long...but worth the read

Some years ago I wrote this for an essay contest. I didn't win the contest. I am not a writer but I did enjoy putting this memory on paper. Hope you like it.

Our Most Important Day

It was a Sunday morning in January. I don’t remember snow or cold. I remember waking up excited. You know how you felt as a kid when it was the last day of school or the first day of school? Can you recall the palpable excitement that seemed to fill the air? Today, as I remember that morning, I cannot stop my mouth from grinning. I am certain I had a perma-grin that morning so many Sundays ago.
I don’t recall if we ate breakfast. I would guess that the butterflies in our bellies wouldn’t allow that. We got in our car. I do know that we put the baby seat in the car for the first time. My cute husband was so concerned that it was in there correctly that it took about 25 minutes to install. Once that was done we backed out of the driveway. Normally, I would drive because I have motion sickness and have a tendency to “backseat drive”. I know on this occasion Alan wouldn’t let me drive because in my excitement I resembled a shivering Chihuahua. I didn’t look the picture of a safe driver. We would have to drive across the valley, which would normally take about 20 minutes. It was Sunday morning, early. We didn’t see other cars on the road so we drove a little faster than the posted speed limit. We did encounter one slow driving car full of people dressed in their church clothes. We got close to their bumper and when the road changed to two lanes we curved around them and sped up. We could see the annoyance on their faces. We had a red light. We were stopped next to the annoyed car. I unrolled my window, smiling a giant smile; I motioned for them to unroll their window. They complied, suspiciously. “I am so sorry we pushed our way in front. We are just so excited. We are going to pick up our adopted baby boy this morning for the first time! We are taking him home.” The other car’s occupants immediately joined in on our fun. They smiled, and exuberantly motioned for us to move on. “Go. GO. GO!!!!,” they yelled, clapping and laughing. I think we ran the red light.
We arrived at the hospital where we had visited our son’s Mom just 30 hours before. We had actually been present as Celeste labored. She wanted us in the room when Max was born. Max had other plans. He got stuck in the birth canal and had to be taken by C-section. We waited outside the surgery in the baby nursery. Celeste’s sister-in-law was with her through the labor and delivery. She was a nurse so the staff allowed her to bring our baby to us as soon as he was delivered. Celeste had requested that. She wanted us to be the first to hold baby Max. We thought she was so generous.
I remember being quieted, sort of stunned as he was handed to me. My husband was crying as he said quietly, “That’s my son.” They let us each hold him for a few minutes and then they led us over to an area of the nursery where he was weighed and washed and tested. We have a picture, taken by Celeste’s brother, in which my husband is holding Max, Alan is grinning from ear to ear, looking at the camera. My back is to the camera and I am looking at my new baby. He wasn’t technically ours, yet. Celeste told us that she knew from the moment she found out she was pregnant that she would place him for adoption. But, the reality that this precious baby didn’t yet belong to me…and that his Mom lay in another room being stitched up after his arrival into the world was a serious matter to me. Twenty-four hours after he was born Celeste signed the paperwork that took her parental rights away. That provided some relief for us but the baby and his birth-Mom still needed to recover in the hospital before we could take him home. Celeste was so generous in allowing us to see him. She had secretly requested a recovery room with a bed for me so that I could take care of Max at night. We thought Celeste was amazing for allowing us to be so close to him. Because of the C-section Celeste needed to be in the hospital for 4 days. She asked us to stay home the last 24 hours before she was to be released from the hospital so that she could be alone with the baby. We said that was just fine, even though inside we were worried she would fall so deeply in love with Max that she couldn’t give him away.
So, on that chilly Sunday morning in January, we sped to the hospital like kids on Christmas morning. I remember lots of giggling and handholding. Alan was as concerned about the safety of that car seat as he was excited about putting his new baby boy into it. We ran-walked into the hospital. In the lobby, we were greeted by the adoption caseworker. She smiled a knowing look. She had seen couples like us everyday for years. We sat down with her in the waiting room. She walked us through what would be happening. I seem to recall there was some last minute paperwork we had to sign before we could “take possession”. The wait seemed to take forever. I think it was 6 minutes.
Celeste’s best friend walked down the hall to the waiting area. Her face was puffy and streaked with tears. The giddy smiles were wiped from our faces. We were snapped back to the harsh reality that our joy was the complete inverse of what Celeste was going through. Her friend told us that Celeste wanted us to come to her room. Just us. We looked at the caseworker to get confirmation that this was all right. She nodded for us to go ahead without her (something that wasn’t usually done). We made our way down the hall, not really knowing what awaited us there. Would Celeste change her mind? Would she tell us that she just couldn’t take the pain that giving her baby to us was causing? We gently knocked on the door. We heard a quiet, choked voice tell us to come in. There she was, clutching our baby tight. Tears streaming down her face. Celeste looked at us with a pleading in her eyes. The look was conflicted. Something between a plea for us to take Max from her arms and a wish for us to change our minds. We walked to her as she stood up. The three of us embraced with Max in her arms. We held each other, all of us sobbing. We were quiet for a long moment. Then Celeste broke the quiet crying choking out the words “I would be a good Mother.” We agreed, nodding and hugging her tighter. My husband quickly (and transparently) answered, “but, he needs a Daddy.” Celeste nodded in agreement. A moment passed and she put the baby into my arms. She looked into my eyes and said she knew she was doing the right thing. She assured us that she knew we were his parents and that she was so glad to have found us. In her statements there was a mix of assuring us and convincing herself.
Celeste walked over to the bed and gathered her bags. She looked one last time at us. I was holding baby Max while Alan’s arm held me. We told her “thank you” over and over and that we love her so much for this amazing gift. She had made us parents. She looked satisfied. She looked tired and cried-out and satisfied. She gave us a smile and told us to take care of him. We could only nod, as there were large lumps in our throats. We watched her walk down the hall with her sister-in-law and her best friend holding her up. Celeste didn’t look back at us. We couldn’t stop watching her walk down that hall.
That Sunday we learned more about the depths of selflessness a human being is capable of than from a thousand Sunday sermons. We were given a gift that is really beyond description. This precious life that is now 8 year old boy. He knows Celeste. He sees her every now and then. He talks about her in glowing terms. The things he has heard us say about her. One day he will understand what she did. He only knows what he hears us say. How she is amazing, and didn’t think of herself but of him. We call adoption magical. It’s like describing salt to someone. Impossible. You have to try it for yourself to understand.
That was our most important day. But like all of life, it is filled with conflicting adjectives. We like the mess of real life. We appreciate our boy so much more knowing the tears we shed on our way to becoming parents and the pain we witnessed Celeste go through in giving him to us. We feel our lives are richer because of the difficulty of the journey.