Bringing Lily home

The social worker meets us at the foster parents house. She gives us photos of the birth parents, but I barely glimpse at them, determined to keep my emotions under control. Then a letter to the baby about them, I try to skim through this, but the ending catches my eye,

“I told your birth parents about your mum and dad and how much they wanted you. They were very happy that you had a family to love you.....

I hope you will be happy always.

God bless you Lily Sarah.”

My eyes fill with tears and speechlessly I hand the letter to Paul.

The foster mother has written out the baby’s usual routine and gives us this along with her two bags of possessions. It is poignant seeing this child reduced to two small duffel bags.

She dresses the baby in the hat I’ve knitted her, kisses her goodbye, then hands her over to me. We’re both crying now.

“Go quickly now”, she says, “No matter how often I do this, I can't get used to it. And if you could let me know how she is.........just once.........”

I nod and hug her, then stumble to the car. With fumbling inefficiency I strap the baby into the car seat. Then weeping and waving, we start the long journey home.

As we arrive home everything seems different, it’s as though I’ve been away for years and years and am returning to my life from a very different place. The same feeling I had bringing the others home from the maternity hospital. It’s reassuring to find a similarity between birth and adoption.

Once I’m inside, the urge to change the baby’s clothing becomes overwhelming. I remove all her clothes and the perfectly dry nappy. It’s the first time I’ve seen her naked. She has a potbelly and her skin is dry and mottled, bluish in colour.

I wash her all over then dress her in the outfit I’ve taken so long over choosing.

“You are Lily”, I say, “You are going to be my daughter.”