At one of our visits at DHHS, I unexpectedly met Thorin’s biological mother at drop-off. I came through the door, holding him, and saw a woman talking to Michael. Michael gave a quick wave, and she turned toward us—my nemesis.
I walked toward her in what I hoped was a normal gait rather than what felt like staggering forward. We exchanged brief pleasantries. Then the three of them walked away. I called Sherry when I got home.
“I’m terrified we’re going to lose him,” I said.
“It’s an awful thing waiting,” she said. “It’s just awful. If you can, don’t give in completely to him. Protect yourself.”
When I returned to DHHS, Thorin’s biological mother had already left. I went through what now had become a ritual of the airplane game to get Thorin back in my arms. I asked Thorin how he was as I pulled out of the parking lot.
Nothing. Never anything. He stared out the window.
I asked if he wanted to go for ice cream. He made two thumbs-up in the backseat. No discussion necessary; we both liked ice cream.
A few days later, Ward and I had been copied on an email from DHHS that included an email from Don McCreedy. I found out from Linda he was the state’s attorney handling Thorin’s case. He would be arguing that Thorin be freed for adoption. His role was not ambiguous.
“I should talk to him,” I told her.
“No, you don’t need to do that. Besides, he’s very busy,” she said.
After I hung up, I immediately emailed him. I didn’t see the point in trying to convince Linda what I was doing was okay.
Dear Mr. McCreedy,
I wanted the opportunity to formally introduce myself to you. As you know, we are Thorin’s foster and hope-to-be-adoptive parents. We love Thorin. We can’t believe how lucky we are to have him and very much want to keep him. I would like to know how I could help make that a reality. I am sure this is a bit unorthodox and I know you are terribly busy.
Look forward to hearing from you!
Kari
I hit the send button and waited. Less than twenty minutes later, he emailed back with his phone number: “Please feel free to call me.”
I made sure Thorin couldn’t hear me and was totally engaged with SpongeBob when I made the call. The biggest piece of information was that this was not a slam dunk.
“I want this as much as you do,” he said. “That said, there’s no guarantee.”
“She hasn’t done anything, the court said . . .”
“Yeah,” he replied, “but the burden is on the state to prove its case, and it is a high standard to meet. Terminating parental rights is a very serious thing to do. The state must prove the birth parents’ unfitness above all, and, secondly, that termination is in the best interest of the child.”
“What can we do to help?”
“Take good notes. Document everything,” he said. “Be good parents. That’ll be easy.”
“How strong is the case?” I inquired.
“Good case.”
“Okay then. Thank you for talking with me.”
“You and Ward have the heavy lifting. Call or email me whenever you want.” Then he paused. “You’re going to hear this from Linda, anyway. . . . The court date is definitely not July.”
I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Why?”
“One of the witnesses has a family obligation out of the country,” he explained. “He is available by phone, but the mother’s attorney is fighting that. The judge will probably agree with her.”
“So when?”
“It could be September.”
“Could it be sooner?” I asked knowing that was unlikely.
“It could be November,” he said making me feel worse.
In spite of the uncertainty, we couldn’t help enjoying Thorin. He made the stress and fear worth it. Part of the fun and struggle was getting to know each other. There were the typical barriers to learning about your child plus others. We didn’t really speak the same language. He could for the most part understand me but couldn’t tell me what was on his mind. We didn’t know each other’s likes or dislikes.
I think some of my early bonding with him started in the grocery store. I like to eat while I shop. I picked up this habit from my dad. Not thinking one day, I opened a bag of Cheetos and started eating. Thorin made the sign for “eat,” so I gave him one of the Cheetos. By the time we got to the checkout, our hands and lips were covered in that weird Cheetos orange. I knew I was going overboard but I didn’t want to stop. I was the fun parent for a change.
The cashier commented, “Oh, look at you two and your orange faces!”
Thorin and I gave each other a high-five.
Cheetos became part of our regular shopping experience. During one shopping trip, a lady who looked like the kind of mother who monitored television watching and cooked nutritious meals was walking toward us in the diaper aisle. I almost closed the Cheetos bag and shoved them under the other groceries. Thorin and I had Cheetos in our hands, gritty with orange dust, when she reached us.
“Those aren’t good for him,” she said.
“I know, but he’s addicted to them.”
He and I cracked up. He didn’t understand what addicted meant but he did think I was funny. It was this cosmic moment where we got each other. I was a parent! Did I wish I had more to offer than crappy foodstuffs and wisecracking? Sure. But it was still an awesome thing.
I received special permission from DHHS to take Thorin to Wisconsin to see my mom. She had visited us the month before to meet Thorin. The trip turned into a six-day lovefest because they spent most of the visit cuddling. My
