A Prayer Answered, A Family Found

How could she come to terms with her granddaughter being adopted by strangers?

By Jill Meyer, Clintonville, Wisconsin

As appeared in

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I was sitting in my church office, a Thursday morning, halfheartedly thumbing through the hymn book, looking for selections for the Sunday service. But my thoughts, as they so often were these days, went elsewhere.

I stared at the sonogram of my granddaughter-to-be taped above my computer, studying every inch of the image. Already I felt such a connection to her, as if I could almost feel her in my arms. Yet would it ever be?

I was so absorbed in my thoughts it took a moment before I even registered that the phone was ringing.

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“Mom, it’s Allie.” My 19-year-old daughter, five months pregnant. She sounded nervous. “I’ve made my decision. I can’t keep this baby. But I don’t know who to call about adoption. So I need your help. Please.”

“Is it just about the money?” I asked. I could hear the desperation in my voice. I’d been dreading this very call from Allie. “I’m afraid I can’t do much,” I said, “but you know I’ll do whatever I can.”

“It’s not really that, Mom,” she said. I could hear the strain in her voice. “It’s more. Brandon and I already have Felicity to think about and with me working at Pizza Hut...it’s just hard. I want my children to get all the love and attention they need.”

Love and attention—isn’t that what a grandma is for?

“Of course,” I said, reining in my heart. “I know you and Brandon have given this a lot of thought. I’ll make some calls. I just wish there was another way.”

“I know, Mom,” she said so quietly that I could hardly hear her. “But right now I just really need your support.”

I hung up, but my eyes froze again on the sonogram. I couldn’t bring myself to look up the number for Social Services. I knew this needed to be Allie’s decision, how difficult life was right now for her and Brandon, financially, emotionally.

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She’d wrestled with the decision for months. She knew my feelings. Now she wasn’t asking for my blessing, just for me to be there for her.

Still, my heart broke. All I could think about were my five grandchildren. Each one of them was a gift from God. All the precious memories we’d shared, reading stories, baking cookies, cooking brats around the campfire, donning our cheeseheads for Packers games.

How could I not be a part of a new granddaughter’s life? Was I just supposed to pretend that she had never been born?

I found the number for Social Services and dialed.

“I’ll be happy to call your daughter and explain the process,” said the woman who answered. “Adoption’s much more open these days. In fact, many adopting families want to keep a relationship with the birth mother and even the extended family, and lots of experts think that can be a very healing thing for all concerned.”

I thanked her and went back to searching for hymns. I wasn’t particularly reassured by her explanation. I wasn’t looking to form family ties with total strangers.

The whole idea left me feeling uneasy. How would it even work? Would I still be the baby’s grandmother? And this couple. They wouldn’t call me for advice when the baby was teething or colicky. Wouldn’t drop her off for an afternoon. It just wouldn’t be the same.

I tried to imagine what they’d even look like, but no one came to mind. No wonder. It wasn’t like we’d have anything in common.

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Lord, I always thought you made me into a pretty good grandma. Why deny me now?

A faint knock on the door interrupted my worries. “Is the pastor in?” I heard a man say.