I'm Here If You Need Me

One thing I have learned is that you never want to compare scars. There is always someone who has it better. Always someone who has it worse.

I made an online friend while we were in the process of adopting my son. She is the woman who recommended the lawyer that we used. She and I bonded over what an ass he turned out to be, over the fact that our son's were to be born within a month of each other, and that we were both working to have really positive relationships with the women who were giving birth to those amazing baby boys of ours.

I learned a great deal about adoption from E. She was working on a second adoption, at that point. She had a fully open adoption with her first child's biological mother. I often marveled at her strength, her courage, her insight. Over the course of e-mails and a few phone calls, I came to trust her, respect her, care for her.

When my son was born, I could not wait to tell her. Her son, a gorgeous angel of a child, had been born a few weeks before my Jack. I was looking forward to finally being a part of that Mom's club. I figured we could share stories of sleep-deprivation and the crazy things it makes you do. I was over the moon. Knowing how much she loves her two sons, I figured she would be too, that we could marvel together. It didn't quite work out the way I planned.

It turns out that my friend E was sick. Really sick. She has Cystic Fibrosis. I had known that there was some medical issues that had caused her to adopt but had never wanted to pry to discover what they were. I figured that she would share with me if it was something she wanted to do, something that would make her feel better. She did share, in the form of sending me her blog. I read her blog in the weeks after I had brought my son home from the hospital. What a strange juxtaposition.

Here I was worrying about how to care for an infant. Yes. I was also worrying about Angel, my son's birthmother, changing her mind. But, my fears and insecurities were nothing compared to the struggles that E was undergoing. She was in a hospital room fighting for her life. The fight was both physical and mental. I can't lie. I did not know what to do with this new information. I did not know what to say.

I wanted to be the sort of friend who knows just how to fix things. I wanted to be the friend that you are so thankful you have when things start to get rough.

I wish I could say I was. I wasn't. For that, I'm sorry.

E, I'm so very sorry. I wish I had listened harder. I wish I had taken more time.

But mostly...I wish it was different. I wish you did not have to worry about pics and puffies. I wish you did not have to debate whether or not it was advisable for you to return to work. I wish you never had to lose sleep over what the future holds for you, for your husband, and for those beautiful babies.

You are right. It is not fair. I wish I could change it for you. I can't.

What I can do. What I will do, if you will let me. Is to listen.
I'm here if you need me.