The Lucky Few

by Heather Avis

  I still have days when I want to lock Truly in her room and turn up the music to drown out her dramatic sobs. I still have days when I am convinced I’m ruining her, squelching her feisty little spirit because it makes me have to work harder as a mom. But more than that, I have great hope, knowing that God loves Truly too. I believe he is molding and shaping her curiosity, strong will, determined spirit, and ability to connect emotionally. Just like he’s doing for me, he is refining Truly for his purposes and his glory. I’m learning that these struggles and feelings I have do not determine the kind of mom I am or the love I have for my Truly Star.

  In fact, I often feel as though I am to God what Truly is to me. I wake up every day fighting to be the one in control, believing I know what is best, pushing the boundaries that God has lovingly placed around me. Yet in his vast love for me, God gave me my Truly Star so I could learn how to love. How to really, really love so I could experience his love—his true love for me.

  10

  God’s Got This

  Two kids are a lot of kids. I’m sure some of you who have more than two kids are smiling and thinking, Well, bless your heart for thinking so. No matter, I still believe that two kids are a lot of kids. And I was convinced that my two kids were a bigger handful than most. Combining Macyn’s numerous weekly occupational, physical, and speech therapies and medical appointments with Truly’s zeal for life, I found my plate overflowing.

  I wanted to be the person who saw an overflowing plate as a beautiful gift. I wanted to be the mom who fully embraced each season of my children’s growth and could spot the joy and beauty amid the chaos. But when my friends would say things like, “I just want to embrace this season,” I’d be thinking, I want out!

  When Macyn and Truly were around ages four and two, I felt as though I was at my actual maximum capacity. My plate was so full that I believed if a third child were to enter my life at that moment, my physical body would break, perhaps split in two right down the middle.

  During this particular time, several friends were on their own adoption journeys, and they would call me at random hours to announce, “Guess what? We’re getting a baby!” Every time, along with great jubilation, I would feel a tiny twitch of jealousy.

  I would hang up the phone, find Josh, and announce, “I want a baby.”

  He would lovingly remind me of our reality. Then mealtime or bedtime would roll around, and within an hour, I would turn to my husband and say, “Never mind my crazy talk. We’re good. No need for a baby right here, right now.”

  Still, the pattern showed me that my heart longed for a third Avis kid. When the timing was right.

  Having two adoptions under our belt, Josh and I knew that if we wanted to grow our family via an adoption again (which was still our only option), it made sense to start the process during this crazy, full season of parenthood, knowing it would likely take at least a year for a child to be placed in our home. By then, I would be “ready” (whatever that means) to have a third child.

  Toward the end of September 2013, we made an appointment to attend our county’s monthly “taking care of business” day. It was the same event we had attended when we began our process to adopt Truly Star. Because this was our second county adoption, we learned we would be fast-tracked through the line. So we took our daughters with us.

  Afterward we posed as a family outside of the building and asked someone to snap our picture while we held up the application for the newest Avis child. Then we plastered that photo all over our social media. It was our way of announcing our kind of “pregnancy.” Right away, friends posted kind words and wished us well on the journey. It felt good to take this first step, trusting we would need to take at least a year’s worth of steps before we welcomed our new munchkin.

  Famous last words.

  I feel an instant affinity with everyone I meet who has a child with Down syndrome, or who has adopted, or who has adopted a child with Down syndrome. We share an unspoken understanding, as if we’re members of the coolest of clubs—the kind of club located in the scary-looking building downtown with the entrance hidden behind the old, creeping vines. But once you find the courage to step inside, you realize it’s the most beautiful and exciting place you’ve ever laid eyes on, and you feel gosh darn lucky to be there.

  In early October, I received a phone call from one of these club members, my dear friend Mercedes. This woman may be one of the most joy-filled humans I’ve ever known. She’s the kind of person you can’t help but adore and love to be around. She’s funny and kind and genuine and looks at life through the most optimistic of lenses. She and her husband had recently adopted a little girl with Down syndrome.

  “Hey, Merc. Love hearing from you. What’s going on?”

  “Well . . .” Her voice teetered between anxious and elated. She went with elated. “I just had a woman contact me who’s looking for a family to adopt her son who has Down syndrome.” She offered the news to me like a new car or an all-expenses-paid trip to Disney World.

  I received this news like a kick in the gut. My silence left her with room to continue.

  “Okay, here’s the scoop: This mom contacted me because the site we had our adoption profile on never took it down. She wanted to know if we want to adopt her baby, but I told her we just brought Sunflower home, so we can’t. Then I remembered seeing the picture you and Josh posted on Facebook. Since you guys are starting the adopting process again, of course I thought of you.”

  The air that had been knocked out of me found its way back into my lungs.

  “Whoa. This is crazy, Mercedes. Ahhh! What in the world? Tell me what you know.”

  “Okay, well, she’s seven months pregnant, and the baby is due in December. It’s a boy.” She said boy slowly, with a hint of contagious joy in her voice. “He does have a heart defect, but I think that’s all. Mom’s name is Sami.” She paused and then added, “And I think you should adopt this baby.”

  “Mercedes, we’re not ready for a third baby. I need another year, not two months! Girl, why’d you have to go and tell me about this baby?”

  “But, Heather, a boy! With Down syndrome!” She laughed a contagious laugh. “This is not the kind of thing we pass up.”

  I knew she was right. I knew as soon as I heard the words “this mom . . .” Yet this was so outside of my plans and, more importantly, outside of my capacity. A third child was one thing, but a third child who has Down syndrome and will need lifesaving open-heart surgery—in this current season of life?

  “Girl, I am so mad at you for opening this door for me.” My tone was playful, but I felt my body begin to rip at the seams. The truth was that I really did feel a little bit angry at this situation.

  I wasn’t angry at Mercedes for calling my attention to this mom and her unborn son. I was angry that once Mercedes spoke the words, I could no longer go on with life as it was. God knew how full my plate was, and he knew he had created my heart to long for these kinds of opportunities, yet he allowed these words to find their way to my ears.

  Really, God? I thought to myself. You knew when I found out about this baby I would have to start taking steps toward him. Why do you do this all the time?

  Mercedes interrupted my silent rant.

  “At least have a conversation with her. I told her all about you and Josh, and she really wants to talk. Hey, I’ll give her your Facebook information, and you can talk through Messenger. See, it’s not even that serious if you’re talking through Messenger.” She laughed.

  “Okay. I guess. I’ll talk to her. But gosh, girl, why do you have to go and stir things up in the Avis home? My cup is full . . . to the brim.”

  Mercedes laughed. “You’ve got this. A baby. A boy. With Down syndrome. You know you can’t say no.”

  She was right. As I hung up the phone, my heart settled somewhere between utter terror and complete joy.

  I turned on an episode of Signing Time! for my girls so I could open my laptop with minimal interruptions. As soon as I opened
Facebook, I saw a friend request atop the tiny icon. I clicked on it, and the request was from a woman named Sami—and Mercedes was our only mutual friend. There was also a message from her in my Messenger app. With butterflies in my stomach, I opened the message.

  Hi, Heather,

  I was given your name by Mercedes. She mentioned you’re starting the adoption process for your third child. I am currently seven months pregnant and will send you the info I had given Mercedes as a starting point.

  We found out at twenty-six weeks that we are having a boy. We also found out at that visit that he has a hole in his heart, a complete atrioventricular canal defect. Wow! What overwhelming news that was. We were immediately taken to meet with a genetic counselor, and additional appointments were set up for a fetal echo, etc. We were past the point where they could safely do an amnio, so I had a blood test done to determine what we were facing. The doctors told us this defect is usually associated with Down syndrome. Our results came back Monday positive for Down syndrome.

  We have decided that adoption for our sweet boy is the most loving thing we can do for him. It is the hardest thing I have EVER faced in all my life. I know God has a plan. I know at this point I don’t understand so many things, but I have faith and know all will work out according to his will. The most important thing to me is finding a loving home for our sweet boy that can provide what we feel we are not able to.

  Please let me know if you’re interested in learning more or if you have any questions.

  I read and reread Sami’s message. I thought about how this day was supposed to be a normal day full of making meals, building towers, and painting tiny fingernails. Today was not supposed to be one for the books. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I copied and pasted the note into a message for Josh and included a sassy message of my own.

  What the heck? The timing sucks. You know we can’t say no. Can we say no? Ahhhhhhh!

  While I waited for his reply, I accepted Sami’s friend request and began looking at every photo she had in her account. I saw pictures of her son and daughter. Photos of her with people I assumed were her mom and dad and sisters. Then I saw a recent photo of her with a swollen belly. She wore a bright orange dress and stood beside a tall, handsome man who had his arm around her. I thought this might be the birth father, and the baby in her belly—the son I might one day call my own. Gulp!

  A reply from Josh popped up on my screen.

  This is crazy! I think we need to adopt him.

  With his simple reply, Josh confirmed what I knew in my gut.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. I could never go back to the person I was before finding out about this baby, but not because I thought I was his only answer. God had been showing me over the years that I’m not here to be a rescuer. My job is to lift up my foot and trust God, my rescuer, to set it down exactly where he sees fit, whether it’s in the mud or on a ledge. As soon as I answered the phone call from Mercedes, I knew this was God placing my foot down . . . on a ledge!

  Still, I didn’t want to fully believe it. Not right away. I sat on the floor of my living room staring at the words on my computer screen, feeling so conflicted. On the one hand, there was this baby boy who happened to have Down syndrome, and with one yes, he could be mine forever. On the other hand, there was this baby boy who happened to have Down syndrome, and with one no, I could go on with life and wait for the next baby to come by. I could wait until I was ready. I could wait for a baby who was healthy.

  No seemed like the smart answer. Like the answer any reasonable person would give. I mean, who in the world adopts two children with Down syndrome? Who in the world signs up, again, for a baby who will need open-heart surgery? As I asked myself these questions, I looked at my Macyn Hope and my Truly Star sitting on the couch singing and signing along with Rachel, Alex, Leah, and Hopkins. I looked at those girls and thought of the yes they each represented. I thought of how God, by his good, good grace, put the yes in my mouth. I thought about what my life might have looked like if I had thought rationally all those years ago and said no to adopting Macyn or no to adopting Truly, and I began to cry. What kind of person says yes to adopting a little boy with Down syndrome and a heart defect?

  “Me! I do!” I said out loud. I closed my computer and sat on the couch between my girls.

  “I love you so much, girls,” I said through the tears.

  “You have tears, Mommy?” Truly asked as she turned to look at me with her big, brown, sparkly eyes.

  “I do, baby, but they’re good tears. They are happy tears, because I love you and your sister so, so, so, so much, and I’m so happy I get to be your mommy.”

  Truly looked at my face for a little bit longer, and then, apparently satisfied, she turned back to the TV. I pulled her onto my lap, and together we sang and signed the words “sun, sun, sun, sunny day.”

  Josh and I said yes to adopting this baby boy, and things began to move quickly. We signed up with an adoption agency, and they fast-tracked us through background checks, piles and piles of paperwork, and a home study. Facebook friend requests and messages from Sami’s two sisters and her mom started rolling in. As they gently asked us about our family and hinted at wanting to remain a part of their nephew’s and grandson’s life, we discovered how supported and loved both Sami and our son were.

  It was awkward at first. Even though our relationship with Macyn’s birth family had changed our opinions about the matter, we had never been so quickly and closely connected to a birth family. Social media platforms opened a door for an instant, intimate look into each other’s lives. There were so many people involved, which means so many different feelings and opinions and expectations. Never before did I need to let go of control like I did with this adoption. When conversations with the birth family became especially intimate, I would find myself trying to direct the situation at hand. Then I would feel the Lord nudge me and remind me to pursue this child with hands wide open, hopeful and eager to see God be glorified in every step.

  It was a difficult way for this recovering control freak to bring this baby into her fold! The whole situation began to overwhelm me, and I began to second-guess every part.

  One morning in late October, I received a text from Sami inviting me to an echocardiogram. I was thrilled because I had never been able to know my children while they were being knit together in their mother’s womb. To see my baby and hear his heartbeat on an ultrasound machine was a small dream I had let go of years ago. This invitation was an answer to my heart’s desire.

  In order to hear this heartbeat, I would be meeting Sami for the first time. The woman growing my son in her body. The woman whose facial features my son will have, whose DNA my son will share. The woman whose sacrifice will result in my great joy.

  Adoptive parents have to embrace the intermingling of tragedy and joy. For me, the complexity is a constant reminder of a Savior who had to die so we might experience life. So many times, I’ve wished I could just sit in the joy of it all! Then I would remember that I can only fully know the joy when I accept the heartbreak as well.

  Sami’s in utero echocardiogram was scheduled to take place on a Friday afternoon. I had plans to attend a women’s retreat that weekend with two of my best friends and their church. Early that day, I got my girls settled with the grandparents. I’d already prepped and frozen meals for my husband. I grabbed my weekend getaway bag and a bag of small gifts and gift cards for Sami, and I got in the car and started my two-hour drive to the San Diego hospital where the echocardiogram would take place. The hospital my son would be born in.

  I arrived a few minutes early and made my way to the fountain at the front entrance where Sami and I had agreed to meet. A coastal fog hung thick in the air. It was a typical Southern California winter day. I paced around the fountain, trying to spot the face of the woman in the photos, searching for a swollen belly. I watched as parents and children came and went. I had spent many hours as a face and a story at another children’s hospital
with Macyn. I looked at faces and wondered what their stories were—why they were here. I thought about why I was here. As I battled the overwhelming nerves taking over my body, I thought about how this was not the story I had written for myself. I thought about how the last thing I wanted to do right then was sit for hours with the stranger who would give me her baby. Once again, I began to second-guess the arrangement.

  As I paced the fountain and watched water splash onto the ground, I felt the Lord say to me, “Don’t forget who I am. I’ve got this. This is what I do. Now you do what I’ve designed you to do.”

  I was flooded by memories of Macyn as a tiny infant, sick, at death’s door. And of Truly as a feisty baby, pushing me to the edge of myself. And there, in the midst of it all: God. God and his goodness and faithfulness enveloping me. God, being all I need and showing up every single time. If things were comfortable and easy—if I did not have adoption and Down syndrome and heart defects and birth parents and babies with someone else’s eyes, hair, and skin tone—I would not have needed God as desperately as I had. And if I had not needed him, or rather, if I had not recognized my need for him, I would not have known him.

  “Sweet daughter,” I heard him whisper as I waited for Sami to show up, “here I am, in the discomfort. Find comfort in me. I’ve got this.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed him in, thinking to myself, He’s got this. When I opened my eyes, I saw Sami heading my way. Our eyes met, and we smiled at one another. I gave a little wave, and as I walked toward her, I prayed I wouldn’t puke.

  “Hey, Sami, I’m Heather.” I wrapped my arms around her neck, unable to ignore her belly pushing against mine. My initial embrace with Sami, and my first contact with my son. This was really happening.