Today I’d like to share with you my reader Linda Jonasson’s beautiful story of an open adoption, and how they found more room for love than they imagined.
It was December 1, 1998. My husband Rob had just put up the Christmas tree. We were particularly sad, knowing that we were facing another Christmas without children.
Then the phone rang…
I truly believe God brought us together. Three days after the phone call, we met Nicole and her boyfriend, Lance, at the Brantford Pregnancy Centre. The handsome teenage couple had chosen us to parent their baby – what an honour!
While we were very nervous at our first meeting, the four of us hit it off immediately. I still remember the pregnancy glow that Nicole, dressed in a peasant blouse with a cross-stitch design, emanated. I still remember the way Lance, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, held her by the hand, supporting her every step of the way. I still remember holding the Polaroid photograph of the four of us standing in front of the Christmas tree, an angel watching over us from the top of the tree.
I can picture the booth we sat in at Moose Winooski’s when we took them out for dinner the first time. It was raining that night even though it was December. The storm had caused the lights to go out; I had fumbled around in the dark trying to put in my contact lenses. It was like a second date: I wondered if Nicole and Lance would like us just a much the second time as the first.
Our first visit at the hospital was surreal. I remember holding my newborn baby in my arms for the first time. I saw his birth parents traits in him: Lance’s lips, Nicole’s nose. He was soft and warm and smelled like baby powder. What an honour to be able to feed him his bottle!
The next day, God gave me the sense that I needed to be at the hospital even though we didn’t get a call from the birth parents.
I remember arriving at Nicole’s hospital room door, only to find it closed. The birth parents, their faces red from shedding so many tears, were preparing to say goodbye to their baby, our baby. I reassured Nicole and Lance that we wanted them to be a part of Thomas’ life. That we wouldn’t hop the next plane and skip town.
Thomas was our Christmas miracle.
We brought him home on December 22. I remember sitting in church, my arms full, my heart bursting, as I gazed at the Nativity Scene on Christmas Eve. It was exciting introducing him to our families over the holidays. But as I passed the turkey and mashed potatoes, in the back of my mind, I knew the birth mother had three weeks where she could change her mind and take Thomas back. Even so, I felt a strange sense of calm during the waiting period. Our church prayer group covered us in prayer: I could feel God’s presence.
That was 16 years ago. Today, Thomas stands 5 feet 9 inches tall, he weighs 160 pounds and he wears a size 12 shoe. He has thick brown hair and brown eyes. He sports muscles from his daily workouts at the gym with his dad. He plays three guitars, sharing his talents in two praise teams at our church. Next week, he is about to start driving lessons. How much Thomas has changed! But one thing has not changed – his relationship with his birth parents.
Thomas has always known he was adopted.
As he has grown, the word has gained more and more meaning. At first, Nicole and Lance were the nice couple who visited us at Christmas. Thomas would stand at the window waiting for them, excitement etched on his face. Nicole and Lance would arrive with enough gifts to fill Santa’s sac. Once Thomas finished tearing open the presents, our recreation room would be plastered in red and green wrapping paper. One of Nicole’s early gifts was a wooden rocking horse fashioned by her father, the one she rode as a toddler. Each Christmas visit ended with dinner at Moose Winooski’s, our favourite restaurant.
Four and a half years after Thomas was born, I became pregnant. Thomas was curious about my growing belly. I told him that I had a baby in my “tummy”. “Whose tummy did I come from, Mommy?” he asked. I explained to him that the nice couple who arrived at Christmas with an armful of presents were his birth parents. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked. I explained that I was telling the truth. Thomas nodded, smiled and gave me a look that said: “I can live with that.”
Thomas’ birth parents visited that summer. We surprised them with our newborn daughter, Jacqueline. I was concerned that Nicole and Lance might think that Thomas wouldn’t get as much attention now that he had a baby sister. But the second they met our little girl, they fell in love with her. By the time Jacqueline was a toddler, she was in there like a dirty old shirt, squeezing in between Nicole and Lance on the couch while they watched a movie with Thomas.
When Thomas was about 9 years old, I asked Nicole if she ever regretted placing him for adoption. She said: “Absolutely not. Out of all the decisions I’ve made in my life, it’s the one I’m most proud of.” That was music to my ears. Rob and I wanted her to be happy, too.
The birth parents’ visits continued twice a year at our home in Brantford. When Thomas turned 13, we allowed him to open a Facebook account. He befriended Nicole and Lance, yet another way to keep in touch. When Thomas entered high school, he bought his first cell phone. Now he could text his birth parents as well.
I know Thomas has benefited from the love of not two, but four parents.
The fact that he knows his roots is invaluable, something the rest of us take for granted. There is no mystery concerning his past. It’s reassuring to know where he came from.
As Rob puts up the Christmas tree this year, he will have his son standing by his side, handing him the branches. One of the Christmas ornaments they will hang on the tree is a silver penguin, with THOMAS inscribed at the bottom, a gift from his birthparents. Thank you, Nicole & Lance, for giving us your son – the best Christmas present ever!
Linda Jonasson and her husband Rob, adopted their son, Thomas, in December of 1998 through Beginnings Adoption Agency in Hamilton, Ontario. Linda is a writer and teacher. She speaks about adoption and childhood literacy to churches and schools. She blogs daily, with a heavy dose of history, at A Line from Linda.