When I wrote about Cristoff only 5 weeks ago, I said that he was dying before our eyes. That was more true than I realized. Cristoff has passed away.
This happens, you know. Children die alone. And you know what? Children live alone too. Cristoff lived his whole life alone. And he suffered alone. And he was likely in pain while he was dying, and he was alone then too.
Sure, there are caretakers, but they don’t really care. Not most of them anyways. Seeing Cristoff’s decline in health through pictures would suggest that no one cared. They did what was necessary to keep him alive. Until they didn’t.
And I feel guilty. I’ve thought of him so many times. Maybe we should have gone for him; added the “triplet” to our boys born in 2011. I’d be lying if said I hadn’t thought about it. We could have gotten there fast; he could have been home a long time ago, enjoying a mom and a dad, and three brothers. He could have gotten healthy and could have spent this summer playing in the backyard and getting ready for preschool or kindergarten.
But we didn’t. Really, I didn’t. I didn’t even think of it seriously enough to bring it up to Ryan.
So I’ll have to let that sit. I’ll have to let it test my conscience.
You didn’t go get him either. Maybe you should let his death test your conscience.
These are the harsh realities we have to face when we say “no” to adoption. Our choices have real consequences. There are real children, waiting for us. So when we say no, we better be damn sure we have a good reason.