This weekend our donor’s parents are coming over to meet our daughter for the first time. I have no idea how it will go. I trust our donor 150%, otherwise I would not be up for this meeting. Before I could even say the words, he articulated what I was going to ask for: that they follow our lead after this meeting. We’ll see how it goes and how we’re feeling and we’ll be in touch if we’d like to get together again. This could be the start of our daughter having two additional people who become part of her web of loving support- which includes my parents, my spouse’s parents, my siblings, my spouse’s siblings, my auntie, a long line of cousins, and a few friends who are integrally involved in her life and have thus been named “Uncles.” Or, it could be one meeting. I just don’t know.
It’s strange- I don’t feel trepidation about this meeting. I just feel like we’re walking into the unknown. I was not necessarily ready to take this step before this time, thus our waiting for nearly three years. I think it’s a culmination of the trust we’ve build up with our donor, my spouse and I working on strengthening our relationship and communicating with one another until we fully understood and respected each others’ concerns about meeting them. I could be being naive, but I feel safe about this meeting. A big part of me feels like my daughter can never have too much love. It reminds me of when I did my first ten day silent meditation retreat. It was hard- brutally hard. My ass hurt, my brain was driving me crazy, my back ached, and I convinced myself that I was getting lock jaw because my jaw kept clicking every time I would eat during meal time. In the silence of that mess hall I listened to that dull click in my head and I was sure I was walking out of that retreat center not talking even after silence was broken.
But I also had great epiphanies and moments of such ecstatic joy I am certain that I had tiny glimpses of what is referred to as nirvana. In one of those moments I had such a clear, intense thought that it kept beating through me like a pulse coursing through my body: you have an infinite amount of love to offer. you have an infinite amount of love to offer. you have an infinite amount of love to offer. It wasn’t even words really. As I sat there with tears streaming down my face, my eyes pressed tight, but my neck wet with tears, I had a knowing in my entire body. There I was at that center because I had suffered a heartbreak I was convinced I would never heal from and I could see more clearly than I ever could before that one’s heart is never fully broken. Our capacity for love is infinite. So I take that into this weekend. I could latch onto my insecurities around not having carried and birthed our daughter… around the fact that she doesn’t carry any of my genetic material or biology… that she doesn’t look a thing like me, even by a stretch. And yet, I choose to not take that path. I choose to be open to the possibility of even more love in my daughter’s life. Or at the very least, exploring the option.