Random Childhood Regression

When my brother and I were young, we used to have this thing where we would say "we can ask God about that when we go to heaven."  Sometimes it was about something that we couldn't understand, like why our cat got ran over on my 14th birthday. Other times, it would be about things we were curious about such as whether ghosts existed or if there were such things as UFO's. Then there were times when we would add to the list things that were a bit less light-hearted, questions about why certain things would happen, like why a relative died from brain cancer.

Not that I'm angry, in many ways I feel I've been given my diagnosis of azoospermia for past sins and actions. Sometimes I think, in some twisted way, maybe God is looking out for my wife and I by not allowing us to have children. After all, He is infinitely benevolent. But while I'm here on earth, I still feel the need to ask him, since I'm curious to know - I know he'll have the answer, one that I can never find myself, and perhaps one that I will no longer feel the need to find.

As my wife and I continue on our journey towards adoption, I find myself looking at pictures of our adopted son as I would pictures of a beautiful beach or a majestic cathedral: it's something I hope one day to see but until then, it feels more like a concept of mythical proportions than a reality.  From pictures of his birth, to videos of him playing with toys, to seeing pictures of his first birthday. My wife and I feel more like spectators on the outside looking in than prospective parents-to-be. And while we witness nearly every couple in our vicinity welcome their children into the world, my wife and I are left connecting with our adopted son thru 6 degrees of separation, where even sending a care package of toys and clothes are handed between no less than 3-4 people. Even for his first birthday, we could only imagine and guess what kind of toys and clothes he would need and like. It's kind of a sad reality to face, but in the end, it is our reality: the struggle of infertility that has lasted more than 16 months, and an adoption process that has lasted more than 13.

Today my wife turned to me, randomly with a melancholy tone "we're missing some of the best years of raising a child." I agree. When will we ever witness such blatant curiosity and innocence?  How many priceless moments have passed us by?  How many defining moments will I never know of?  I wish I could do something more, and so I try to think about how I can make it up to my wife. I guess I can only hope that the day our child arrives from Korea some of our depression, anxiety, and hopelessness can be replaced by some feelings of joy, purpose, and relief.  I can only hope that when we hear his voice, his laughter and hold him for the first time in our arms that all our waiting and hardship has been met by the certainty of our little miracle. Not the way we always imagined, but in that moment maybe......just maybe, we'll feel like the parents we so desire to be.