Allyson’s Adoption Story

For years following the adoption, I wondered how she was doing. Was she loved? Was she cared for like I hoped? Did she know about me? There was a huge hole in my heart as I ached over my decision and its consequences. Through years of therapy, I was able to forgive myself and trust in the decision I made. By that time, I had married and started a family of my own. My husband knew about my first adopted daughter and how important it was for me to have her in my life, if she chose to do so in the future. I always updated my contact information with the adoption agency as my family moved from state to state, hoping one day she would search for her biological mother.

After 18 long years, she finally found me. The adoption agency counselor contacted me and said, “Do you know why I’m calling?” I replied, “I hope it’s because my daughter wants to know me.” I was correct. She was ready to begin the process. 

It started out very slowly and carefully with the counselor as mediator between us until my daughter was comfortable communicating with me personally. Once she felt ready, we began texting and calling each other almost every day. She wanted to know all about me, and I wanted to know everything I could about her. She assured me she was deeply loved and cared for, in fact spoiled, by her parents. She had a wonderful childhood full of great memories with her brother, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends. She always knew she was adopted, as her parents decided to tell her at a young age, but it never affected her negatively. I was relieved that she was so well adjusted and happy with her life. Deep down, I desperately needed to know that she was okay. Thankfully, she was more than okay. She was wonderful. 

After a few months of communicating through text and phone calls, we decided it was time to meet. We agreed that it should only be the two of us for our first encounter so that we could get to know one another on a more personal level. She lived in a different state, so we planned to meet where it was halfway for each of us to drive. Anxiously, I arrived at the spot and waited for her. My heart was racing and my palms were sweating. She walked toward me, and I ran to her with my arms open wide. We embraced in our first of many hugs. We spent the entire day together talking and laughing and crying. We learned about each other, our similarities and our differences. We shared stories and pictures. And, when the time came for us to go back home, we promised to plan another get together soon.

So, we did. Through the following years, she came to visit me and my family. And my family traveled to visit her. My children adored their big sister and wanted to be with her all the time. My husband supported our relationship and even called her his step-daughter. We grew to have a deep friendship over time and our bond strengthened with each visit. She kept me informed on everything that was happening in her life, and made me feel welcomed and loved. We were together again. It was all I ever wanted. 

In October of 2019 after 6 years of building our relationship, my firstborn daughter fell ill. She thought she had the flu and assured me she would be ok. However, her symptoms worsened with a high fever, labored breathing, a racing heartbeat, and hallucinations. Her mother and father, worried about her deterioration, rushed her to the Emergency Room. She texted me saying, “I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m in the ER. They’re running tests, but I’ll be fine.” We quickly learned that she wasn’t fine. She had contracted a serious blood infection that had been plaguing her for weeks. The infection terribly damaged her lungs and heart, so much so that she needed emergency heart surgery to repair what the doctors called a “golf ball-sized hole in her heart and infected valves.” She was put into a coma and intubated so that her body could rest while being transported by ambulance hundreds of miles away to the only cardiovascular surgeon available to perform the complicated and life-saving surgery. Within hours, I booked a flight and rushed to the hospital to be by her side, along with her mother, father, aunt, and best friend. Sitting in the CICU waiting room, we all prayed for a successful surgery and speedy recovery. Following a gruesome 12-hour surgery, the physician came out saying, “She’s alive, but she’s still very sick.” We were grateful she made it through the surgery but understood it would be a long road ahead. 

While sitting together in the CICU, waiting for updates, her family and I got a chance to talk about her life. They showed me baby pictures of her that I never got a chance to see before. They shared stories about her childhood, her love of animals and music, her first boyfriend, her desire to protect the earth and her hope for equality. She wanted to change the world and make it a better place. We celebrated our daughter together, the beautiful spirit and kind soul we were so fortunate to know and love. After a few days, we were allowed to gather by her bedside, hold her hand, talk to her, and pray over her while she lay unconscious hooked up to machines. The nurse assured us that she could hear us. As I brushed her hair with my hand, I whispered in her ear, “We’re all here, darling, your mom, dad, and me. We’re all here together. We all love you so much.” Unfortunately, my daughter never got the chance to see us all there. She never woke up. The infection had done too much damage to her heart and lungs, and her body was too weak to keep up the fight. At only 25 years old, my firstborn daughter passed away on November 7, 2019. 

Her passing devastated me, my husband, my daughters, her adopted family and hundreds of her friends. However, in our grieving, we realized how very lucky we were to have had her in our life if only for just a short time. She gave me much more than she’ll ever know. She gave me a peace I would have never received if I hadn’t met her. She healed the gaping 18-year-old hole in my heart. I will miss her every day for the rest of my life, but I will forever be grateful for the gift of knowing her. 

I understand that not all adoption stories are the same. Some children never know they’re adopted, some children feel abandoned by the parents who opted for adoption, and some children never have the chance to meet their biological parents. I was blessed to have had the opportunity to meet my adopted daughter and graciously thank her family for giving her a beautiful life. The decision I made as a young, scared teenager to choose adoption touched so many lives. It completed a family for two very deserving parents. It offered a baby girl a better upbringing and a loving home. It gave me time to become the kind of parent a child needs. It sent a best friend to a lonely soul. It gave the world a champion in a selfless, kind spirit. Because of this I can finally, and without hesitation, say that adoption was the right choice for me. 

Connect with us on Instagram @MapsCookingKids or on Twitter @MapsCookingKids. Until next time, Agape, be kind, and happy parenting.