Our social worker's voice quivers as she tells us that the birth mother has not given birth yet, but has decided to parent.
I can't believe it. I can't believe this is happening.
There's not much else to tell us. I'm not really sure anything else at that point would have sunk in. I feel like a grenade has gone off beside me.
We hang up with her, and it's just us on the line. I'm crying. Sobbing. The cleaning staff is nearby, emptying out the garbage bins in the next aisle over, but at this point, I really don't care who sees my grief. I am probably scaring them but I don't care.
We go into a crazed "we need to tell everyone that we told now" moment. My husband says he needs to talk to his sister, to hear her voice. He sounds broken, but adamant. While he's on the phone breaking the news to her, I get an email from the adoption agency requesting that they talk to us. We set up another conference call, me in my lonely cubicle, everyone else at home. More of the same about how she changed her mind, that she felt really really bad about it (I believe this to be true), and how our meeting with them the day before went as perfect as it could be. And they stressed that we did nothing wrong, that this was just how the cards fell.
My husband and I are left again on the phone, alone in our grief. He insists on coming to pick me up, refusing my suggestion that I just cab it home. He makes a few phone calls first, to tell our loved ones of what happened, before he comes to pick me up. I sob all the way home, interspersed with "I expletive can't believe this is happening... "
I fall asleep clutching my childhood teddy bear.
