Three years ago this month Sharon and I began the process of adopting a child
from China. At that time the total process from beginning to end was predicted
to last, give or take, a year.
We spent that fall and the spring of 2006 diligently getting our application in
order—we child-proofed the house ahead of a social worker’s home visit, we had our doctor fill out forms indicating we were fit enough to
adopt, we gathered all our financial data to prove that we could support a
child, we pulled our birth certificates and marriage license, we got letters of
reference, and then we had to get most of these documents notarized, approved
by the Tennessee Secretary of State, authenticated by the Secretary of State of
the U.S. (we have several examples of Condoleezza Rice’s “signature” on our documents), and then approved by the Chinese consulate in Washington,
D.C. We had to go the Criminal Justice Center and get a clearance form from
Metro Police to certify that we had no criminal record. We went to our local
immigration office (a part of the Department of Homeland Security) and were
fingerprinted. This was for a criminal background check with the FBI, which is
part of applying for the form from Immigration that acts as a “license” from the U.S. government to adopt a child from overseas. And we took a
mandatory international adoption class at our local adoption agency.
I’m simplifying here. It was actually more complicated than this sounds.
But in the end, we were approved, and our paperwork was accepted by the Chinese
adoption agency on June 15, 2006. In the adoption world, this is called the “log-in date,” and it means you are in the queue to get a child.
We were very excited.
There was pretty much nothing to do but wait. So we waited. Sharon went on a
trip to China in the fall of 2006 with a professional group. I didn’t go, on the theory that we would be returning soon to pick up our child.
While we waited, our adoption form from U.S. immigration, which was only good
for 18 months, expired, so we had to get another one—which meant another police clearance (we still hadn’t committed any crimes) and another session of fingerprinting (since the FBI
threw away the first set, as apparently is their policy).
But while the U.S. government was putting up annoying roadblocks, the Chinese
government was making things difficult in a more profound way: it was around
the time of our log-in date that the Chinese state adoption agency began
reducing the number of referrals it made each month. There are theories about
why this occurred, but the truth is nobody outside the Chinese bureaucracy
knows. So there are a lot of guesses, but no known facts—to those of us in the U.S. anyway—as to why this happened.
Whatever the reason, this is the effect: the “one year” wait extended and extended before our eyes. After two years in the queue, we were farther away from adopting than we thought
we were on the day we started the process. It is like running forward on a
moving sidewalk going the opposite direction, always pushing you back faster
than than you can run.
Sharon and I are both in our early 50s, and another two or three years before
the adoption happens would mean that we would likely be about 70 before our
daughter would be grown and leaving for college.
So we have made the decision to take ourselves out of the line and out of the
limbo. We will not be adopting.
I can’t tell you how much we appreciated all the excitement, well-wishes, and goodwill
that have come our way since we began this. Everybody we know has been
wonderful. Our families were excited (even an uncle who jokingly asked if we
were crazy, to which we happily responded, “yes!”). My Mom and Dad would spot Chinese children in public and wonder if their new
granddaughter would be as cute as that child. My brother and sister-in-law were
collecting clothes and baby equipment. Not a day passed without friends asking
for an update. People at our church, some of whom had adopted Chinese children
before us, were practically already passing around a babysitting sign-up sheet.
This was going to be one beloved child.
It feels weird to invest so much effort and emotion and life into something that just falls apart. We will be fine, but that’s not to deny that it’s a loss and there is grief. Sometimes I see a father with a child and I think
that, even one year ago, I expected that someday soon that would be me. Now I
know it won’t.
All along Sharon and I had been talking about baby names, and somewhere along
the way we settled on Helen Li. Sharon put a post-it note on the refrigerator
with the name on it, and wrote under it, “when she is in trouble, we can say ‘Helen Li’ sternly.” The note stayed there for the better part of a year. A few weeks ago, she took
it down.
