by Aly Taylor
We spent the entire next day with her. The nurses were so kind to us and did everything they could to make us comfortable and give us some privacy. They even partitioned off part of their nurses’ station for us so we could soak in every sound, smile, and feeding. Josh and I kept marveling at how smoothly everything was going this time around. We were literally having a conversation about that when a social worker came in to talk with us. That was nothing unusual. Parents who adopt have to have a million conversations with doctors, lawyers, counselors, social workers, and everyone else under the sun during those crucial few days between the birth and the birth parents signing the final adoption papers. The social worker asked us how we were doing, and we said, “Great!” As any proud parent does, we took the opportunity to show off our little newborn girl. She then said she’d just left Karen’s room, and we asked how she was doing.
“Not well,” was the reply.
We were shocked—not that Karen was struggling some, but that she hadn’t said anything to us. We’d seen her several times since the birth, and she was always smiling and laughing with us. Then the social worker dropped a bomb. She explained that Karen was trying to find a way to keep Lydia. We couldn’t believe this was happening again. When this happened with Genevieve, I was genuinely surprised. As much as we had been warned about the possibility of adoption failure, I couldn’t fathom it. This time, though, it felt like a sick joke. We had been with Karen off and on all day, and she hadn’t even hinted that she was wavering on her decision. It was so frustrating! I could understand her having second thoughts; what I couldn’t understand was why she hadn’t been honest with us about it, especially after everything we’d already been through together. I assumed she was just scared to tell us.
We asked if we could talk to Karen ourselves, and she said we could. So, with tears filling our eyes, Josh and I started the long walk down the hall. As we went, we prayed for Lydia’s future and for wisdom in how to handle whatever we were walking into. We went into Karen’s room with Lydia in my arms and found her weeping. She confirmed what the social worker told us, apologizing over and over but being clear that she wanted to keep Lydia and was trying to figure out how she could do it. I was overwhelmed with so many emotions all at once. I was angry, but my heart also broke for this young woman who was obviously having a hard time. Mainly, though, I wanted to remind her of all the reasons she had chosen adoption in the first place.
We sat in that hospital room for hours, talking through every detail and trying to figure out what was best for the baby. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Lydia. I knew in my spirit that I was her mommy from the moment I heard about her almost nine months earlier.
At the end of that conversation in her hospital room, there was no doubt or ambiguity: Karen was going to try and keep Lydia, and we were no longer going to adopt her. All the while, this perfect baby was still sleeping in my arms. Getting up after that talk and laying Lydia in the hospital bed was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I didn’t want to let her go. Lydia’s birth family were all staring at us, and we were staring at her. We stood there crying our eyes out, not knowing what to do or say. We loved her so much. This was our daughter, but we were supposed to leave her in that room and walk away forever? How was that possible? Josh asked if everyone would step out for a moment so we could have a few more minutes alone with our Lydia. After everything Josh and I had been through, this was the worst moment of our lives.
—JOSH—
I can’t think back to those last few moments with Lydia without falling to my knees and getting sick to my stomach. It breaks my heart every single time it pops into my mind. Moments before, we were laughing and telling her all about her sisters. Then we were told she wasn’t ours and that we had to leave her in the hospital. Indescribable. I have never sobbed that loudly or that long in my life. I was completely broken. I didn’t know how I’d have the strength to physically walk away from my child.
Aly and I stood over her bed and prayed for Lydia. We felt as though we were handing her over to an unknown future, but I remember God speaking to me and assuring me that He still had her in His hands. Even though she wouldn’t be with us, she would still be with Him. Eventually Aly and I knew it was time to go. We had to forcibly pull each other out of that room. We held hands and cried over this precious baby, told her how much we adored her and how we would keep doing our part to fight for her, and then we surrendered her to the Lord’s care and protection. That moment—that horrific moment—is forever etched in my mind.
—ALY—
Standing there, praying over Lydia, I knew I had to let her go and entrust her to the Lord. It was torture, but I heard God clearly say to me, “Aly, you aren’t her Savior. I am.” I was blown away by that thought. It’s hard for a mother to hear, but it is true. God could bless Lydia through anyone. Yes, I thought we were chosen to be hers and she was chosen to be ours, but maybe I’d been wrong the whole time.
Josh and I pulled each other away and gathered our things. The temporary custody order was revoked, and at this point there was no reason for us to be at the hospital and no reason for the nurses to accommodate us. In a flash we had gone from being Lydia’s parents to being… well…
nothing. We left in a daze, and neither of us had the strength to call our family to tell them what had happened. Back at our rental house, we had a houseful of grandparents and babies—all waiting to meet the newest addition to the Taylor family. We just weren’t ready to bring them the same pain we were feeling at that moment. Besides, neither of us was in any shape to answer the endless questions we knew they’d ask. Instead, we drove around for a while and eventually ended up at the mall. We went in and walked around just like we’d done a couple of weeks earlier when we were trying to convince Vera to come out and meet the family. Only this time we weren’t trying to coax a baby out; we were trying to understand how we would live without a baby.
I walked around that mall like a zombie. I was numb, then mad, then sad, then sick, then numb again. The cycle went on and on, and I’m sure my postpartum hormones weren’t helping anything. I mindlessly wandered into a shoe store, and a happy, friendly, unsuspecting employee walked up to me and said, “How are you doing today, ma’am?” I’m typically pretty good at putting a smile on my face when I need to, even when I don’t feel like it. But not today. Not now. The filter was gone, and I didn’t care what I said or who I said it to.
“Horribly. I’m doing horribly.”
The shoe salesman didn’t know what to do. He muttered an apology and excused himself. My heart was empty. I missed my girls. I knew I’d see Genevieve and Vera within an hour or two. But Lydia… I didn’t think I’d ever see my Lydia again. How could I live the rest of my life with this hole in my heart, this missing piece reserved only for that wonderfully unique little girl we had to leave in a Kentucky hospital? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, and I wasn’t even beginning to accept it.
—JOSH—
I was shocked when Aly snapped at the salesman. I’ve known her since she was fourteen, and I’d never seen her be rude to anybody—intentionally or otherwise. I was worried about her and could tell she was almost at her breaking point. I wanted so badly to protect her from all this, but there was nothing I could do. After an hour of walking around the mall, we knew it was time to head home. We had to tell our family the tragic news. We were coming home empty-handed, without Lydia.
TRYING TO CARRY ON
We texted the family before we got home to give them a heads-up so they knew what to expect. When we got there we unpacked the whole story. As we told it we realized there weren’t many details to share. Lydia was ours. Now she wasn’t. That was pretty much it. We had uprooted our family, left Aly’s normal doctor, delivered Vera out of state, brought our families up to join us for a while, and now it was time for all of us to go back home, without Lydia. It was all so mind-boggling and soul-crushing.
I want to add here that we love Karen and her family. That
has never changed, and it never will. We were devastated, but I don’t want to discount their devastation either. I can’t imagine how it would feel to carry a baby for nine months and then entrust her to someone else. We know it killed her to have to break our hearts. We know it was unexpected for her, and she never would have done anything to intentionally hurt us. She was just trying to figure out what the best thing was for her and Lydia. Birth parents are heroes to me. They are some of the most incredible, courageous people on the planet, and I will never say a bad word about the woman who had given us Genevieve. In fact, as we talked to our whole family, none of us ever got mad at her; instead, we were all just incredibly broken.
After we shared all the details, there was nothing left to say. We sat there quietly for a while, not sure what we were supposed to do next.
Before bed that night, Aly and I discussed the parable of the lost sheep in Luke 15:1–7. In that story, Jesus talked about a shepherd watching one hundred sheep who realized one was is missing. The good shepherd, Jesus said, left the ninety-nine to pursue the one who was lost. We felt like Lydia was our lost sheep. Yes, we had a wonderful family and we had been blessed with two amazing baby girls. But there was one missing. That thought occupied my mind throughout that entire sleepless night. I felt like God was telling me to fight for the missing sheep until the very end.
In that situation, the “very end” would be the fifth day after Lydia’s birth, the day when Karen was originally supposed to sign the final adoption papers. I discussed it with Aly the next morning, and we decided we’d stay in Kentucky and fight for our lost sheep, even if fighting simply meant waiting. Lord knows we had done our share of waiting and praying over the past few years; this was a battle we knew how to fight. So we told the family we wanted to stay in Kentucky until Lydia was discharged from the hospital and the adoption deadline had passed. We wanted to demonstrate our faithfulness to the Lord by doing everything He called us to do in adopting this little girl. He had called us to stay until that fifth day, and that’s what we were going to do. And if we still went home without Lydia after that, at least we would always know we fought until the end.
—ALY—
Those final days in Kentucky were hard. We tried going to back to the hospital a few more times, but we didn’t have a right to visit Lydia. That’s hard to even type more than two years later. How do I not have the right to see my baby? I thought. I couldn’t stop thinking of Lydia as mine. The law, however, saw things differently. Legally, we had no connection. But in my heart we were forever bound to each other.
We went to church the Sunday after she was born. We had been blessed with a great congregation during our short time in Kentucky, and the pastor and his wife knew that we were there to adopt a baby. After church, the pastor came up and congratulated us, asking about Lydia. We broke down crying. It hit us that we had texted him when she was born, but we hadn’t followed up when the adoption fell apart. I wanted to live in denial, to be able to say Lydia was great and was waiting for us to pick her up from the hospital. But I had to tell the truth. Through tears, I explained that we didn’t have Lydia, we weren’t getting Lydia, and we were planning on heading home Tuesday without her. No matter how many times I explained the situation to someone, it still didn’t feel real.
We struggled through the rest of Sunday and then Monday. Monday was surrender day for me. That Monday night I completely surrendered Lydia to the Lord. I had been holding on so tight all week to the idea that she was ours. I still hadn’t been able to imagine our life without her or her life without us. But as I prayed that last night in Kentucky, I felt something release in my spirit. I realized I wasn’t releasing Lydia; I was releasing control. I knew the issue was out of my hands. There was nothing I could do except trust that God would care for Lydia no matter where she was or who she was with.
Finally, Tuesday arrived. That day was the bookend to what had started out as a wonderful new chapter for our lives but was now ending so terribly. We struggled with how we would possibly go home and move on with our lives. The social worker called and told us the birth family would allow us to come to the hospital and see Lydia one last time before she was discharged. We were so grateful for that act of kindness. Again, we loved this family; we were just heartbroken over the situation.
THY WILL BE DONE
—JOSH—
An ironic side note, the Hillary Scott song “Thy Will” was popular on Christian radio at this time, and it seemed like we heard that song a hundred times a day during our last week in Kentucky. It came on the radio all the time, and my mom basically kept it playing on a loop on her phone. I guess that’s what we were all praying for Lydia that week, for God’s will to be done. Too often I think people use that prayer to make them feel better about giving up or losing. Or they say, “Thy will be done” as part of their acceptance process when something doesn’t go the way they wanted it to go.
I’ve done both of those plenty of times, but this time was different. I didn’t pray for God’s will to be done as a way of giving up; I prayed it as I fought for it. I believe praying for God’s will has as much to do with fighting for His will as it does with accepting the results when all is said and done. That’s why we stayed in Kentucky until that Tuesday. Tuesday was the last day adoption protocol laws would be in effect. That’s why we kept going back to the hospital to check on Lydia. That’s why we stayed in touch with the birth family. That’s why we were in constant contact with the attorneys and social workers. We did everything we could to show everyone involved how much we loved that little girl. Even though we were told the adoption was over, we made it clear that we were still in Kentucky and we were ready to get her at any point.
When we woke up that morning knowing we were going to be able to see Lydia one last time, we were grateful for all God had done and continued to do in our lives. We cherished the two daughters we were taking home, and we wouldn’t trade those few days we had spent with Lydia for anything. We wanted her so badly, but God had finally started to bring us a sense of peace that He would provide for her in a mighty way.
—ALY—
When we arrived at the hospital, we were led to the same room that had become our makeshift hospital room the day after Lydia was born. We had been there such a short time, but it held so many memories for us. And now this was apparently where we’d say our last goodbye to Lydia.
After a few minutes, the door opened and a nurse wheeled that precious baby back into “our” room. This time, however, I was choosing joy, doing my best to soak up every moment we had with Lydia. The nurses were so kind and gracious to us during this visit. Their smiles, glances, handholds, and prayers meant the world to us on a very difficult day. I could tell they loved Lydia too. They kept going on and on about what a great baby she was and how she never cried. They also told me she hadn’t been drinking her bottle well since we left, so they asked if I could feed her. Of course! The nurses were amazed that she sucked it right down without a fuss; she apparently hadn’t done that the whole time. Cue the tears! I was trying so hard not to lose it. I had to keep reminding myself that she wasn’t ours. But she is! my mind kept screaming.
Josh and I took turns holding her, feeding her, changing her diaper, and doing all the other things parents do with their newborn. We had been in there with her for more than an hour, and we kept expecting someone to walk in and tell us it was time to go. We were prepared for that, but we certainly weren’t going to initiate leaving. It was fine if they needed to kick us out, but they’d have to tell us to do it!
Eventually the door cracked open and a woman we hadn’t seen before stepped in. She was well-dressed and had an air of authority about her, so we assumed she was there to ask us to leave. Instead, she said, “I need y’all to hold tight. There have been a few changes that are happening at your attorney’s office. I just need you to hold tight a bit.”
What? What is happening? What in the world does “hold tight” mean? My mind was racing. Josh and I were scra
mbling to figure out what was happening, but it didn’t make sense. Of course, we hoped and prayed that this somehow meant we’d be able to take Lydia home with us, but we couldn’t imagine how so many things could have changed in the past hour. We honestly couldn’t take any more disappointments, so we desperately tried not to get our hopes up too high, but we couldn’t help it. I may have looked calm on the outside, but on the inside, I was screaming!
—JOSH—
That was one of the craziest moments of my life. It was as if the woman who came in to talk to us was speaking in code or something, like she had just received a critical piece of information that she couldn’t share quite yet. I enjoy intrigue as much as the next guy, but this was not the time for mysteries! Too much was on the line, and Aly and I just about lost our minds waiting in that little hospital room.
I tried to talk myself down. I told myself it was probably another form that needed to be signed or another conversation we had to have with the social worker as a type of postmortem on the failed adoption, or maybe the birth family wanted to see us one last time to say goodbye. I had no clue. Aly and I probably thought of a hundred different scenarios, but we were only praying for one. Lord, if it is Your will, please let her be ours.