Finding Zoe

by Brandi Rarus

  Ann Marie was very hard of hearing but not profoundly deaf like me, so she was able to hear with hearing aids. Her parents were both hearing like mine, but neither of them had learned how to sign. Her father had quit school early, and her mother had only graduated high school. They sent Ann Marie to hearing schools and didn’t expose her to other deaf people. Having no exposure to deafness themselves, they believed that if Ann Marie learned to speak she’d learn to hear. She was very lonely growing up compared to me.

  After the Miss Deaf America Pageant, we reconnected the following summer at the YLC, where she was working as a counselor. Then we were in and out of touch for about ten years, connecting mostly through business. In 2003, she moved to Sioux Falls to work at Communication Service for the Deaf (CSD), a nonprofit organization where Tim and I were working that provided communication access to deaf people.

  When the ADA was passed in 1990, Title IV of the Act, the part that Tim had worked on while he was working for John McCain, mandated that Telecommunications Relay Services (TRS) (enabling us to use the TTY to communicate with hearing people through the public telephone network) be provided for us. This was a real breakthrough because, as a result, the telephone was finally no longer a barrier for us. TRS put the Deaf community on a much more equal playing field with our hearing counterparts. I had been working for Sprint for eleven years when the company entered the market to establish TRS. At that point, we were able to communicate with hearing people but only by using TTY machines and text.

  When video technology came along, it opened up amazing new possibilities for deaf people whose primary language was ASL. CSD, along with other organizations and community leaders, argued that although Title IV of the ADA mandated TTY and its relay services, video technology was a truer representation of the spirit of the law. (The ADA called it “functionally equivalent.”) What could be more functionally equivalent than using our own language (ASL) in real time with an interpreter? The Federal Communications Commission agreed, and the Video Relay Services (VRS) industry was born. CSD was the first company to take the risk and invest in developing videophones and the telecommunications services needed for it.

  Ann Marie was the company’s chief operating officer, and I headed up their marketing department, so we worked closely together. That’s when our friendship really blossomed. Serendipitously, she also wanted to adopt a baby girl from China, so we went through the process together.

  Our first step was to find a local adoption agency to do our home studies—a process whereby a social worker evaluates you in your home, making sure that you will be fit parents. Both the local and the international adoption agencies would work together so that all things would be in place when it was time to go to China.

  We found the New Horizons Adoption Agency, with an office right in Sioux Falls, and signed up with them in April. I filled out enough paperwork to pave a road to China, which made life even more hectic, but all in all, we were doing just fine for a family of five. It was only a matter of time before I would be flying to China to finally bring home my daughter.

  A year later in June, when Tim and I were well into the adoption paperwork and processing, we were in Austin one weekend visiting Tim’s sister and her kids. I had just come back from a meeting with the folks at Great Wall China Adoption and was telling Tim about it in the parking lot of his sister’s apartment complex. Out of the blue, he just looked at me and said, “Brandi, I can’t do it. Four kids are too many. I’m sorry.”

  “What?” I said, trying to breathe.

  “We have three wonderful, healthy children,” he continued.

  “I know. But I want a girl. You said that we could—”

  “We hardly see them enough as it is,” he replied, cutting me off and becoming more and more upset. “Always dropping them off at day care, being away on business trips all the time. . . . What kind of parents would we be?”

  “You’re right, I know,” I said, “But—”

  “No, Brandi. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

  There was no room for discussion. He was adamant, and I knew better than to try to reason with him. I backed off and didn’t say anything else. The kids were sitting in the car, and I didn’t want to make a scene.

  So the summer began with me trying to fix Tim’s perception of the situation, believing that if he didn’t feel so overwhelmed by having three children, he might be more open to having a fourth. I became supermom, the consummate wife and mother, trying to make life perfect for him by taking on extra responsibilities and lessening his. I got up with the kids, fed and drove them to school and day care, went to work, and then picked them up, drove home, and had dinner waiting on the table for Tim when he came home from work. All he had to do was enjoy the kids before they went to bed. I cleaned the house, did the laundry and food shopping, picked up the dry cleaning, and brought the kids to and from play dates. I did the same thing on weekends. Before that, I’d always asked Tim for help (and he always did his share and never complained). Now, I didn’t even ask him.

  Doing all of that wasn’t even what stressed me out. What stressed me out was the fact that Tim had said no and that my paperwork for China was going to expire in a few months if I didn’t complete it. What stressed me out was thinking about how I was going to let go of my longing for a daughter if he didn’t change his mind. What really hurt was standing next to someone who had a baby girl—in the store, the doctor’s office, at school. I just crumbled inside. I actually felt physical pain. When I went clothes shopping for the boys, I’d trained myself not to look at the girls’ section and only pay attention to the boys’ clothes.

  I was in a desperate state. I even thought about signing Tim’s name on the China documents and sending them in without telling him. I’d go to China alone, get the baby, and bring her home. What would he do? Close the door on me? He wouldn’t do that, I thought. I realized that even if I could pull that off, I didn’t want to. I wanted Tim’s support and was struggling because I didn’t have it.

  What made things even more difficult was that I completely identified with Tim’s position. I knew how he’d hated telling me no and had struggled to do it. The fact that he was so adamant—even harsh—only showed how his heart was truly aching. When he married me, he knew how much I wanted a daughter. He was in a real predicament with his deep need conflicting so much with mine. He also knew how determined I was, and I think that scared him. I got it. I knew that he was questioning what it meant to be a good parent, knowing that young children like ours needed so much attention.

  At one point, before our family moved to Sioux Falls, he lived there without us for three months, traveling back and forth to Austin, where I had remained with the three boys. He did not like that; he had regrets when we were apart. He had always strived to keep his life in balance, going to work, taking care of himself, and also being there for the kids—a senior vice president trying to be a good career man, husband, and father. He was a realist and a family man 100 percent—the most involved father I had ever seen—and he had been from day one. And not because he felt he had to but because he wanted to be there for his children. He didn’t want them to think that he was only thinking of himself. He wanted quality time with them and believed in his gut that it wouldn’t be fair to them to add another child to our family.

  I loved him more because I understood his reasons. When I told people of my longing for a girl, they looked at me like I was crazy, pointing out that I already had three beautiful and healthy children. I knew that three children were plenty, that Tim and I were incredibly lucky, and that having a fourth child would be insane. But my yearning overrode all of it.

  Despite the enormous conflict, it didn’t really seem to impact our relationship. Between the kids, work, and traveling, we were both just so busy, there was no time to dwell on it or let resentment fester. Although I was upset, I also truly understood his position and did my best to not let my emotions come between us.

  I didn’t bring the subject up
again until our anniversary, when I thought, Tonight, I’m going to convince him. That morning I went out early and bought Tim a newspaper and his favorite coffee from Starbucks. That evening, at Foley’s Steak House, I brought the subject up at dinner. He was as firm as ever. I sat there and cried.

  The following day, Ann Marie, who knew Tim very well, said to me while I was sitting on her living room couch and still crying, “Brandi, you need to prepare yourself. Tim may never change his mind.” Her words made me want to gasp, the way that hearing the truth often does when you’re not expecting it. Yet, even though hearing what she said was so difficult, I loved her for saying it, knowing that she was only trying to help and didn’t want to see me hurt. Not many people have the ability to sit down with a friend and tell it to them straight with such compassion and understanding. I knew in my heart that I might eventually have to face that truth, but I wasn’t there yet. I just thought, Nope, I’m not going to think about that until the time comes.

  When the last weekend in September rolled around, the pressure was really on because my paperwork for China was going to expire on November 1st. I hadn’t mentioned anything to Tim since our anniversary dinner. As a lastditch attempt, I decided to write him a letter explaining my yearning for a daughter. He was planning on visiting his grandfather in New Jersey, so right before he left for the airport I gave him the letter, asking him to read it on the plane. The Sioux Falls newspaper had written an article on China adoptions a couple weeks before that had a picture of a little Chinese girl with huge, chubby cheeks. I had cut it out and put it on my desk at work. I put the picture in with the letter.

  Dear Tim,

  I write this letter because all of my recent attempts to convey my desire to have a daughter to you have failed. I only ask that you read it with an open heart and mind. I want you to understand that I love our sons with my entire being. Every day, after waking up in the morning and before going to sleep at night, I have prayed for acceptance that I was meant to only have sons.

  I understand how blessed we are to have three healthy, incredible boys. I understand, better than you think, that four children would be too many. We both work full time and want to be there for our children. To add a fourth—ouch—how would we juggle our time and responsibilities? I tell myself to be grateful for what we have—there are so many childless couples out there who desire children, and we have three!

  But my need for a daughter is so great that I don’t know what else to do other than to continue pursuing that dream. It’s like a calling that I must answer. The fact that we did not have a biological daughter only convinces me more that she is out there somewhere—waiting for us to bring her home.

  Yet, I cannot pursue this dream without you. I love you, and you are an incredible father. Years ago, you spoke to me of a little girl in a red dress with a black purse and two pigtails. I’ve seen her in my dreams throughout the years. I ask you to find it in your heart to help me find her and bring her home.

  As soon as Tim’s plane landed in Newark, he texted me. “Hey, good letter,” he said. “Let’s discuss when I get home.” Sunday evening after he returned home and the boys were in bed, we sat down on the couch and talked. Years later, he said that at the time, he realized he had been too closed-minded about the situation and wanted to be more open. However, looking back, I think that something so much grander had also taken place. I think that Tim’s openness was like a signal to the universe. That night in the living room, he told me that even though he still felt that having four children would be too many, we could go ahead and pursue the China adoption. “I cannot deny you your daughter,” he said.

  The following day, I completed the paperwork for China.

  Exactly one week later, on October 4, while pulling out of a friend’s driveway, I received an email that changed everything. It was from the New Horizons Adoption Agency.

  Hi Brandi!

  We have a question for you and Tim. We have a six-month-old baby girl in foster care who has been diagnosed with a severe hearing loss. The birth mother was exposed to someone with chicken pox when she was pregnant and then got a virus called CMV. The baby’s brain scan shows that everything is okay there, and there is no syndrome attached to her condition. Would you and Tim like to show a profile to this birth mother for her to consider you for adopting her baby? Please let me know after you and Tim have had a chance to talk about it. We plan to show the birth mother various profiles from prospective adoptive parents and let her choose the adoptive couple. Thanks! Marlys

  It was as if the world had stopped turning. As sure as the sun rose and set, I knew that that baby was the daughter I’d been waiting for my whole life. She belonged with me, and I belonged with her. Joy welled up from within, as the knowledge of a divine order more elegant than I’d ever imagined permeated my entire being. Just one week before, Tim had said that he couldn’t deny me my daughter. And there she was. Had he not said yes, then—or never said no—I might have missed her. It was too perfect!

  PART II

  The Roads of Others

  Chapter Six

  JESS AND BJ

  LITTLE DID I know that during that last tumultuous year, starting right around the time when Austin was nine months old and we had just made our adoption plan, somewhere not too far away, several other people had just made their own plans, sealing my and Zoe’s fates forever. A young woman felt like a young man had gotten her pregnant, then rejected her, and then wanted to take her baby away.

  However, the day that Jess met BJ, she couldn’t possibly have known what would come to pass. It was late May. Her day began like any other; she awakened around 7:00 AM, skipped breakfast, and then went to school. Jess was a junior at Fairmont High School, a typical high school for a small Midwestern town like Fairmont, Minnesota, called the City of Lakes, with a population of about 10,000 people. Around 4:00 PM, she went to work at McDonald’s, where she had been working for two years, since she was fifteen.

  Had anyone asked her, Jess would have said that she hated working at McDonald’s, but walking through those golden arches was when her day really began. Her adrenaline started to rush as she and her workmates began discussing all the little dramas of the day. As the only McDonald’s for miles around, it was where many of the high school students congregated.

  After punching in, she walked over to the drive-up window where she sat for the next four hours taking customers’ orders, while her friend sitting three feet away took their money. When there weren’t any customers, the two of them gossiped on their headsets. A beautiful girl, something that made her father, Brian, both proud and fearful, Jess had straight, shoulder-length, light brown hair, with blonde streaks—just like all of her friends—that she wore parted to the side.

  When BJ entered the restaurant, he immediately caught her eye. He was twenty-two, stood 5’9”, and had soft, wavy, brown hair and a medium yet very muscular build. He was wearing a baseball jersey and was with four teammates around his age; they, along with the rest of their team, had driven from Algona, Iowa, an hour north to Fairmont, Minnesota, to play against the town’s baseball team.

  Minutes later, Jess noticed him and one of his teammates walking back outside and over to the drive-up window where she was sitting. “I’d like a glass of water, please,” he said to her, grinning. Smiling coyly, she gave him one and then, as if right on cue, began bantering with him, speaking in that secret language of flirting teenagers. However, as the number of cars in the drive-up line grew, she quickly scribbled her phone number down on a folded napkin and they said good-bye.

  Jess and BJ talked on the phone throughout the entire month of June for hours at a time, and Jess found that she adored BJ’s laid back, easygoing manner. One day he said to her, “Just come see me. It’s time we got together.” A few months later, Jess would say, “He sweet-talked me into driving down by making me feel all guilty,” but at the time she was game, thinking how cool it would be to have an older boyfriend. She made plans to spend July 4th evening w
ith him.

  Used to lying to her father, she had no problem concocting a story about where she was going, telling him that she was staying at a friend’s house and then giving him a bogus girl’s name. Since moving back in with him after living with her mother during her freshman year, she told him one lie after another without batting an eyelash. Her mother was much more lenient, and she didn’t want him messing up her hallowed plans.

  Her parents had gotten divorced when she was six—oh, how Jess hated being shuffled back and forth between them—and as she got older, she struggled to understand what love really meant. Her father had dated several women after he and her mother split, but he never committed to anyone. Perhaps that was the reason Jess didn’t trust guys all that much and tended to form superficial relationships. She knew from firsthand experience that people tended to disappear.

  As with a lot of teenage girls, her social skills were her strength, and nothing was more important than her friends. School ranked low on the totem pole of importance. Jess never did her homework, and her grades were tumbling. She cut school during the day and snuck out of the house at night; either a friend would pick her up or she would take her own car. At one point, her father even took away her car keys; however, she had a spare set and would sneak out of the house after he went to bed. This was a vicious cycle, with each lie covering up the one that came before, until even Jess felt like her life was one big lie.

  Jess’s father tried reasoning with her, but chatting on the Internet and talking on her cell phone, along with the other things she was doing, were just too big a draw for his rules to have any impact. They established an uneasy relationship—she lied, which upset and angered him, and then he yelled and punished her. This saddened her father greatly. He missed their camaraderie; when she was younger, they had been great pals. But Jess had built up so much resentment toward him that she even made her father out to be horrible to her friends.