Dedicated to Emma: Open Adoption
Dad,
I know how you hate when I beat around the bush, so I’ll just tell you that Holly is pregnant. I’m not going to San Diego State as planned. I’m going to stay around here until the baby is born and go to Framingham State. It should only be a minor inconvenience for a few months and delay my plans just a little.
Dano
I was sitting in my hotel room at the Best Western-Miramar in San Diego, reading this letter from my young son and thinking that we were dealing with something more than a ‘‘minor inconvenience.’’ At seventeen, Dano really didn’t know that. He would learn.
Daniel had recently discovered his first real girlfriend. Holly had long auburn hair, a smile like a Madonna, and a nose ring. She was a regular visitor to our home in Holliston and, we later found out, an occasional overnight guest. It was on my next business trip that I received Dan’s letter.
I came home to learn that Holly was against abortion but that they were not going to base a marriage on a careless act. They felt a great deal of love for each other but didn’t think a high school marriage was a great idea. They would give the baby up for adoption. Dan, Holly, my wife, Carol, and I all hugged.
The adoption agency suggested Holly and Dan consider an open adoption, in which the adoptive parents are chosen by the birth parents. They would all get a chance to meet before the birth. After the baby is born, there could be some level of ongoing contact. There would be no secrecy. Still, Carol and I had eight months of serious questions and judgments ahead.
Dan and Holly received folders from five prospective adoptive couples that included homemade brochures telling us who they were and why they would be a good choice. Carol and I selected a couple we liked. Dan and Holly independently chose the same couple. They liked their musical backgrounds. Carol and I liked the fact that they seemed unpretentious.
The next step was a meeting. Dan and Holly were nervous but came home pleased. There would be more meetings. Next, they went out for dinner, to a club where they listened to jazz and got to know one another better. The feelings of comfort grew. Visits continued.
I decided I wanted to meet these people and was about to call when the phone rang. It was Jim, the prospective father, calling to say hello. He had heard from Dan that I wished to meet and was calling to see how that might work.
Carol said she was too nervous to go, but at the last minute she changed her mind. We met at a bagel place on Route 9 in Framingham. They were there waiting.
Jim and Dale shared pictures of their family, their home, and their dog. They were in their early forties and lived in a suburb of Boston. They had met at an audition and traveled to Paris together after they graduated from college. After an hour of preliminaries, we relaxed. We talked some more and cried a bit.
Three hours later, we hugged. There were a few more tears. I couldn’t believe the warm feeling inside. For the first time, I had begun to see some good in all this. These two folks were about to get the best gift life can offer. They seemed like deserving, patient people.
Leading up to this meeting, I’d had the overriding thought that you don’t give away your children. I wouldn’t let the idea of keeping my grandchild escape. There was little I could do. It was Holly’s decision along with Daniel’s advice and consent. It was my grandchild, but I was a bystander.
Holly’s mother, Diane, turned out to be a wonderful partner in this struggle. She was certainly devastated. She was a single parent raising two daughters on her own. But she is a caring person who has become a good friend and member of our extended family. Rather than take an angry, adversarial position, she chose to see us all as allies struggling for the same goal. It was hard on Diane, having Holly decide to live with us, but she saw no benefit in creating more conflict.
After meeting with Jim and Dale, I felt as though the door had opened. I saw there was another side to this event, a genuinely good and wonderful side. I began to believe, and I tried almost desperately to nurture that belief.
Friday, November 3, 1995
Emma was born at Framingham Union Hospital. We had thirty-six hours to get to know her.
On Sunday, Jim and Dale arrived. I watched Dale fuss over her diaper with Jim looking on in a confused state of euphoria. Jim and I embraced in a long, tearful bear hug. I kissed his wet cheek, gripped his outstretched hand, wished them both all my love, and left quickly.
Holly and Dan had signed seven-day foster parent papers so Jim and Dale could take Emma home. They were to sign the permanent ones after that.
After the week was up, we received pictures from Jim and Dale with a lovely update note. Holly and Dan signed another set of temporary papers. Holly was not ready for the permanent documents. She had some things to sort out—things she wanted to know, questions, doubts, a lot of pain. Between the physical postpartum issues and her milk coming in, there was measurable physical discomfort. The emotional side defied description. She was struggling mightily. She’d had her seventeenth birthday in August. She was so much older now.
Another appointment was made to sign the final papers. It was for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Holly canceled it.
I was worried. This was not good for anyone. I pressed Daniel to encourage her to do it. He would not be moved. All in good time. He knew what I was saying. He understood. He also understood Holly, and of course he had feelings too. Thanksgiving came and went.
That Friday, at 1 PM, they drove to the agency and signed the papers. They came back home and went right to their room. It was numbing.
The weekend days passed slowly. Few words. Many silent hugs. Hands were held constantly, quietly. The weekend ended. Monday began. It’s been one day at a time since.
January 14, 1996
Now we deal with the reality of what open adoption means. We’re learning. We’ve received two more photo packets from Jim and Dale: Emma’s first bath, first doctor’s visit, and other things.
Carol and I are confused. How is this going to work? Don’t Jim and Dale want a little distance? How generous and kind of them. What gear do we put our emotions in? Will this continue? At what pace? Can I be a part of Emma’s life even at a distance? I don’t know.
Carol cries a bit out of frustration. I’m just filled with wonder. Carol thinks the letters should stop. I’m waiting and learning. Dan and Holly seem fine with it. I saw Holly reading a book on open adoption. There are things to be learned. I think a seventeen-year-old girl with the smile of a Madonna is going to teach me. She lost the nose ring last October.
Dear Jim and Dale,
Planted in the sitting room of the Colonial Inn on a rainy Saturday afternoon was not what I would have envisioned as the setting for our first visit with Emma and her parents. What seems consistent is that my visions of what will happen are remarkably inaccurate, yet what actually does happen is quite wonderful.
Non-planning and no expectations are two of the ingredients I choose to bring to our relationship with you and Emma. I feel secure in the knowledge that Holly and Dan made the right decision, and they know that. Most important is that they are both happy with it and continue to grow more comfortable as the days pass. Second most important is that Emma is happy. Having seen her for about ninety minutes, I am left only with the impression of happiness, contentment, good health, and a very alert mind that seems to be acutely aware of her surroundings and not at all threatened by them. Third on my list are the two of you. I think you’re happy too. Sorry for placing you third, but I’ll bet you understand.
In talking with Jim, I was concerned to hear what seemed to be a level of anxiety. My guess was that it stemmed from many things. One was wondering what was best for Emma. Are we creating a potentially confusing emotional environment for her? Another diminishing concern was over Dan and Holly’s attitude in regard to the situation. Third, though unspoken, must be the everyday anxiety new parents have over their child and their role as parents. Fourth might be a fear of others’ trying to enforce their will, their presence, and their values on you and Emma.
Dan and Holly’s attitude has been healthy. They’ve dealt with the pain. Holly, in particular. They have learned a basic lesson of life. We are faced with difficult decisions and must do what we believe is best. Most often it isn’t the rightness or wrongness of the decision, but rather what we make of the results that determines our happiness. They are making the best of the results and enjoying unexpected happiness. That feeling grows daily.
Please know that we welcome any opportunity to share, but will show the same sensitivity to the situation that you both already exhibit. We are concerned about the two of you and your comfort. It’s a direct determinant for the happiness of your daughter. If you are looking for some additional family, allow us to submit our resumes. If you choose to go part-time to begin with, that’s great. If you choose to wait and see, that’s fine too. If you choose to insulate your private lives, that’s part of the deal that we accept with no strings at all.
xx
oo
bb
February 26, 2003
Emma is seven years old. Holly and Daniel are young independent adults who have reconciled some ambivalence between them and become friends again, remaining connected through Emma. We have grown to know Jim and Dale as people, not just the parents of our granddaughter. We have met their families and enjoyed every minute of the many get-togethers that are far more frequent than the gatherings of our own pre-Emma family. It’s like having in-laws without the angst.
Emma is the typical seven-year-old, with a funny intuitive innocence. She came home from school one day after discussing brothers and sisters with her classmates and asked Dale to call Holly and Dan. It seems the other kids had a brother or sister, and she wanted one too.
‘‘Please ask Holly and Dano to make me a sister,’’ was her request. Nothing more. Just a knowing grin.
Her open adoption had made her a minor celebrity at school. Of course, there are the typical stories that come from any seven-year-old with missing teeth.
‘‘I’m having trouble saying my Ws and can’t pronounce ‘world’ very good, so I just say ‘earf’ instead.’’
When Emma asked whether Dan could fly in from Tempe, Arizona, to escort her and her dad to the father-daughter dance at school, our jaws dropped. After a moment’s thought by all, Dan bought his ticket from America West, and Emma was the only girl in the second grade who had two dates for the dance. She made introductions to all. The trio had a great time.
Some of our friends reject the open adoption concept. They’re irretrievably invested in the theory of turning your back on the life event and never returning. Not so strangely, one of them is an adoptive mother herself. The other is a cousin whose undergraduate years included an unwanted pregnancy. They can’t seem to recognize the wonderfulness of what we have. Maybe they just don’t want to deal with the conflicts in their own hearts.
June 2005
Emma is nine. We just spent a lovely visit with her and Dale. Jim couldn’t come because of a work crisis. They came to Southern California, where we now live in Orange County. Holly moved to San Diego last year. Since we moved, the family get-togethers have been limited, but these ten days were great. Emma spent two nights on a sleepover at Holly’s apartment. Dano was there for only three days and had to go back to work in Tempe, but those three days found Emma glued to his hip. They share a love for a Talking Heads music video, “Stop Making Sense,” among other things.
Dale and Jim continue to show unbelievable generosity and comfort in sharing their daughter with what has become a very close, extended family. When we were living in Holliston, we got together six to eight times a year, plus a few stop-ins. Now we can’t, but the feelings are as strong as ever.
Our open adoption is clearly a success. Our unique situation was created by Jim and Dale, who welcomed us into their lives. That’s not at all a requirement of the process, but a choice they made that we embraced with respect. Open adoption is an opportunity. Like all opportunities, you make of them what you will. We’ve all spoken at workshops and been volunteers, trying to mentor others through the process. The more we see, the more we realize how special family building can really be.
October 2013
Daniel is married and lives in Sydney, Australia making a living as a musician. Holly moved to San Diego and runs a thriving daycare business from her home. She started her own family and just celebrated her beautiful son’s seventh birthday. Emma was a semi-finalist for the Robert Creeley Student Poetry Prize in her junior year of high school where she met her personal writing idol Naomi Shihab Nye. In Emma’s sixteenth year Jim and Dale divorced. Dale lives in a three-bedroom condo nearby their old house that Jim now occupies.
Despite her exceptional writing skills, Emma told me she was having trouble putting her feelings at her 17th birthday into words.
Open Adoption means no secrets. There is no secret to the reality that all we can do is try. Then try again. So we do.
Dad,
I know how you hate when I beat around the bush, so I’ll just tell you that Holly is pregnant. I’m not going to San Diego State as planned. I’m going to stay around here until the baby is born and go to Framingham State. It should only be a minor inconvenience for a few months and delay my plans just a little.
Dano
I was sitting in my hotel room at the Best Western-Miramar in San Diego, reading this letter from my young son and thinking that we were dealing with something more than a ‘‘minor inconvenience.’’ At seventeen, Dano really didn’t know that. He would learn.
Daniel had recently discovered his first real girlfriend. Holly had long auburn hair, a smile like a Madonna, and a nose ring. She was a regular visitor to our home in Holliston and, we later found out, an occasional overnight guest. It was on my next business trip that I received Dan’s letter.
I came home to learn that Holly was against abortion but that they were not going to base a marriage on a careless act. They felt a great deal of love for each other but didn’t think a high school marriage was a great idea. They would give the baby up for adoption. Dan, Holly, my wife, Carol, and I all hugged.
The adoption agency suggested Holly and Dan consider an open adoption, in which the adoptive parents are chosen by the birth parents. They would all get a chance to meet before the birth. After the baby is born, there could be some level of ongoing contact. There would be no secrecy. Still, Carol and I had eight months of serious questions and judgments ahead.
Dan and Holly received folders from five prospective adoptive couples that included homemade brochures telling us who they were and why they would be a good choice. Carol and I selected a couple we liked. Dan and Holly independently chose the same couple. They liked their musical backgrounds. Carol and I liked the fact that they seemed unpretentious.
The next step was a meeting. Dan and Holly were nervous but came home pleased. There would be more meetings. Next, they went out for dinner, to a club where they listened to jazz and got to know one another better. The feelings of comfort grew. Visits continued.
I decided I wanted to meet these people and was about to call when the phone rang. It was Jim, the prospective father, calling to say hello. He had heard from Dan that I wished to meet and was calling to see how that might work.
Carol said she was too nervous to go, but at the last minute she changed her mind. We met at a bagel place on Route 9 in Framingham. They were there waiting.
Jim and Dale shared pictures of their family, their home, and their dog. They were in their early forties and lived in a suburb of Boston. They had met at an audition and traveled to Paris together after they graduated from college. After an hour of preliminaries, we relaxed. We talked some more and cried a bit.
Three hours later, we hugged. There were a few more tears. I couldn’t believe the warm feeling inside. For the first time, I had begun to see some good in all this. These two folks were about to get the best gift life can offer. They seemed like deserving, patient people.
Leading up to this meeting, I’d had the overriding thought that you don’t give away your children. I wouldn’t let the idea of keeping my grandchild escape. There was little I could do. It was Holly’s decision along with Daniel’s advice and consent. It was my grandchild, but I was a bystander.
Holly’s mother, Diane, turned out to be a wonderful partner in this struggle. She was certainly devastated. She was a single parent raising two daughters on her own. But she is a caring person who has become a good friend and member of our extended family. Rather than take an angry, adversarial position, she chose to see us all as allies struggling for the same goal. It was hard on Diane, having Holly decide to live with us, but she saw no benefit in creating more conflict.
After meeting with Jim and Dale, I felt as though the door had opened. I saw there was another side to this event, a genuinely good and wonderful side. I began to believe, and I tried almost desperately to nurture that belief.
Friday, November 3, 1995
Emma was born at Framingham Union Hospital. We had thirty-six hours to get to know her.
On Sunday, Jim and Dale arrived. I watched Dale fuss over her diaper with Jim looking on in a confused state of euphoria. Jim and I embraced in a long, tearful bear hug. I kissed his wet cheek, gripped his outstretched hand, wished them both all my love, and left quickly.
Holly and Dan had signed seven-day foster parent papers so Jim and Dale could take Emma home. They were to sign the permanent ones after that.
After the week was up, we received pictures from Jim and Dale with a lovely update note. Holly and Dan signed another set of temporary papers. Holly was not ready for the permanent documents. She had some things to sort out—things she wanted to know, questions, doubts, a lot of pain. Between the physical postpartum issues and her milk coming in, there was measurable physical discomfort. The emotional side defied description. She was struggling mightily. She’d had her seventeenth birthday in August. She was so much older now.
Another appointment was made to sign the final papers. It was for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Holly canceled it.
I was worried. This was not good for anyone. I pressed Daniel to encourage her to do it. He would not be moved. All in good time. He knew what I was saying. He understood. He also understood Holly, and of course he had feelings too. Thanksgiving came and went.
That Friday, at 1 PM, they drove to the agency and signed the papers. They came back home and went right to their room. It was numbing.
The weekend days passed slowly. Few words. Many silent hugs. Hands were held constantly, quietly. The weekend ended. Monday began. It’s been one day at a time since.
January 14, 1996
Now we deal with the reality of what open adoption means. We’re learning. We’ve received two more photo packets from Jim and Dale: Emma’s first bath, first doctor’s visit, and other things.
Carol and I are confused. How is this going to work? Don’t Jim and Dale want a little distance? How generous and kind of them. What gear do we put our emotions in? Will this continue? At what pace? Can I be a part of Emma’s life even at a distance? I don’t know.
Carol cries a bit out of frustration. I’m just filled with wonder. Carol thinks the letters should stop. I’m waiting and learning. Dan and Holly seem fine with it. I saw Holly reading a book on open adoption. There are things to be learned. I think a seventeen-year-old girl with the smile of a Madonna is going to teach me. She lost the nose ring last October.
Dear Jim and Dale,
Planted in the sitting room of the Colonial Inn on a rainy Saturday afternoon was not what I would have envisioned as the setting for our first visit with Emma and her parents. What seems consistent is that my visions of what will happen are remarkably inaccurate, yet what actually does happen is quite wonderful.
Non-planning and no expectations are two of the ingredients I choose to bring to our relationship with you and Emma. I feel secure in the knowledge that Holly and Dan made the right decision, and they know that. Most important is that they are both happy with it and continue to grow more comfortable as the days pass. Second most important is that Emma is happy. Having seen her for about ninety minutes, I am left only with the impression of happiness, contentment, good health, and a very alert mind that seems to be acutely aware of her surroundings and not at all threatened by them. Third on my list are the two of you. I think you’re happy too. Sorry for placing you third, but I’ll bet you understand.
In talking with Jim, I was concerned to hear what seemed to be a level of anxiety. My guess was that it stemmed from many things. One was wondering what was best for Emma. Are we creating a potentially confusing emotional environment for her? Another diminishing concern was over Dan and Holly’s attitude in regard to the situation. Third, though unspoken, must be the everyday anxiety new parents have over their child and their role as parents. Fourth might be a fear of others’ trying to enforce their will, their presence, and their values on you and Emma.
Dan and Holly’s attitude has been healthy. They’ve dealt with the pain. Holly, in particular. They have learned a basic lesson of life. We are faced with difficult decisions and must do what we believe is best. Most often it isn’t the rightness or wrongness of the decision, but rather what we make of the results that determines our happiness. They are making the best of the results and enjoying unexpected happiness. That feeling grows daily.
Please know that we welcome any opportunity to share, but will show the same sensitivity to the situation that you both already exhibit. We are concerned about the two of you and your comfort. It’s a direct determinant for the happiness of your daughter. If you are looking for some additional family, allow us to submit our resumes. If you choose to go part-time to begin with, that’s great. If you choose to wait and see, that’s fine too. If you choose to insulate your private lives, that’s part of the deal that we accept with no strings at all.
xx
oo
bb
February 26, 2003
Emma is seven years old. Holly and Daniel are young independent adults who have reconciled some ambivalence between them and become friends again, remaining connected through Emma. We have grown to know Jim and Dale as people, not just the parents of our granddaughter. We have met their families and enjoyed every minute of the many get-togethers that are far more frequent than the gatherings of our own pre-Emma family. It’s like having in-laws without the angst.
Emma is the typical seven-year-old, with a funny intuitive innocence. She came home from school one day after discussing brothers and sisters with her classmates and asked Dale to call Holly and Dan. It seems the other kids had a brother or sister, and she wanted one too.
‘‘Please ask Holly and Dano to make me a sister,’’ was her request. Nothing more. Just a knowing grin.
Her open adoption had made her a minor celebrity at school. Of course, there are the typical stories that come from any seven-year-old with missing teeth.
‘‘I’m having trouble saying my Ws and can’t pronounce ‘world’ very good, so I just say ‘earf’ instead.’’
When Emma asked whether Dan could fly in from Tempe, Arizona, to escort her and her dad to the father-daughter dance at school, our jaws dropped. After a moment’s thought by all, Dan bought his ticket from America West, and Emma was the only girl in the second grade who had two dates for the dance. She made introductions to all. The trio had a great time.
Some of our friends reject the open adoption concept. They’re irretrievably invested in the theory of turning your back on the life event and never returning. Not so strangely, one of them is an adoptive mother herself. The other is a cousin whose undergraduate years included an unwanted pregnancy. They can’t seem to recognize the wonderfulness of what we have. Maybe they just don’t want to deal with the conflicts in their own hearts.
June 2005
Emma is nine. We just spent a lovely visit with her and Dale. Jim couldn’t come because of a work crisis. They came to Southern California, where we now live in Orange County. Holly moved to San Diego last year. Since we moved, the family get-togethers have been limited, but these ten days were great. Emma spent two nights on a sleepover at Holly’s apartment. Dano was there for only three days and had to go back to work in Tempe, but those three days found Emma glued to his hip. They share a love for a Talking Heads music video, “Stop Making Sense,” among other things.
Dale and Jim continue to show unbelievable generosity and comfort in sharing their daughter with what has become a very close, extended family. When we were living in Holliston, we got together six to eight times a year, plus a few stop-ins. Now we can’t, but the feelings are as strong as ever.
Our open adoption is clearly a success. Our unique situation was created by Jim and Dale, who welcomed us into their lives. That’s not at all a requirement of the process, but a choice they made that we embraced with respect. Open adoption is an opportunity. Like all opportunities, you make of them what you will. We’ve all spoken at workshops and been volunteers, trying to mentor others through the process. The more we see, the more we realize how special family building can really be.
October 2013
Daniel is married and lives in Sydney, Australia making a living as a musician. Holly moved to San Diego and runs a thriving daycare business from her home. She started her own family and just celebrated her beautiful son’s seventh birthday. Emma was a semi-finalist for the Robert Creeley Student Poetry Prize in her junior year of high school where she met her personal writing idol Naomi Shihab Nye. In Emma’s sixteenth year Jim and Dale divorced. Dale lives in a three-bedroom condo nearby their old house that Jim now occupies.
Despite her exceptional writing skills, Emma told me she was having trouble putting her feelings at her 17th birthday into words.
Open Adoption means no secrets. There is no secret to the reality that all we can do is try. Then try again. So we do.