LOVING BELLA EVERY DAY

Rose Decaen

My husband and I adopted a beautiful baby girl a few years ago. Her birthmother, Anne, had picked us. After looking at numerous profiles of waiting couples, she saw our picture and she knew we were the ones: the ones who would parent her child and love her with a love which, I am learning, doesn’t have any room for fear.

We met Anne shortly after our daughter, Bella, had been placed with us. We wanted to meet Anne, to see where this angel of ours had come from, to thank this woman who had given us life (an impossible thing, I know now).

Now that it was going to happen, a million thoughts raced through my mind, the most nagging one being, What if she wants her back?

But in a moment, I had the answer to that: Of course she does! What mother does not want to be with her child?

Then in the next moment, I knew that my fear didn’t matter. I knew that my love for Bella, and even for Anne, was greater. And I was amazed. For once in my life my love had silenced my fears.

In those four hours we spent with Anne, watching her hold our sleeping beloved one, a lifetime passed. We fell in love with Anne as we heard her story, her reasons for choosing us, her hopes for Bella. We fell apart as we tried to tell her that Bella was the best person who had ever happened to us. Toward the end, words failed us.

As Anne put Bella in my arms, she said, "I am just the mom. You are the mommy now." She turned to go and began to sob.

I felt my heart cry out, Love Anne, too. Love her well. So I stepped toward the door, held out Bella to her, and said, "I think she needs another kiss."

Anne turned and smiled; she kissed Bella on the forehead, then rushed out the door. What that last kiss cost her perhaps I’ll never know. That she was choosing love over fear I do know.

The day passed. The months passed. Pictures and letters were sent to Anne. No answers ever came, though I invited her to write. The date for her annual visit came and went; still no word. She was beginning to fade from my mind, though she was always in my heart.

Then came the day not so long ago when love and fear had to contend, again. Out of nowhere we received a call from our social worker at the agency: Bella’s birthfather, John, and Anne were a couple again. He wanted to meet Bella (he had never seen her, though he had known she was his child).

My world was rocked. A peaceful, sunny afternoon was suddenly dark. Fear was back. For a few days it was all that I tasted and breathed. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I heard, But what of love? And only my fear answered, But what of loss and pain and ache that has no end?

In those days of waiting to hear of a meeting, I was a distant mother, I think. I held Bella and cared for her; I played with her and took her for walks. But I could feel myself trying to put distance between us. Ridiculous. As if anything I did or didn’t do could lessen the love I have for her.

It was my husband who broke through the fear to find me. He spoke about how meeting with Bella’s birthfather would probably be a good thing for all of us.

"But what if . . . ," I asked, not willing to put the unthinkable into words.

"Then we deal with that," he said. "But think about what this will mean to Bella, to know that her birthfather wanted to meet her, to see her, to hold her, to let her know she was loved."

So it was that I came back to love again, that I looked at my daughter and imagined her 15 years old, asking questions, needing answers. "So my birthfather wanted to meet me but you didn’t. . . . " Love. I couldn’t escape it. I peeled away the fear; I felt raw. I agreed to move forward to arrange a meeting with John.

As before, the days passed. Now the months have begun to pass. Still no word. No phone call returned to the agency regarding a meeting with us. What does this mean? I’m not totally certain, but I know that John must have been . . . afraid.

What does this mean for me? That I live every day to the fullest and love Bella so much that sometimes my heart feels as if it will burst. That I will be open to whatever is waiting ahead on the road. Will John contact us again tomorrow—or next month—or next year? We can’t know. I do know that to meet Bella, to share a few hours of her life, is the only way that her birthfather can show his love for her now. And I know that I can’t deny my daughter love—not mine or anyone else’s.

—Rose Decaen is a free lance editor based in southern California. Decaen, her husband Chris, and Bella recently welcomed baby Isaac to the family.