We found out on Tuesday that the little boy we had asked to be matched with is not our son. This made my heart fall. However, HE HAS FOUND A FOREVER FAMILY! So while he is not my son, he is well on his way to no longer being an orphan. So we will continue to pray for little Y. That he will be loved and cared for. That he will soar through the numerous surgeries he will undoubtedly have to go through for his scoliosis and that his folks will be able to get him stateside SOON.
I must confess that I did sense some relief when we learned that Y was not Charlie. Prior to hearing the news, I imagined any relief I felt would come from not having to engraft a child who needed surgery every 6-9 months until puberty into our family. But that played no part in my sense of loss or relief. I love little Y. I find myself sad that I will not get to trace my finger down the twist of his spine or kiss his little pointy nose and pouty lips.
My relief is selfish really. I think it will be easier to wait without a picture of a specific child. For now, my image of Charlie is largely a hodge-podge of the various cute little boys in my life with an Asian twist. This dull ache for my son is still in the abstract. So I ache, fill out paperwork, and trust in the Lord. Once we have our referral, it will move from the abstract to the literal. An actual child will be missing from my couch. I will begin to picture him at our table, in his bed, splashing in the tub with his siblings. So my ache will evolve from a dull ache to an acute stab in my chest.
And of that, I am afraid. Because that pain will follow me until he is in my arms. I know that ache too well. Those empty arms. The box of small clothes in Henry’s closet just waiting for him. That incomplete family portrait. I have 3 children, but I only get to tuck two of them in bed at night.
We are living in the land of Good Friday, trusting that Easter Sunday will come.