Thorin started out the meeting in Sherry’s lap. I was curious if Thorin was following the conversation. Did he realize the gravity of it?
The meeting started off focusing on why we wanted to adopt a child with Down syndrome. Karen, the GAL retained by the state to ensure Thorin’s best interests were met, was fairly direct.
“Why would you want to do this? Why do you think this is for you?”
“We just know he’s the one,” I offered.
“Can you be more specific than that?” she asked.
“Well, it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal . . .” I said, looking at Ward for more words. Being asked to defend why you want your child wasn’t a normal question, it appeared, unless your child had Down syndrome. Why couldn’t we love him freely without question?
Linda cocked her head in my direction and cut in.
“Susan, these are two educated and motivated people. They don’t have other children. They could devote themselves entirely to him. That’s what Thorin needs. Dedication. That’s what they bring.”
I had to admit that sounded pretty good—and frightening. The conversation moved on to how Thorin would be introduced to our home. Fifteen minutes or so into the meeting, Thorin edged out of Sherry’s lap and moved to the table. He sat there silently then pushed himself the couple of feet over in front of Ward and me. He sat Buddhalike, moving his eyes from one of us to the other. It was clear we were being vetted. My first thought was “Our kid has serious balls!”
My love for Thorin had grown over the months leading up to that day. I was his mother when we walked through that door. Ward wanted him as much as I did, but I think he had not yet become his dad. That morning I watched Ward fall in love with Thorin. He held Thorin’s small hands and beamed, then promptly and completely checked out. At one point, someone asked Ward a direct question.
“Listen,” I said, “in case none of you have noticed, he’s gone all daddy-o. I can answer for both of us.”
After going over all the legalese and signing a million forms, Sherry and I set up the visitation schedule. We would visit him at her house over the next few weeks in preparation for him moving into our home. Our first visit would be the following day.
Once the logistics were covered, there wasn’t anything else to talk about. Ward and I both tried to drag out the meeting with questions. It was as if we were on a terrific date and neither of us wanted to say goodbye. Linda took pity on us.
“I still have a little time. Do you want to take Thorin to lunch?” she asked. “Sherry and I can supervise.”
“Yes! Great!” I said. I might have said it a tad too loud because Thorin put his hands over his ears.
“Why don’t you two take him in your car?” Sherry suggested. “Linda and I can drive together.”
She brought Thorin’s bag and car seat over to us. Ward and I looked at each other. We had no idea how a car seat worked. Beginning when she was nineteen years old, Sherry had been a parent to over forty children—biological, adopted, and foster. She was in her sixties and found our lack of car-seat skills very funny. While she instructed Ward, I held Thorin easily against my hip with both arms around him. He looked up at me squinting.
“We don’t know anything about car seats,” I said.
Thorin nodded his head and yawned.
At McDonald’s, we were chaperoned discretely. Ward and I sat with Thorin alone at our own table while Linda and Sherry sat a few feet away. Thorin was in a high chair, and we sat on either side of him. Most of our conversation was about food.
“Do you like the pickles?” I asked.
He shook his head no.
“Well, let’s get rid of those, Buddy,” said Ward as he pulled them off.
“Do you like ketchup?” I asked.
He nodded yes.
“Lots of it then, right?” said Ward.
“Kari, is that you?” I looked up to see a donor from the film festival I directed standing in front of me. For some reason, my first thought was how I would explain we take our kid to McDonald’s.
“I told Mel it was you,” she said. “We never come here, but the grandkids love it. What can you do, right?”
“Right,” I said.
She stood clearly waiting for an introduction.
“Shirley, this is my husband and . . .”
I was stumped.
I stood up and put my hand in front of my face so Thorin couldn’t see and whispered ever so quietly, “And this is our son who we just met this morning and are adopting.”
She screamed. Thorin and Ward jumped in their seats.
Linda shook her head, sternly making a cutting motion below her neck.
“Do you have pictures? A camera?” Shirley asked.
“No,” I said as I shook my head.
“I’m going to go get my camera!”
I didn’t look to see Linda’s expression. I wanted photos of this day. We had been told not to bring a camera. To Shirley’s credit, she tried to be discrete.
“I don’t want to overwhelm him,” she said. “Oh, he’s adorable. I could just eat him up!”
When we left, Sherry walked alongside Ward and Thorin. I hung back with Linda explaining to her my interaction with Shirley. She cut me off.
“Don’t say that.”
“Say what?” I asked.
“Don’t say you’re adopting him. He’s not free for adoption, not technically, anyway.”
I hated hearing that.
“What should we say?”
“Say you are his foster parents.”
My heart sank. It sounded so impermanent.
Ward and I said goodbye to Thorin in the parking lot. The urge to hug and kiss him was great for both of us, but how would he feel? So
