On Edge

She is 8 months old today.  34 weeks.  243 days.

I have seen her less than 30 times in her whole life.

All summer, I have been trying not to think about the imminent approach of August 3.  I know it comes after August 2, and I know that August comes after July.  August–when did you get here? I’m not ready for you.  Could you please leave quietly and wake me up when it’s over?

August 3rd is the “pretrial” for our baby.   I’m not sure what they mean by pretrial–the adoption agency doesn’t seem to know much.  No one does.  The only information I’ve gathered is that, assuming the birth parents show up, the judge may assign attorneys, (s)he may assign a guardian ad litem for the baby, and he might order a paternity test.  A follow-up hearing might also be scheduled.

But all of these are unknowns.  The baby won’t even be there.  We aren’t involved legally at all yet.  We will just have to wait for news.  I don’t even know what time of day the pretrial might be.

I keep thinking, in the deep, pessimistic regions of my mind, that nothing will happen.  That the judge might only assign attorneys for the birth parents and then leave the scheduling of the next hearing “until some future date,” placing it in the deliriously slow hands of “the courts” to schedule something. I am terrified that this will be another date  we had looked forward to and merely have to watch it as it passes, with no movement forward.  I am petrified of more waiting-without-end.

Two months ago, this date seemed ages away.  Now, as it gets closer and closer, everyone is asking for updates.  “When is that date again?” and “Oooh! It’s getting so close! are you excited?!”

No, I’m not.  I am nervous.  I am worried.  All I want to do is hide under my covers like a child.  I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t want to repeat what I have told these well-meaning inquirers several times before.

Everything is suspended until this date passes.  I am holding my breath.  Don’t ask me questions.

If I think too much about one outcome or another, I will lose my focus.  And all I can focus on right now is that I have been blessed to know this baby girl, and to spend time with her.   I am too fragile to think about the tragedy of losing her. I am too weak to think about the joy of bringing her home.

I am on the edge.  Of something.

But I don’t know what. And I can’t see what’s ahead.



5 comments

  1. Viv wrote:

    i love you seester.

  2. Summer wrote:

    I heard mother’s voice in my head as she crossed herself every morning and took her sip of Holy water. “We walk by faith and not by sight.” so, I plugged it in to Google to get the whole scripture again. I had some cross references and this is the one I liked…
    Hebrews 11:1 Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.
    lagbs

  3. Renee wrote:

    No, you are strong. You are. God has given you this grace even if you do not believe it yourself. You are strong and full of hope. Christ is in our midst! Love, love, love to you.

  4. Susan wrote:

    To God be the glory, sweet Anne, for I see Him in you and in your love, faith and hope. My heart continues to beat faster.

  5. renidemus wrote:

    Love wins.