A Single Mom's Adoption
By Sundra Flansburg

People have many philosophies of life. By saying that I mean not that we consciously sit down and meditate on our own particular meanings, or that we are following spiritual quests that lead us to “find” ourselves. I mean that regardless of the roads we choose, or don’t, life inevitably finds us. And it reflects back our decisions.

I think about my friends, and my immediate and extended family members, who are a refreshingly disparate and eclectic group of people. Some seem to think that life is a Buick and they are in the driver’s seat. They study the map, plan the trip, and barrel down the road knowing where each rest stop is and exactly where they are going. Others prefer to sit in the passenger’s seat admiring the scenery, wanting to let experiences wash over them and delighting in the unpredictability of what may happen next. And most of us are somewhere in between. We have plans and expectations, conscious ones as well as unstudied ones, but we learn as we go that our plans don’t always dictate our path. Fortunately, the people we meet and care about, the places we live and learn, our own location within our community—all shape us and make us who we are.

Me, I must admit to enjoying the passenger’s seat at times, the chance to sit back and just wait to see what happens. But probably more than I would like to acknowledge, I get out the map for the places I really want to go. I believe we have choices about life and that happiness is something we make. I’ve arrived at enough good places to know that it does matter that I put myself in the right places when I can, and it is worth pursuing the things that I truly value and desire. I have also learned that some of the best things that I have, that make me smile when I think of them and relish the path, are a combination of conscious plans and struggling to be open to the new experiences that come my way.

And oh . . . that little person sleeping in the next room makes me smile. Oh, does she make me smile. She makes me delight and be thankful for whatever in me and outside of me got me to this place.

My daughter was born in Guatemala and lived there for just over six months. I met Catalina, and brought her to what is now her home when she was six and a half months old. Her life will be different than what it would have been had circumstances been different and had she stayed in Guatemala. But I trust and hope that she will feel that this was and is a good path overall, that she will be truly happy.

But I was asked to write my story. About me, a once-again single woman in her early forties. My path to motherhood through adoption. I guess I thought, expected, like many white, middle-class women of my generation who grew up with television and movies, that we studied, started a professional career, got married for happily ever after, and had two biological children. Some of us still do. Some by choice or by happenstance don’t. It took me a long time to fall in love—some would say to meet the right man. I guess it is probably both. I finally did, both, when I was thirty. As things developed, we got married and moved to Costa Rica, his native country, when I was thirty-four. We had a delightful, happy, and enriching life for several years, and found that as the years went by I more and more wanted children, while he more and more was glad that he didn’t have that responsibility.

Cut to my fortieth birthday. A couple years of separation, thinking I would still meet someone else and pick up that script again. A couple of years, though, also coming to realize that I was once again faced with choices about where I was going, and there was no one to decide but me. I decided that I needed to have my birthday away from friends, and went to Jamaica, where I stayed for a few weeks at a yoga center, dived, listened to reggae, and met some truly wonderful people. I went back to Costa Rica with some decisions, one of which was that I couldn’t wait any longer for a child to “happen” to me. I needed to make changes to make that dream come true.

I wasn’t able to just get in the Buick and drive. I didn’t go back and immediately pack my bags to move back to the U.S. I reflected a lot on what it would mean to choose this path as a single woman, and as a slightly older parent. Was I being too selfish? But I spoke with close friends and some family and found what to me was a surprisingly strong and immensely valuable web of support and encouragement. I found in my mother easy encouragement and warmly offered assistance—whenever and whatever I was to need. And in my father, a quiet, thoughtful, and strong solidarity that gave me the courage. I detoured to a sperm bank, with a dash of IVF, and eventually spoke to someone who had recently adopted their son from Russia. I spoke to other parents who had adopted. I became aware of wonderful adoptive familes all around me that I just hadn’t been conscious of, of a whole world of adoption and adoption resources. I began to see adoption in my path.

There were some practical reasons why I chose international adoption over domestic, but I think in the end it was more my heart than my head that influenced that decision. I am drawn by difference; I thrive in diversity. With my years of living in Central America, in a country I loved, I felt that I would be better equipped to share and nuture a love of culture with my daughter were she from Latin America. My continuing travel there and my Spanish, I thought, would be an asset. With that general sense, the rest was easy—Guatemala was the only Latin American country where the Alliance had a program that allowed placements with single parents.

So here I am, a year and a half after I contacted the Alliance and started meeting with Renée, one of their social workers. Catalina is an amazing and very special being, who has brought me joy and happiness, and taught me oh so much. She has at the same time reinforced for me the necessity of planning and reminded me of the delightful unpredictability of life. I know much more is in store for us, and I have our picnic packed.