They've been fewer and farther between, but I must remember that I still have days like this.
I was in a meeting, and a colleague announced that while she and her partner were not even halfway through the DSS-sponsored Foster to Adopt Classes (which I completed in 2009), they got the call that they would be getting a soon-to-be-born girl whose mother has already relinquished all rights to.
I sat there dumbfounded, with a smile plastered on my face. I congratulated her, and then walked as fast as was appropriate out of the room. It was raining, so I had to walk back to the office with my two friends. Molly held the umbrella over us and had her arm around, in her mind to keep me under the umbrella with her; in mine, to keep me from falling to my knees in tears.
That happened soon enough. I barely made it back to my office before the tears came, before I crumpled. I don't begrudge anyone. And good for this colleague and her partner and their new little baby. But how much more can I take? How much waiting? How many times can I feel passed over and still bounce back?
Most times when I've had this kind of self-pity breakdown, I've bounced back the next day. This time, it took longer. These years are wearing on me, they are taking their toll. I'm a different person, I'm becoming weary and a little worn.
Where once a good night's sleep snapped me out of it, this time, it was a couple nights.
I'm feeling very disconnected to Ethiopia. I thought one year on the waiting list would seem like a huge milestone. But the end is still so far away, it feels like I've just started the process.
I'm still waiting to finalize the domestic adoption process. I think once that happens, perhaps, I'll feel like I've taken another step forward. But once again, I'm feeling like I'm in limbo.
And perhaps that's what contributed to my little breakdown the other day. It just took me by surprise -- the strength of the pain and the staying power it had -- that I still have days like this.