It’s a strange experience being described in such glowing terms; like having a gilt frame put around us.
Everyone had said ‘Of course you will get the agreement. You’ll be wonderful parents!’ Nevertheless, the doubts creep in as one peels away the layers merely to find imperfections and a willingness to plunge into the unknown. Sometimes, especially with the psychologist, the house felt sorely unfinished, the childhood role models inadequate, the amount of therapy not enough, the choices foolish and the boho life too chaotic.
However, as we read through our social worker’s description of us - of our family histories and the warmth and wisdom we have gained from them; of our passions and our travels; of the place where we have chosen to make our home; of our journey towards each other and above all towards becoming a family – we were both a little choked up. She had woven a tapestry of light and love, of maturity and wholeness, of art and music, and placed it like an offering at the foot of the magnificent Mont Ventoux. This tapestry, fashioned, it seemed to me, in quince and golden threads of ‘lumière’ and ‘chaleur’, is what will be presented to the authorities in Mali or Togo who will decide whether or not we are the people into whose arms they want to place an orphaned baby. As I looked at our wonderful Madame Bergère through my teardrops I noticed a line of little freckles following the contour of her cornflower eyes, just above the line of her glasses, and was overwhelmed with love for her. Our midwife, I thought.
“Is there anything else you would like to add?” the psy asked us at the end of each of our rather gruelling sessions. We both stood up proud in our hearts, me at ten o’clock and Julian at eleven, and stated how happy we were in our life togetther, and how ready we felt to have a family.
We have the thumbs up and an ‘avis favorable’ from both, apparently. This, unofficially, means we will have our agreement next month.
There is a love that, I suspect, is like no other. I have shut it away because feeling it has, up till now (with a brief exception six years ago), been to feel impotent and broken. This love is starting to stir in my breast like a mouth opening and taking little gulps of air ….