Hope

Hope 

By Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

The most commonly read post on this blog is this one.  I will specifically quote one paragraph from that entry that was particularly painful to write.

It’s not a good feeling, feeling that you’re not good enough to be a parent.  I will say with 100% certainty that being forced through this emotional wringer over the last eight years has made me much more acutely sensitive to my future child’s emotional needs.  There is pain in knowing that who I am so severely limits my possibilities for adoption.  There is pain in knowing that because of a diagnosis, we were not good enough to be Pooh and Tigger’s parents.   

Despite what people have said to the contrary, my all-time biggest fear was that we would not be looked at as good enough for a child’s social worker or for ICAB to sign off on a referral for us.  That they would say out of five potential families, we would consistently rank as the #5 – until forever, really.  You can say it’s silly.  You can tell me I’m nuts.  You can tell me that would never happen.  But that was my biggest fear.

We’re still waiting for a referral.  There is not a referral on the horizon just yet – we still have to wait our turn.  

But finally, finally – someone we can trust told us in the most concrete way imaginable that we were Good Enough.  And that is something that gives me an indescribable amount of hope.  Hope that there will be a child, and that someone out there knows I will be a good mommy one day.