Guatemala . . . I knew it was a Spanish speaking country, located somewhere south of Mexico, and vaguely recalled that there had been a civil war there years ago, but I have to admit that I knew very little else about the country. So why was I considering a Guatemalan adoption? As a 43-year-old divorced working woman about to embark on the road to parenthood for the first time, I knew that adopting a "special needs" child (the only realistic possibility in domestic adoptions for single parents) was beyond my capabilities. Guatemala had many healthy infants available, provided reasonably reliable medical histories, furnished good medical care to infants awaiting adoption, did not show a preference for married couples over single prospective parents, and completed the adoption before travel, so that parents needed only remain in the country a few days to complete immigration paperwork. Also, and one of the most important elements for me, Guatemala placed waiting children in foster care, rather than orphanages or other institutional care, so I could be assured that my child would be loved and cared for by a surrogate parent while the adoption was pending. Of course, nothing is perfect, and Guatemalan adoptions were also more costly than those in most other countries, but I was fortunate to be able to raise sufficient funds (barely). The first (or rather second) major decision out of the way, I began to research the choice of agency to assist me with the adoption. As those of you who followed the same trail know, there are many agencies which handle Guatemalan adoptions. Few, however, have affiliate agencies in New York State, a criteria I considered important to ensure that the adoption laws of my home state were complied with. Cradle of Hope did, and also enjoyed an excellent reputation. My first (and every subsequent) contact with Cradle and with its affiliate agency, Jewish Family Services in Rochester, New York, confirmed that the reputation was well earned. From the submission of my initial application through my return home with my son, Cradle's staff walked me through every step of what only seemed to be an agonizingly long process. I'm sure I was not the easiest client they ever had to work with, and consider it quite possible that my almost daily calls drove my first caseworker, Barbara Cubby, to employment elsewhere soon after I accepted a referral. Chris Blimmel, perhaps made of sturdier stuff, endured to the end with good cheer, endless sensitivity, and sure professionalism (although I strongly suspect he rolled his eyes every time he received another message from me).
Finally, the call came that I'd been waiting for . . . it was time to travel to pick up my son Joshua, now six months old. My sister Debbie (who loves me even when I am a neurotic mess), volunteered to accompany me to Guatemala, and we boarded the plane without a single fingernail left between us. By the time we landed in Guatemala at nearly 11 p.m., I was so tightly wound that I probably would have done bodily damage to any airport security personnel who attempted to delay our departure from the airport. Fortunately none did, and Donald, our coordinator, was waiting there as planned to take us to the hotel. He was kind and friendly, and spoke good English. The hotel was only a few minutes from the airport, and we had barely entered the lobby when Donald announced that the foster mother was there with my child. In walked a pretty young woman of perhaps twenty three, smiling bravely and carrying the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. Her name was Karen, and after kissing his little hands and whispering a loving goodbye, she smiled through tears and handed the sleeping treasure to me. I've never felt such a mix of emotions . . . overwhelmed with joy and love for the tiny bundle in my arms, at the same time heartbroken for the young woman who was trying so hard to be brave. How Josh managed to sleep through both our tears, I'll never know, but I suppose it was a blessing for everyone. After holding him for a precious few moments, I asked Donald to ask Karen if she could hold him while we talked. As hard as it was to hand him back to her, I knew that I would have him to love for the rest of my life, and she had only these last few minutes. She was so grateful, and there were more tears and hugs all around. As we sat and talked, it was evident that she'd loved him as her own for the last six months, and I felt a deep gratitude that we'd both been so fortunate. I know that when she finally handed him back to me, with another hug for both of us and a final kiss of his tiny hands, walking away must have been the hardest thing she had ever done. Donald later told me that she had received a photo of me early on in the process, and had shown it to Josh every day, telling him that his Mama loved him and was coming soon to take him home.
Today, Josh is 14 months old, and is a delightful, affectionate child who wakes up with a smile virtually every morning, a smile that rarely leaves his face. I would love to take the credit for that, but I know that in fact his nature is deeply rooted in the love that he received from his foster mother during those crucial early months. I'll spend my life grateful.