Weeping Willow, Claude Monet

The following reflection was written by Willow.

One of the losses that has become part of my story is the loss of a common experience with other women: I have not been pregnant and will never be pregnant. I do not know what it feels like to carry a baby in my body, feel him move inside me, deliver him into the world.

I remember talking to an acquaintance about my infertility and she quickly tried to console me, saying “Well, at least you don’t have to deal with morning sickness!” I thought to myself, “I would give anything to deal with morning sickness right now.” When my mom friends start talking about what it was like to be pregnant, I immediately become a spectator instead of a participant. I listen with curiosity, not resentment. But the familiar feeling of loss is right there with me every time.

Connected to this is another loss: I will never have a child that looks like me. In the adoption world, this is called “the loss of mirrors.” My brother’s daughter has my granddaddy’s red hair. My sister’s kid has her daddy’s adorable scrunchy face. I will never know what traits a biological child might have gotten from me. I have a beautiful, almond-skin, black haired little boy who looks nothing like anyone in my family or my husband’s family. No one picks me out of a crowd as my son’s mommy.

Everyone loves to make those biological connections–“Oh, she looks just like her mommy when she was little.” Or, “He has his daddy’s thick hair.” Again, I become a spectator of these exchanges, listening patiently from a distance. I think it’s important to note that this particular loss is part of my son’s story as well, if not more so. He will never have the comfort of seeing himself reflected in my face. Looking like one’s family brings an unspoken sense of belonging that my son will never know.

It’s uncomfortable and often socially unacceptable to mention anything negative when it comes to adoption, but these are significant losses. It has nothing to do with my love for my son or his acceptance in my family. There is both great joy and great loss in adoption–to acknowledge one without the other is to paint an incomplete picture of a complicated, messy, beautiful thing.