It's not the kind of thing anyone would enjoy discussing, but I feel if I don't address it, I'm going to feel terribly stupid when I resume posting obnoxious entries about video games and cartoon logos next week.
We had to cancel our second adoption. The little girl we were matched with developed serious medical issues. It's nothing that was anticipated. It just happened.
I'd rather not talk about it, sure. I'd rather it all go away. I'd rather it have never happened and right now we would be a family of four getting to know each other on these hot summer days.
Our lives just changed, again. We have been working towards bringing this baby into our family for over eight months. We rearranged the house, made plans for the future, got Clark good and excited about being a big brother. Now that all has to change.
It is not a death, but we are in mourning. We know our pain will fade, and new joys will eventually rise, but right now it's a medley of crashed expectations and tidal emotions. We have to tell people and face their reactions, re-living the disappointment and shock and emotion every single time. Keeping friends and family informed in the year 2010 means posting to Facebook and Twitter, clawing through email, and updating a weblog. But that's life, and I believe that Social Media 3.X has to reflect the good and the bad, or it is not genuine. It can't all be about FarmVille.
Because here's what's going to happen. Clark and I are going to the Philadelphia Comic Con tomorrow. We planned this weeks ago and we're not going to spend the weekend looking at a empty kid's room and wishing things didn't work out the way they did. Tomorrow Clark gets to ride a train and see people in ridiculous costumes and get free stuff and hopefully have a great time doing something special. He deserves it.
But when I throw up some silly pictures of us standing by Lou Ferigno or looking at Green Lantern 2011 posters, I don't want you to think that Everything Must Be OK. Because it's not. It's wave after wave of tiny little impacts, as thoughts and plans float to the surface and remind me of what we just lost.
I kind of imagine this like a montage at the end of an episode of House, with you, friends and family all reading this on your PCs and laptops and Macs, in mingled states of sadness and empathy. Set to some appropriately maudlin music. I'm sorry to have to deliver such bad news, but I wanted you to know. Hopefully you understand. Maybe some of you have been in similar situations, and for that I am deeply sorry.
We have to go on. We don't know what we will do next. It's too early to consider. If Rhonda and myself are slow to respond to emails, or avoid phone calls, or vanish from the internet for a while, it's not because we do not appreciate your sympathy. It's because we're mourning. The details, the ramifications, the changed plans. And not just for us, but for that little girl in Korea who unfortunately has to face the worst part of this.
She will get to where she needs to be, we're confident of that. And so will we.
For our wedding, we made a sign that displayed part of J.R.R. Tolkien's poem "The Road Goes Ever On." It's appropriate for this moment as well.
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
Sorry. You know I've got nothing but love for you Fourhmans - I can't imagine what it's like to be in your shoes, but even for me that news is really hard to stomach.
I hate seeing miserable, difficult situations just pop up for good people who I only ever want to see happy. Unrealistic to assume they won't, sure. Things happen. Selfishly, though, that's not fair.
Good luck going forward.