Today I had to go pick up my youngest son, Zion, from school, fly over to my oldest son’s, Tai’s, cross country meet, then fly home to get Zion dressed for football practice, then fly up to the school to pick up Tai once the bus dropped him off after the cross country meet, then take Zion to football, fly back home so Tai could shower before church and then take Tai to church. Then I will fly back to pick up the Zion from football and fly back to church to pick up Tai. All this without a “thank you,” or even recognition that this crazy run, on a never stopping treadmill, is appreciated.
“This is sacrifice,” I say to myself.
Then an episode of Adoption Diaries, on WE TV comes to mind. I remember seeing the birth mother convulsing, with each breath, as she is sobbing uncontrollably as the adoptive parents get in their car with her baby. Immediately, I think of my birth mother and wonder how she reacted when I was taken away. Over these past 42 years, since she never tried to track me down or find me, I always assumed she didn’t really care. I pictured her nonchalantly giving me up and never thinking about me again; out of sight, out of mind.
This 30 second clip made me think differently. Putting myself in the birth parents role, I pictured having to give away one of the children I have become a chauffer to, and I gain a clearer understanding. No way can a parent give up a child and walk away unaffected. No way can a mother, who carried me for nine months, walk away like it never happened.
My thoughts flew to, “how could you do it?” The pain of giving away a child has to be deep, like a paper cut to the soul. Given up a child is not easy.
“This is REAL sacrifice,” I say to myself.