My cycle of grief

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-Omar Khayyam

I mentioned this poem to a friend of mine last not too long ago. It's something that's stuck with me for a long time - since college, in fact, over eight years ago. The words both comfort and haunt me right now.

For our adoption to fall through when we were so close to finally being able to welcome a child into our home has been a painful thing both for Kev and myself this week. It would be easier if the birth mom had changed her mind and *wanted* to keep the baby. To know that she feels forced into a corner by the man who got her pregnant and she's making the decision out of fear and worry makes it harder for me. I have no doubt that she'll be as good a mom as she can possibly be, but this isn't what any of us wanted. And I die a little inside when I think of that beautiful baby girl being raised by someone who has a wonderful heart but neither the time nor the resources to give her what she will need.

And now, the 'big sister,' the 'mother bear,' the 'fixer,' has to sit back on her hands and watch other people make decisions that change my whole life. I'm truly powerless to do much of anything at this point unless Randi decides she wants to continue to fight to place the child with us. And I can't blame her if she can't continue that fight anymore.

I know there will be other children, other birth mothers, other adoptions. But this little girl was already wanted, prepared for and loved by us. And I'm having a hard time letting go.