Adoption= Sweepstakes Part 2
Continued from Adoption = Sweepstakes Part 1
A petite blonde bounces in step beside you. If she could sparkle, she likely would. “All ready? We need to get you in a suit. Right this way. We’re so excited you’ve joined our little crew! Did you receive all the training and prep materials?” You mumble, “training materials?” and wonder if the confetti your dog left on the porch eleven weeks ago might have been more than a stray catalogue.
Blondie stops bouncing. “Um. You didn’t receive the training? Oooohhhh. Well…I’m sure you’ll be fine. The manual was mainly emergency protocol information, but we’ve never had a problem, so I’m sure it will be…great!”
You stare again at the ship. Up at the ship. Way up.
Somehow, you had failed to catch one small, infinitely important detail. Plenty of space. Cruise among the stars, on a ship. A SPACE ship.
Blondie hands you off to a crew member as an automatic door opens, gliding silently into the wall. “I’m Brice. Please come in quickly; your suit is waiting, and others are already aboard.” You step into the cold, over-conditioned air.
“Hey, wait, Brice,” you begin, “I didn’t really plan for this. In fact, I lost weight, got a tan, and even learned how to perform water rescues. I’m supposed to be on a cruise. I have ten bathing suits. I had…they’re in Minnesota. I prepared. The letter said CRUISE SHIP!”
Brice shakes his head. “The flyer said you would be cruising on our newest ship, yes, but did you read the back? We included a detailed description of the entire space flight.” You start to argue, then realize…it’s true.
In your excitement, you never read the back of the flyer. He grimaces. “You’ve already signed all the waivers and a contract for being in our advertisements during the trip. I’m sorry, but if you back out now, our legal department will be in touch. This contest cost our company millions.”
Feeling dizzy and a little sick, you allow Brice and his assistant to help you into the bulky suit. Dazed, you climb through the ship’s hatch. Crew members ratchet you tightly to a form-fitting chair. Your eyes blur. This isn’t what you signed up for, but you’re stuck. Maybe you can make the best of it.
As the ship’s propulsion kicks in, you realize there is no “best of it.” You are smashed into your seat by an unseen hand. Your eyes feel as though they will pop out of your head. Through the back of your skull. You can’t breathe. You’re going to be sick. Your heart is exploding. Your ears pop with unbelievable pain and pressure. You’re choking on your tongue. This is absolutely the most horrific event of your life.
If you’d had any idea of the pain, you would have endured the lawyers to avoid it. Come to think of it, you would have never signed up for the contest if you’d known the result. Nothing could have prepared you for this. Nothing.
You’re in space. Crew members float over to loosen your straps. You glide to the window. Nothing could have prepared you for this, either.
No words can adequately or accurately describe this experience. Your heart is once again exploding, but this time with joy, gratitude, wonder.
If someone had told you ahead of time about the pain of the journey, you would have done anything possible to avoid it. Now that you know the truth of the destination, you would endure the pain again. The useless preparations are forgotten. The pain, forgotten.
You know that the atmosphere re-entry is going to be difficult. It will be uncomfortably hot. Turbulence like you’ve never experienced before. Probably more tears. Possibly a panic attack or two. The knowledge that you have no control. Splashdown in the sea, then the wait for rescue, which will not come fast enough for comfort, but will be in time for survival.
Now, though, you focus on the beauty. For this moment, you’re dancing among the stars.
Whether adoption is our first choice, it’s never what we expect. Being “chosen” to adopt sometimes feels like winning a contest…one you didn’t fully understand when you signed up. It’s easy to become jealous of “the others” who have never gone through the pain, the waiting, the disappointment, the difficulty. Adopting a child with special needs can magnify those feelings. However, if we give in to the idea of “what could have been,” we can easily miss the beauty of “what is.” Celebrate the small victories: real smiles, a recognized letter or word, genuine hugs, a followed direction. Realize that although life is not exactly what we expected, it’s sometimes more than we could have imagined. More tears, more frustration, more helplessness, more devastation, more work. More love, more hope, more surprises, more laughter, more victories. And when things aren’t going exactly “according to plan,” remember that there WILL be many moments to dance among the stars.