Article: "The Comfort of Condolences"

OK, I know this is my third (!) post in about 24 hours, but I read something today that I wanted to share. The Globe & Mail has wonderful personal essays every weekday on the back page of the Life section... and I thought this one from today was so true... it's about the death of a parent (which in some ways is such a different experience than the loss of a baby), but the feelings of grief & loss, & appreciation of kind gestures from friends & neighbours, is universal, I think...

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/factsandarguments

Facts & Arguments: THE ESSAY
The comfort of condolences
They sent food and flowers, mailed cards, called and lined up at the visitation to offer words of support. Some of them didn't even know my father
HAYLEY LINFIELD
submissions: facts@globeandmail.com
March 27, 2008

The first dish to arrive was baked chicken, breaded and full of flavour.

Then came soup - hearty vegetable and beef. A variety of lasagnas followed, at least four. One neighbour even called to make sure we all liked mushrooms.

More chicken arrived, this time with rice and gravy, followed by homemade macaroni and cheese. (For the kids, she said.)

And of course there were desserts - cookies, butter tarts, Nanaimo bars and a wide variety of muffins. One neighbour even brought over fresh-baked bread, heavy and dense with whole grains - an entire meal in itself.

Fruit plates, vegetables with dip and rolls arrived. The freezers were full, the fridges overflowing.

One neighbour plowed the long driveway and parking area, even after only a few inches of snow had fallen. Others stopped by to offer condolences and tell my mother to call if she needed anything at all.

My father's fairly sudden death at only 67 prompted this outpouring of generosity. He had so much living left to do, so many memories left to create.

His oldest grandchild is not yet 4, too young for Grandpa to have left a lasting, clearly defined mark on this child's mind. He might be able to retain some memory of him if helped along with stories, but the two-year-old and the baby will only know their grandfather from photos.

My father was outside playing on his tractor, pushing snow around and having a whirl of a time only a few weeks before he died of cancer; he was singing songs with his grandsons only the day
before.

Perhaps that is why so many neighbours, many of whom barely knew my father - he rarely stepped foot inside the tiny church, the centre of our rural community - brought food or offered assistance. I suppose we, the living, feel such helplessness in the face of death, so undiscriminating, that we want to do something, anything, to offer support. Few can offer plowing services, but many can offer food.

Those who live far away sent flowers - grand pink lilies, coral-coloured roses, potted daisies and shy African violets. People who didn't even know my father, who had never met him, sent cards and notes to tell me their thoughts were with my family and me.

Some drove long distances, more than two hours each way, simply to give me a hug and offer their condolences to my mother. Others who knew my father but who had never met me lined up for ages to tell me how he had affected their lives.

I have never placed much importance on sympathy cards. I always mean to send one but then it slips my mind. Once in a while I manage to write a note but find I am out of stamps, so the letter languishes for months in a pile of clutter or stuffed deep and forgotten in my purse. How could a few words from me, likely stock phrases anyway, lend any comfort to people who have lost someone close to them?

But I have discovered that words of condolence are important. They do provide comfort. All the phone calls, the notes and cards, the flowers, all those who came to the visitation simply to shake my hand and introduce themselves, or to offer a hug and a story about my father, somehow made me feel better. And although she is tired and emotionally drained, I know my mother feels the same way.

Perhaps their words and support help to normalize the concept of death. The idea of having life and all it entails and then, suddenly, not having it is difficult to wrap one's head around. Knowing that others understand this loss has helped me realize that I don't have to explain it, because it is inexplicable.

I don't have to make sense of his death, because death just is. It happens to all of us. The support and sympathy of friends and neighbours has let me focus instead on my father's life, which was the incredible thing, rather than the fact that he is gone.

My father was not religious, nor am I. I do not require words of eternal life, heaven or angels to make myself feel better. We did not have a funeral for Dad; he made it clear he did not want one. But knowing that he touched the lives of others, either directly or through me or my family, is enough to help me come to terms with his death.

If my father now exists only in the minds, the hearts and the memories of those who knew him, then the fact that others are affected by his death or simply by my loss must mean that in those thoughts he lives on.

I have learned a little bit about mourning, and I am thankful to all the people who offered their support, no matter how small. The next time someone I know loses a family member, I will be sure to send at least a note, if not a savoury chicken casserole.

Hayley Linfield lives in Toronto.

"Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200."

One of the childfree after infertility boards that I lurk on posed this question: how have you changed your life since you made the decision to live childfree?

I'd like to say that dh & I decided to chuck our jobs & go to Africa to feed starving children, or some such noble gesture. Or that, without the expense of raising and educating children to worry about, we downsized our lifestyle so that we could retire extra early (maybe to a rustic cottage somewhere) to write novels. Or something.

The truth is, our lives really haven't changed that much in the almost 7 years since we decided to stop treatment. I mean, they have, & they haven't. You can't go through stillbirth & infertility without it touching your life, especially inwardly. There are scars that we bear, even if they're not visible to most people. And I like to think that some good has come out of Katie's brief existence. I like to think that, because of her, I'm a more compassionate person, more sensitive to others' pain & at least a little better at dealing with it. Perhaps we spend our time a little bit differently -- we volunteer for a pregnancy loss support group and I spend a lot of time on the Internet on pregnancy loss, infertility & childless living sites -- none of which we would have done, had we had children, I'm sure.

But in many, many respects, our lives have not really changed a great deal over the past decade. We still get up at 5 a.m, ride the commuter train into our same old jobs in the city, return home again around 5:30 p.m., and go to bed by 10. We can (usually) work late when the boss asks us to, because we don't have to worry about picking the kids up from daycare. We spend our weekends however we please (well, cleaning & laundry aside), instead of shepherding kids to hockey practice and ballet lessons. We spend Saturday nights browsing the shelves at Chapters, Starbucks in hand, and Sunday afternoons at the movies. We indulge in buying scads of books, because we don't have to buy school uniforms or diapers or Transformers (do kids still play with Transformers??). We sleep in late on weekends & holidays... because we can! Unlike most of our peers, we don’t have to worry about daycare arrangements, school matters, homework, soccer practice or playdates. Our life is not structured around the rhythms of the school day or calendar.

I suppose some people envy us for our freedom. Truthfully, I sometimes think our life could be a tad more exciting -- but both dh & I are very much homebodies & creatures of habit. Yes, we could chuck it all and run off to live on a beach in Polynesia -- or even decide on Friday at noon that we're going to fly to New York for the weekend -- but we don't & probably won't, because that's really not "us."

The thing is -- the structure of our lives may not have changed very much. But the point is, we wanted it to change. We were ready for it to change. We had established our careers, bought a house in suburbia & gotten a start on paying down the mortgage. We did the "DINKs in the city" thing. We were ready to embrace 2 a.m. feedings & sippy cups. We were ready to turn the spotlight over to a new generation, to have the world revolve around someone else besides ourselves for a change.

And yet here we are, stuck back in the land of the eternally childless/free, while everyone around us is moving on, skipping happily off down the yellow brick road of family life, picking up one child after another along the way, sharing new kinds of experiences with other parents -- and not giving those of us left behind much thought. (I keep thinking of Monopoly: "Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200." Sitting in "jail" & waiting out a turn, while everyone else advances around the board & gets richer.)

The big question that anyone trying to live childfree after loss & infertility has to face is, "If I'm not going to be a parent, what am I going to do with the rest of my life?" We're still trying to figure that one out, & I have a feeling that it's going to be a lifelong process.

It's not like it's such a bad life, with just the two of us. We had a pretty good life together for the almost 13 years before I got pregnant and -- the lingering effects of dealing with infertility, loss & grief aside -- the almost 7 years since we stopped treatment haven't been that bad either. Things have pretty much continued on the same way they always have.

But it's a very different life than the one we had expected to be leading.

March 27-April 5, 1998: Mom visits

(Sorry, I don't know why I can't get any spacing between the paragraphs...??)

My mother arrived for her annual spring break visit via train at Toronto's Union Station on a very mild Friday night, March 27th, at 9:35 p.m. She could hardly contain her excitement & happiness when she saw & hugged us. (I, on the other hand, could hardly keep my eyes open.) As we waited for her luggage to arrive, person after person came up to congratulate me. "What, did you tell the whole train??" I asked.

Almost as soon as we got home, I went to bed. Earlier in the day, I noted in my datebook, I had had more spotting and felt a "stitch" in my right side.

The next day, there was more pinkish spotting, although no cramping. I can remember being upset, & my mother saying something along the lines of, "if it's meant to be, it will be." I pored over my copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" to see what it had to say, & finally decided to call my family dr through his answering service. He called me back right away & reassured me that spotting was normal & told me to just take it easy.

BIL & family came over that night, bearing congratulatory presents -- a baby's cap and small stuffed toy. Our two nephews, then 5 & 9, had already said they hoped the baby was a boy, but inside the card, the older one had carefully printed, "[We] will love the baby very much, even if it is a girl." lol

Later we went to cousin/neighbour's house. They gave us a card & their 4-year-old had drawn a card for us -- me & dh (complete with glasses) & a baby inside my tummy, labelled "Baby" (which you can see at the top of this page). It's one of my favourite keepsakes. Another cousin came over & brought us another tiny cap, sleeper and baby socks. These are some of the very few baby things that I have as keepsakes from my pregnancy.

There was a big thunderstorm that evening and, as it cleared and as we stood on the front porch, we spotted a double rainbow in the sky. What else could that be but a sign that all would be well in the end?

Sunday, I had more brownish-pink spotting & some mild cramping. My mother was keen to check out the local Sunday flea market. I decided to stay put, so dh drove her there while I took a nap. When she returned, she had a bag full of goodies, including a few children's books, an Anne Geddes baby photo album, and a denim-look India cotton dress in an extra-large size that she thought would make a good maternity dress for me.

I had taken the next week off work to spend time with Mom. Monday, we stayed at home & baked cookies. My family dr's office called to see how I was doing (he's really great that way). I still had some brownish-pink discharge in the morning.

Tuesday, we went to the local mall &, as I had suggested to my mother, hit the maternity wear shop. I knew she would love the experience, and besides, I couldn't believe it, but my pants were already feeling tight on me. I remember buying a two-piece silky navy pantsuit with matching top (which I tried on with a pillow underneath to simulate how it would look on me in the next trimester), & an ivory coloured blouse from the sale rack -- my first maternity clothes. I also bought a pair of drawstring palazzo pants at Fairweather's -- navy with tiny white & yellow flowers on them, size XL. (I wore these even after my pregnancy, until I got holes in them -- they were incredibly comfortable.)

Wednesday morning we got up extra early & took the train into the city. I had tickets for us to attend a taping of "Cityline," a daily talk show -- something we often did when my mom came to visit. I don't remember a thing about who the guests were, but I remember I wore the new denim dress my mom had bought for me. It was cold & rainy & drafty -- probably not the best choice of activity. We did a lot of walking ("Walking is good for you when you're pregnant," my mother said -- even though my instinct was to curl up on the couch & not leave for the next nine months) and I still had some pinkish discharge, but I noted in my datebook that I was otherwise feeling good.

I took my mother for lunch at the elegant art-deco Arcadian Court on the top floor of the Bay (formerly Simpsons), where we both had their famous chicken pot pie, & then we went to an afternoon matinee of "Titanic," which had just won the Oscar for Best Picture. (I can't believe I sat through the entire 3+ hours without having to duck out to the washroom.)

Got up early again the next morning, as I had a 9:30 appointment with my family dr to get my beta checked again, & also my thyroid levels. (Shortly after coming off the pill, I learned that I was hypothryoid & needed to take levothyroxin. The blood test indicated I needed to increase my dosage slightly.) This time, my mother decided to stay home & sleep in, so as soon as I was done, I pretty much turned around & caught the next train home again.

I noted that I was still having some discharge in the morning but was feeling good; however, not so good later in the day -- tired and drained. My dr told me he'd discussed me & my spotting with the ob-gyn he was referring me to, but Dr. OB said spotting was normal & he didn't need to see me until my first scheduled appointment with him on May 19, when I would be approximately 14 weeks along.

Friday, we went back to the mall & then out for dinner at the Mandarin, a local Chinese restaurant. More spotting in the morning -- red, which unnerved me a little.

Saturday morning, April 4th, my mom left to return home, again by train. I had more spotting -- dark brown -- and, as we waited for the train, I felt some sharp cramping on my left side. I walked alongside of my mother, sobbing, as the lineup moved toward the escalator, onto the escalator, up to the train platform & out of sight. Even though I was 37 years old and about to become a mother myself, I wanted my mommy.

But I knew I wouldn't see her until the summer. If all went well, I planned to fly home for a week or two in July or August, as usual. I was particularly anxious to see my grandparents & show off my pregnant belly to them. This would not be their first great-grandchild (one of my cousins had already beat me to that honour when he was barely out of high school & unmarried -- his daughter was now almost 12 years old), but I was the oldest of their four grandchildren, & had probably spent more time with them than any of the others. I knew how lucky I was to be 37 & still have both of them around. My baby might not have any memory of his or her great-grandparents, but I was determined that my grandparents would know their great-grandson or daughter. If it was a boy, one of his middle names would be my grandfather's.

I didn't know that the next time I saw my mom would be when she walked through the door of my hospital room on the afternoon of August 7th.

I went to the washroom immediately after my mother disappeared from view, & there was a lot more dark brown discharge/spotting, which was upsetting. I remember being exhausted -- but not too exhausted not to feel hungry, lol. We got bagels & headed home. I went upstairs & had another nap.

The next day (still with dark brown discharge), dh & I drove up to BIL's, & from there, SIL & I went to a baby shower for one of dh's cousins. I wore the new navy floral palazzo pants with a white short-sleeved Gap turtleneck & a black blazer. All of the aunts & cousins on dh's mom's side were there, & I got fussed over almost as much as the honoree. The colour scheme was pink & blue, & we joked about whether I should eat off a pink or blue plastic plate. One of the cousins asked if I had been pregnant the last time she saw me, at their aunt's 65th birthday party. "I guess I was," I said, "but I didn't know it at the time." I wondered what kind of a shower they would have for me.

The next day, I headed back to work.

Tuesday, March 24, 1998: (Finally) Pregnant!!

(Just so nobody has a heart attack -- take a good look at the header -- this is 1998 I'm writing about here...!!)

I could hardly focus on my work, wondering about the results of my blood test -- although I figured two bright lines on a home pregnancy test couldn't be wrong. Late on the morning of Tuesday, March 24th, I went to a payphone downstairs & dialled my doctor's office. "Lori?" his receptionist said. "He wants to talk to you." And then she added, "The news is good."

"It is??" I said.

He came on the line. "Lori, it's positive -- big time," he said. I can't remember what else he said, but I remember me sobbing, & him laughing. "Congratulations. Enjoy the moment," he said. At some point we made a followup appointment for another beta, to ensure the levels were rising, & he said he would refer me to a well-respected obstetrician at one of the city's best hospitals. "He delivered both of our sons -- I can't give you a higher recommendation than that," he said.

I got off the phone with him and dialled dh's number. "Hi, daddy," I said in a small voice. "Really??" he said, & started to laugh. I got a big hug when we met again that night.

That night I knew what I had to do: call my parents. I had always thought that, whenever I finally did get pregnant, I would keep it a secret until it became obvious, perhaps through the first trimester.

But my mother was arriving on Friday night for a week-long visit. She worked as a teaching assistant in an elementary school, and it was spring break for them -- for most of the past 13 years I'd been married and living here, she'd come to visit me then. My face is like an open book: I knew I could not be in the same house with her, look her in the eye and keep such a monumental secret from her.

So, taking a deep breath, I dialled my parents' number. My dad answered the phone. I made a little small talk with him & then asked to talk to Mom, but told him to stay on the line too. I figured after almost 13 years of waiting, he deserved to hear this news at the same time as her.

"Well, Mom, I've thought of something else we can do while you're here next week," I said and paused.

"Yes?" my mother said, uncertainly.

Another deep breath. "Would you like to go shopping with me for maternity clothes?" I squeaked out in a small voice.

Dead silence. And then a SHRIEK pierced my eardrum (I'm not sure my hearing has recovered yet).

"What? what's the matter?" my poor bewildered father asked as my mother & I sobbed together.

"WE'RE GOING TO BE GRANDPARENTS!!" she shrieked.

"Ohhh!" and my dad started chuckling.

(Cripes, I think I'm starting to hyperventilate, just writing this all out, 10 years after the fact.)

"When, honey, when?" my mother asked. I told her I wasn't quite sure yet, late November. "Oh, a baby for Christmas!!" she sighed rapturously -- a sentence that still haunts me today.

After talking to them, I called my sister & asked her how she liked the name "Auntie B." She too went "oooohhhhh" & started to laugh. My sister is not an outwardly emotional person. She does not show a lot of interest in children & is childfree by choice, but I knew that she was excited, and that she would be a really cool auntie.

OK, that took care of one side of the family -- now for the other. For some reason that I can't remember, dh had previously agreed to take his father up to his brother's house that night. FIL & stepMIL were leaving the next day for Florida, according to my datebook. BIL lives a good 45-60 minute drive away, & we rarely if ever go there on a weeknight. I knew it would be a late night going there -- especially with the news we had to give them -- and I was exhausted, physically & emotionally.

"You stay here & rest. I'LL tell them," dh exulted. Part of me felt like I should be there, but part of me was relieved that I didn't have to live through another emotional scene that night. I agreed & off he went. It was barely an hour later that the phone rang & I found myself accepting congratulations from my extremely excited in-laws. I went back to the couch & the phone rang again. The family grapevine was working fast -- I got calls from three of dh's aunts on his mom's side that night.

I figured I had better call cousin/neighbour's wife -- her mother-in-law was one of the people who called me, and I knew she would never forgive me if she heard the news from someone else. "So, guess who's pregnant?" I said, "Who's pregnant?" she said in bewilderment. "Me!" I said. "What??" she said. The next day (Wednesday), we came home from work to find a big balloon bouquet tied to the railing of our front porch, and I knew just who it was from. (Dh took a photo of me holding it -- one of just two photos of my pregnant self, although I don't look pregnant at that point.) I was so exhausted that night, I went to bed at 9 p.m.

Over the next several nights, the phone rang practically non-stop as dh's aunts & female cousins from both sides of the family (not all of them, but most of them) called to congratulate us. So much for keeping it a secret...

Sunday, March 22, 1998: Two blue lines!!

It was a snowy weekend, & dh & I were at the mall getting haircuts. While we were there, I ducked into the drugstore to buy a home pregnancy test. It was day 43 of my cycle, which was a little on the long side for me, although not unheard of. Earlier in the week, I had started spotting. Thinking my period was starting, I popped a few Motrin & broke out the box of pantiliners. But then it stopped. And started again. And stopped again. Very strange.

I'd been very tired recently, lots of cramping & headaches. I just figured it was PMS. One thing made sense in retrospect -- climbing the stairs to the commuter train platform lately had me totally winded. "Geez, are you ever out of shape!" I remember dh observing helpfully as I huffed & puffed up the stairs after him.

Could I be pregnant? I'd had long cycles a couple of times since going off the pills almost three years previously. What would usually happen: I'd take a home pregnancy test. Negative. A few more days would go by. I'd call the dr, get a blood test, & my period would usually start before I even got the results back. The longest cycle I'd ever had to date lasted 56 days.

I honestly figured I was in for more of the same when I took the box into the bathroom & peed on the stick that afternoon.

Almost immediately, a bright blue second line popped into view.

"Whaaaa.... OH MY GOD!" I shrieked. Dh came running. I showed him the stick. I started to cry. We sat on the floor of our bedroom & held each other. Was this really happening? After so many years of waiting, planning, hoping?

The next day at work, I called my family doctor's office on my cellphone, took an "extended lunch break" & took the subway up to his office for a 1:15 appointment. He took my blood, asked me if my breasts were sore. (Not really.) "I really hope you're pregnant," he said.

"Me too," I said.

That night I stayed up until 12:45 to watch the Oscars ("Titanic" won all the big awards). I could barely keep my eyes open, but I found it hard to sleep too, wondering what the next day would bring.

(P.S. The stick went into the garbage. I wish I'd kept it, but I had no idea at the time that people even did such things...!)

A twig on the family tree

As if I needed one more hobby/item on my never-ending "to-do" list/excuse to sit in front of the computer for hours on end -- I installed a copy of Family Tree Maker on my computer last night. Within an hour or so, I had input more than 60 names (if not all the birth-marriage-death details that go with them), with many, many more to come. I've been aware of and interested in my family history since I was a child. Back in 1949, an elderly (childless) relative living north of Toronto passed away, & one of my grandfather's cousins, who arrived from Minnesota after her death to help wrap up her affairs, rescued some old letters from the rubbish heap -- letters that her sister (my great-great-grandmother) & other family members had written to her after they headed west in the late 1870s (to the Red River Valley of the North, settling first on the Canadian side and then over the border in the States). We're not quite sure what happened to the originals (we believe a distant cousin, son of the original retriever, might have them), but the letters were loaned to and transcribed by a local college in the 1950s, and they've been widely circulated throughout our family. I used them in one of my grade school projects, & my teacher was fascinated by them. They are absolutely marvellous documents -- from a personal history perspective, certainly -- but also a treasure trove of information for anyone researching the history of that area. Example: my great-great-grandmother describes Sitting Bull and his braves dancing under the stars in the streets of the border town where I was born, some 80 years later! In 1982, my great-aunt passed away, & another great-aunt & two of her daughters came to the small Minnesota town where my grandparents lived to attend her funeral. A day or two after the funeral, we all went up to visit her grave at the cemetery in the even smaller town about 20 miles north, near the farm where my grandfather and his siblings were born & raised. The cemetery is chock full of my grandfather's family members -- his parents, grandparents, some siblings, aunts, uncles & cousins. Thank goodness I brought a notebook & pen with me, because as we walked around, Grandpa & his sister had a story for each headstone, & would explain how each person was related to us. I scribbled it all down, including the names & dates on the markers. And that's what kickstarted my ongoing passion for genealogy. A few years after that, my grandfather sat down with me one day, beer in his hand, pen in mine, & went through his entire family tree (both sides) -- names of his aunts, uncles & cousins; who they married, where they had lived and what they did for a living, the names of THEIR children, and other memories he had of them. He had a great memory (right up until his death at age 86), & over the years, I've been able to verify that information with documentation from official records and newspapers of the time, and expand on it. When I was newly wed, living in Toronto and unemployed, I spent long hours in the provincial archives and at the library, poring over old newspapers and census records on dusty reels of microfilm. (So far, the furthest back I've been able to go is my great-great-great-great-grandfather, a sergeant in the British Army during the War of 1812, who settled in the Ottawa Valley after the war.) One of my cousins, also interested in genealogy, has printed out & put together a family tree that she brings to each of our extended family reunions (held ever 2-3 years). She tacks it up on the wall & provides pens for people to add corrections & updates. When fully rolled out, it extends about 10 feet (& that's just the tree for my great-grandparents, their nine surviving children, & all their descendants). Once I got a job, I had much less time for research, although I've always been interested in whatever tidbits of information that came my way. A newly retired friend from work has been bitten by the bug, and ploughing full speed ahead on her own genealogical research. I figured that I too would get back into it more again when I was retired and had more free time. I've resisted the lure of the Internet research, of Ancestry.com and family tree software, because I knew that once I started in again, it would be difficult to draw the line and squeeze one more thing into an already crowded schedule. Until now…! Last fall, I connected to a distant cousin through (guess!) a local history blog, & started exchanging information and family photos with her (I got to see a photo of my great-great grandparents for the very first time -- way cool). And that reignited the flame. And so I bought a copy of Family Tree Maker. And here I go again…! Ironic, isn't it, that a childless person would be obsessed with family history? (although I certainly didn't expect I would remain childless when I started this project) Obviously, my own little twig on the family tree won't be sprouting any new offshoots -- nor will my childfree-by-choice sister's. The branch that includes the two of us and our parents will end with us, and that makes me very sad. Oddly enough, I have noticed that it's often a childless person (often a spinster aunt) who takes on the role of family historian. I suppose some people might say it's because we have more time on our hands for such things (hmph). Perhaps the lack of our own descendants makes us appreciate the extended family ties we have all the more? So what's the point of all this research, if I won't have any descendants myself to pass it on to? Well, I do it because it's fun. I do it because I love history -- generally and my own family's specifically. I love finding out more about my ancestors -- who they were, what they did, what their daily lives and personalities were like. (I read my great-grandmother's letter describing life on a farm -- pre-electricity, running water & modern appliances -- with 9 children & two hired men to cook, clean, wash & iron for, and no "girl" to help her, & think it's no wonder that she died at the young age of 44.) I do it because the "detective" work & mystery involved appeals to my inner Nancy Drew. ; ) I do it for the rest of the family, at least, the ones who tell me they appreciate it. And hopefully, one of my relatives, perhaps one of my cousins' children, will find it interesting, develop their own passion for it, & take over my stuff when I'm gone -- and carry on the search. One thing I noticed (although not for the first time), as I input data into my program last night: there are a few branches of the family tree that are so fertile, sprouting little shoots everywhere (multiple generations of teenaged/out-of-wedlock pregnancies, etc.), they make me grind my teeth -- but there are also a sizeable number of childless people -- role models for me --particularly on my mother's side of the family (both sides, and in her generation of cousins as well as mine). Some of these people are married (some of them later in life), some aren't. I have no idea whether being childless was a choice for them, a matter of circumstance (particularly in an age when there weren't the infertility treatment options there are now), or a combination of factors. Is there a genetic factor that's made it difficult for some of the married couples to have children (that I've inherited)? (My mother once said it was because we're all too damned independent & stubborn in this family for anyone to live with us, & I can see that too…!) It's hard to say, because such very personal matters are not normally discussed, certainly not among the people of my mother's generation (although I've heard whispered stories about the other side of the coin, the out-of-wedlock pregnancies from the days before such things were openly spoken about). On the positive side, most of my childless relatives are well educated, have good jobs and comfortable homes, lots of friends, dote on and are beloved by their nieces and nephews, travel widely. Their lives, as I see them, are rich and full. Maybe it's an illusion? I'm sure that people look at dh & me and think the same things. But it's a comfort to me, knowing that I'm not alone -- that there are other lone twigs out there that won't be adding any new sprouts to the family tree, but are still flourishing, looking great & blooming colourfully while they're here. ; ) Genealogy figures prominently in the last part of "The Mistress's Daughter," which is the next selection in the Barren B*tches book tour on the Stirrup Queens site, and it played a role in my own decisions surrounding adoption (albeit one factor among many). One of my concerns about adopting was how the child would feel, with a mother & an extended family so keenly interested & knowledgeable about their roots & relationships & resemblances to one another, with no or very few other adoptees in the family to relate to. (Out of my whole huge extended family tree, I can think of just one cousin who has adopted, & I only met him for the first time at the last family reunion two years ago.) If I chose a closed adoption or adopted from abroad, how could I deny my child that same knowledge of his or her own genetic family? Could I expect an adopted child to take any interest in the history of a family that was not, genetically, his or her own? How would they view & reconcile my keen interest in my genetic background in the context of our non-genetic parent-child relationship? (For that matter, how would I?) I'll likely have more thoughts on this subject when we post about the book in a few weeks.

Article: "Looking for Juno"

Anyone who thinks you should "just adopt" needs to read this. ($495 per parent profile?? Sheesh, I think I've missed the boat as a writer...!) The article will be up on the paper's website for about a week. Go over & have a look at the comments.

*** *** ***

Looking for Juno

Canadian couples desperate to adopt are going directly to the source, setting up websites to sell themselves to pregnant women, Hayley Mick reports

HAYLEY MICK
FromTuesday's Globe and Mail
March 18, 2008 at 8:44 AM EDT

The competition seems so fierce that Marion Walsh can't bear to see who she's up against any more.

Six months ago, she and her husband, Gus Curtis, posted their profile online, describing why they would make great parents. The B.C. couple, both in their early 40s, then paid a consultant to tweak the letter and photos. Then they posted it on a second website to increase their exposure.

So far, they have received a half-dozen e-mails from scammers in Cameroon.

Nothing has come close to their dream scenario: contact from a pregnant woman who's chosen them - out of all the waiting couples in cyberspace - to adopt her baby. "I don't go to the websites because it bums me out," says Ms. Walsh, an ESL teacher who underwent failed fertility treatments before turning to private adoption. "You start comparing your picture to everyone else's picture, and your letter to everyone else's letter, and how long people have been waiting. It's just too agonizing."

It may be agonizing, but with adoption waiting lists spanning three years or more, couples like Ms. Walsh and Mr. Curtis are trying to improve their odds by marketing themselves straight to the source.

They're creating websites and blogs to promote their merits to pregnant Canadian women looking for adoptive parents. They're spending hundreds on designers to help them distinguish themselves from other couples. And they're advertising anywhere a young woman might stumble across their beaming faces.

"If Juno can find her adoptive couple in the Penny Saver," a Toronto couple recently wrote in an online notice, referring to the lead character in the recent movie Juno, "then why not on Craigslist?"

A small industry has sprung up to meet the demand. In the past year, two new Canadian websites have begun posting the profiles of couples, for a fee. Consultants now help couples shape their profiles to make them more attractive to pregnant women. Last summer, one adoption website, CanadaAdopts.com, began offering a $495 "parent profile writing service" to help couples "stand out from the crowd."

The trend has striking similarities to Internet dating, with couples distilling their lives into a few paragraphs, citing their love of eighties music and Thai food in hope of finding a match. But unlike online dating, the scales are one-sided, with waiting couples vastly outnumbering birth mothers, who have the power to choose.

It's the "job interview of your life," one consulting company, AdoptionProfiles.ca, says on its homepage. But without an interview with the mother, dreams of parenthood hinge on mere pictures and words. Couples are tormented by second guesses: Does this photo make us look old, or too generic? Am I turning a teenager off by listing Bono as my favourite singer?

"It's unfortunate, but it's all about marketing yourself," said Meagan Sweet, a 34-year-old flight attendant who is hoping to adopt privately with her husband, Paul.

As attractive, Caucasian professionals in their 30s, the Sweets have been told by adoption consultants that they're "shiny," meaning, in blunt terms, easily marketable. But that's no guarantee, Ms. Sweet says, because lots of people wanting to adopt fall into that category. So couples scan their lives for competitive advantages.

"Little things that set yourself apart from everyone else increase your odds," Ms. Sweet says. "Even if you're Mormon; a birth mom might be looking strictly for Mormons. You never know what they're looking for."

For Shelley Ibbotson, a single mother who, at age 32, became pregnant and did not want to raise a second child alone, criteria included non-smokers, a university education and no children of their own.

Ms. Ibbotson remembers weeping in a lawyer's office, trying to decide between two couples who, in print, seemed to fit the bill perfectly. At the time, in 2001, only CanadaAdopts.com listed hopeful Canadian parents, and there were only a dozen or so couples to choose from, she said. (Now it is the most popular website, with about 40 profiles posted at any given time).
Today there are two more online companies listing profiles, including AdoptionProfiles.ca and AdoptionConnections.ca, which Ms. Ibbotson started running last October.

There are strict adoption laws in Canada, which vary from province to province. Before a couple can adopt, they must be approved by a government ministry in their home province, a process that includes background checks, interviews, financial assessments and home visits.
Only some provinces allow a couple to advertise their search for a baby, including British Columbia, Ontario, Nova Scotia and Quebec. And even if a birth mother selects them, she has to notify an agency, or licensee, then go through the proper channels for the exchange to take place.
But for birth mothers, websites allow them to scan potential couples in the privacy of their homes, said Ms. Ibbotson. They can also e-mail couples to solicit more information before officials become involved.

"It's so competitive," she said. "There are so many more couples looking to adopt than there are babies available."

There was a time when almost all adoptions happened domestically, and most couples received a Canadian baby within a year or two. But by 1990, domestic private adoptions slowed dramatically. In 1997, there were 314 private adoptions in Ontario. Ten years later, that number has dropped to 111.

Similarly, international adoptions are taking longer, with Chinese restrictions increasing the wait time to about five years and other countries quickly filling up quotas.

The appeal of going online with their pitch, couples say, is they feel like they have some control over the process. They can put their best foot forward without relying on an adoption licensee to give it to a birth mother.

"We're not just sitting here passively waiting for someone to find us a child," said Lewis GrantSmith, a 41-year-old lawyer from Toronto. "We're going out there trying to find one ourselves."

Mr. GrantSmith and his 40-year-old wife, Denice, have a cheerful, colourful, professionally designed website. They describe Mr. GrantSmith's love of swing sets and the fact that Ms. GrantSmith was adopted as a child. They describe their front garden that's "an excellent place to hunt for worms."

Their next move, Mr. GrantSmith said, is to create a profile on MySpace.

But even great sites don't guarantee success. AdoptionConnections.ca has had no matches attributed to it so far, Ms. Ibbotson said. CanadaAdopts.com, which has had hundreds of profiles since 2001, has had 23 direct matches.

Still, some couples, including the GrantSmiths, report that they have been contacted by birth mothers who have seen their sites or profiles online. Mr. GrantSmith said a woman who contacted him and his wife hasn't decided how she wants to proceed with her pregnancy, but had some questions for them.

In the end, there's no way to predict or influence what birth mothers will want for their children, says Kim Gray, a social worker and adoption practitioner in London, Ont.

In 16 years of facilitating adoptions, Ms. Gray has met some birth mothers who want other siblings for their babies; others want to help a childless couple. Some want rural homes, others want city slickers.

Elaborate profiles don't necessarily have the advantage, Ms. Gray said.

"Adoptive parents don't have a lot of choice here," she said. "It's a birth-parent-driven process. ...We work very, very, very, very hard to get them what they want."