Last Saturday the charity Open Nest held their first conference ‘Taking Care’ in York. A host of august adoption speakers were there. I am proud that we were invited too. It was a room full mainly of adopters, but also of adoptees, social workers and other professionals.
The first time it happened, I felt it like a pole-axe. “That ain’t even your kid” yelled the woman over her shoulder as she barged past us in the street. I held it together until we got to the playground where we were meeting friends, then burst into tears. Furious on my behalf, one friend insisted, “but she is your child”, in truth although I had felt she was my daughter since some time during introductions, I was still very much aware that until we had the adoption order, anything could happen, and our little family felt fragile.
I have a fear. It has two faces. One looks internally and gnaws at my well-being; the other externally and stands me on the edge of a very deep chasm, strong wind at my back.
I was trying to remember what life was like before it got turned upside down some 18 months ago. If I’m honest the start of the journey was more like 5 years ago; my husband summed it up only last night, we had a little dude shaped hole in our lives that needed filling.
It was said so casually – a matter-of-fact statement that temporarily stopped the room. It was just me and my youngest daughter visiting my mum; the eldest and her dad having stayed in London.
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