I felt the stares as I walked into the abortion clinic with my 3 year old son on my hip. I walked slowly to the front desk with my head down low to start a process that I'm so grateful I never finished. My innocent son played happily as I sat in the silence. The only time the silence broke was when the door opened, and the bell jingled. Everyone in the room sank a little lower in their chairs, knowing we were all there for the wrong reasons. Hopeless women I would never see again, and babies that would never be born. My name was called. My pregnancy scare was now a reality. “I’m gonna kill myself” I said out loud. The women behind the counter giggled, “We will take care of you, don’t worry.” I got up and walked out.
I buckled my son into his car seat, tears rolling down my face. All I could think about was what the father of my baby was going to say. I'm black, and he is white. Was he going to hate me, or think this is a cry for help? I screamed a little, cried a lot, and finally built up enough courage to call him. He ignored my calls a few times and then he finally answered. I told him and the arguments began. “You’re going to ruin my life” he yelled over and over as he begged me to go back and get the abortion. Soon, his parents called me and said words that pierced through my heart, "Boo hoo Dominique. What do you want me to do? Don't ever reach out to us again. We don't mix races."
I constantly wondered why God was doing this to me. I scrolled through my contacts, trying to find who would listen and help me. I came across the name of a woman who would forever change my life, Traci. I sent her a text that said, “What does God's forgiveness look like if I have an abortion?" We spoke over the next few months as she shared the gospel with me and introduced the concept of adoption. I immediately refused. I continued to set up appointments for abortions, cancelling each one when I couldn't raise enough money to pay for them. It wasn’t until after I set up the last time that I failed to raise the money that I decided there was meant to be more to this story. At this point, I was 6 months pregnant. I knew I couldn’t afford an abortion and I definitely couldn’t afford a new baby. For weeks I searched through profiles of prospective families, but I came up empty handed. Every time I tried to figure out who would be the perfect parents, I felt that no one was ever good enough. With Traci's help, I met my birth son's future parents, and fell in love with them the first time we met.
In the last few months of my pregnancy, I thought the time was dragging and couldn't wait for it to be over. I slept all day and all night hoping today would be the day. One night as I walked to my bed, with my baby in my belly, my water broke. It was time! I was so excited. Everything happened so fast that the adoptive parents weren't able to make it in time. Before I knew it, the doctor was handing me this screaming, beautiful baby boy. At first, I thought he wasn't mine.
Then, as I looked into a face that came from me, I realized something. Of course he is mine. He's their son to love and to hold, but and he is also my son to love and to hold. I often say that I love and hate my adoption. I cry, I laugh; I'm happy and then I'm sad. I have unlimited emotions surrounding my adoption: anxiety, fear, regret, sadness... but also unbelievable joy, excitement, and thankfulness. Sometimes when I feel like I'm recovering and healing, in the blink of an eye I feel like I take 100 steps back. Adoption is a rollercoaster. But it stems from unconditional love. When it comes to that little boy, my love is boundless. This is my story. I own it. This is my life and my heart. My adoption is me.