alone in an orphan without the love of Godly parents..." But I'm trying to remember that in this process, it's not about finding a child for a family. It is about finding a family for the child.

We did our due diligence and checked with some other agencies about this issue. The response was always the same. In some ways I feel responsible - like I'm some sort of freak of nature because of my diagnosis. But I can't change what happened to me. And I am proud of the person I have become despite those obstacles.

A new path is being forged. We are now moving forward with domestic adoption and have chosen MLJ Adoptions as our agency of choice. We hope to have a profile completed very soon so birth-mother's can start to consider us as possible choices to raise their child(ren). It's all in God's Hands; and they're mighty Hands indeed!