The Phone Call


Our time in Prince Edward Island was grey.  The drive back was rainy.  We had decided to head home early.

Two hours from the border I looked at my phone.  I had turned off all calling features since we were out of the country . . . but there was a little circle letting me know that I had a voicemail.

The voicemail was from a particular city, and we both knew what that meant.

Andrew and I have been doing foster care since 2007.  That is six years now.  We primarily do short-term placements.  It is a good fit for us.  A few months ago we decided to say that we were open to adoption again. We did the switch in paperwork quietly and without fanfare. And we chose to walk forward with open hands, our motto.

This particular city that the phone call was from probably meant it was a call about fostering short-term . . . but we both knew that it could mean an adoption placement.  I did not say that outloud,  Andrew either.  We decided to just wait until we crossed back into Maine and were able to check the voicemail.

The time ticked by slowly and it rained.

When we did finally arrive at the border, the line of cars was long and there was a second voicemail, same number.

“You can check it and we can pay the extra dollar or whatever,” Andrew said watching me look at my phone.

“I can wait . . .”

As soon as we crossed into the states I started to call and Andrew made a wrong turn and  . . . we were all turned around.  I waited until we were cruising down 95 south.

It was our caseworker.  There was a baby.  An eight week old baby boy.  There were some medical issues.  They wanted to place him in a pre-adoptive home.  We were the first choice. Were we interested?  Should they look at other families?

At 3:00 on a Friday afternoon the phone-tag began and finally we just pulled over, put on the speakerphone and allowed the reality of the moment to sink in, if only for a few minutes.


Our family had an opportunity to grow . . .

. . . but there were medical issues

. . . but there would be a concurrent plan of reunification

He was eight weeks old.  He had spent the first part of his life in two hospitals and then had been living as a foster child with a nurse.

 . . . we had not been preparing for nine months, were we ready to shift everything for an infant?

. . . how would Cole react?

Our thoughts raced.

We recognized that phone call on the side of the road had the potential to change our lives.

And we chose to step forward into the unknown.


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