The dreaded has occurred. I spent the past two months fearing it, guarding against it, shutting myself off from hoping too much, from imagining the face of the little thing. Then it happened, and I stand helpless in the face of it. I was pregnant for the past three months, and now I am not. And there is nothing I can do about it.
In the face of this loss and this feeling of helplessness, I wonder what I should do. I could wallow, cry, rant that it's not fair, and cry some more. I have done some of that already. But I don't want to be buried in it. I am sure it will drown me like quicksand, slowly sucking me in and absorbing me, even though I may not feel the changing depth minute by minute. I know grief can consume me, and I'm not ready to befriend it so quickly.
So I step back and put on my analytical hat. Given where I am, what can I do? I start my lists, identify all my options, research all the possible tests that we can take, find the names of fertility specialists in my area, scour Amazon for books on the topic, and map out the timeline for the next possible pregnancy. This gives me a feeling of progress, a sense of control, hope.
Among my choices, I ponder the possibility of adopting. I had read an article here and there on the topic, I had watched a documentary or two, I have heard the stories of friends who adopted from Ethiopia, China, South America. I have discussed it as a social issue, voicing my contempt for Korea's troubling resistance to domestic adoption (which I now understand is slowly changing). I have felt my sense of indignation rise at the thought of children being abandoned and the social ills that drive parents to such behavior. My heart has gone out to the children who wait to be found, who long to belong.
But I know no more than the average person. I know as much about it as I do of the Korean War, the political situation in Burma, the specific problems of voter suppression. So I take my first step toward focusing my lens on this subject and contact an adoption agency that specializes in Korean adoptions. As I review their website, I am stunned to realize that we do not meet the qualifications.
Here are the Korean government requirements set forth on Adoption & Family Network, Inc.
- Must be at least 25 and no older than 42 - for a female child and no older than 43 - for a male child. (Age at the time of application)
- Must be married a minimum of three years.
- Most parents reside in Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. California and Wyoming will be easier to get permission from Korea. We can work with other states close by on an individual basis.
- May have no more than four children at home.
I am 37, but my husband just turned 43. And we do not meet the requirement of having been married for three years. When I inquired whether we can submit our application now and wait until our third anniversary to adopt, they clarified that neither of us can be over 45 when the child is delivered.
Adoption is something we had thought about on and off. My husband and I had discussed it several times and always left the conversation saying, let's think about it further. We wanted to be 200% sure that it was something we wanted before bringing in a child who has other alternatives, that the little person wouldn't be just a consolation but a child who would be loved and wanted for her own merits. Now, I realize how uninformed we were to think of adoption as an easy alternative, something to decide at our convenience, of our choice. In moments when pregnancy seemed out of reach, we often turned to each other and said, hey, we can always adopt. Not necessarily so.
Not to say that we can't look at other countries that have more lenient requirements, but I always imagined adopting from Korea if we did. Maybe because I think I could be a better guide to a Korean child who may have questions about his or her identity and past. Maybe because I am sensitive to the idea that knowing about another culture is not the same as understanding it. Maybe because I want the child to see some of her past and future reflected in me.
So as I start to nudge open this other door, I find it sealed shut. And a small flicker of hope dies.
Just as I find a small part of me giving into dejection, I receive another email from the adoption agency, informing us that there are agencies that specialize in obtaining "waivers" from the government where one of the parents is of Korean heritage. I've never rested so much hope before in my Korean heritage.
Shinyung
