I Call him Tucker in my Head
We began our adoption journey in August of 2013 after our fertility journey ended in June (three failed IUI attempts after having a surgery to make sure my body was all clear). My husband and I knew we would only take our fertility journey so far at that time. I was 39, and my husband was 40.
We became officially “home studied” by December of 2013 which meant we could legally adopt a baby should one become ready. We were signed up to use Angel Adoption in Illinois, an agency that required you to pay up front and get 24 months to find a match (although it wasn’t guaranteed). We pulled money out of our 401K ($16,000) and willingly mailed it away praying the result would be a “family of three”.
In May of 2014, the Friday before memorial weekend, my husband got a call from the agency in Pittsburgh (where we lived) who did our home study. NOT Angel Adoption. The agency in our home town told my husband that a birth mother had called them to make an adoption plan. They were calling all their recent couples to see who would be interested in being presented. My husband, caught off guard and unable to really respond, told the social worker to please call me instead.
My husband called me frantically, “I got the call…THE CALL…there is a baby…in Pittsburgh…a birth mom, needs a family. Please call Jessica, our social worker.” I was immediately flooded with tears…in my office…at work…unable to speak. I tried to pull myself together and asked why the agency in Pittsburgh was calling us, when we paid $16,000 to Angel Adoption. Did my husband really have the facts right?? So, I called Jessica our local social worker.
“Kristen…we have a birth mother who is due any day now. She’s here in Pittsburgh, and she’s already in the hospital. It’s a boy. She doesn’t know who the father is…although she has an idea. Maybe. She’s a smoker. She’s an addict. Heroin mainly. She been on methadone through the entire pregnancy, but that’s okay…as that keeps the baby from withdrawing. She’s had addiction issues for about 11 years now. Would you be interested in us presenting you and your husband, Brian. to her…as possible parents for her son?” Jessica inquired.
Still unable to speak, it hit me… Is this my son? Wiping away the tears streaming down my face, I asked if I could discuss with my family and let her know by morning.
We decided we need to say yes. We needed to put ourselves into the mix and let fate determine if he is meant to be our son. We said YES.
Days later, on May 26, 2014, Caleb was born via c-section and we got the call the next day that she had chosen us. We were to meet them the next day. May 28th.
We arrived at the hospital and found a seat in the lobby. I watched women coming and going, wondering what the birth mom would look like. How tall would she be? How young would she look? Straight hair? Curly hair? I took in every detail of every woman who passed me. And then I noticed a girl with wet hair walk outside to smoke, holding a folder. She was walking carefully, like she was in some pain. Was that her?
Suddenly pulled out of my trance by Jessica, our social worker, we were escorted to the security desk to check in when I quickly noticed the wet headed girl standing next to her. I was clearly caught off guard and unsure as to how to act when Jessica introduced us, “Kristen, this is Jenny, the birth mom.”
Jenny’s shoulders started to shake as tears ran down her face. I extended my hand to introduce myself…but she was falling apart, so I quickly took her into my arms. I held her, stunned. I looked over to see her mother embracing my husband next to her. Jenny and Jane Smith.
***
We followed them to towards the NICU. Caleb was there due to a lung infection and potential withdrawal symptoms that could begin at about 3 days after birth. “He’s perfect,” Jenny told me as we walked. I smiled. She continued, “He’s white…because if he wasn’t white, his balls would be really dark, and they aren’t…they are light.” My mind was blown. What?
“I think I know who the birth father is. Would you meet him?” She asked. “Of course,” I replied. “His name is Bob. See…he’s white. And I was with him while I was temporarily broken up from my fiancé. I have two kids with Bill, not Bob. And Bill and I are engaged. I have Mike who is 5 and Alaina who is 7. You’ll meet them later,” she explained.
We entered into the NICU, where we found Caleb sleeping. We all huddled inside the small space surrounding Caleb’s isolette. The nurse asked if I’d like to hold him. Wires on him everywhere, I wondered how I wouldn’t get tangled up, but the nurse continued to prep him for me to hold. “Can I give him to you,” Jenny asked? Willingly I just nodded, “Yes!”
And suddenly, overwhelmingly stunned, I was holding this baby boy. Our baby boy? We took turns holding Caleb while confusing conversations ensued.
“Bill and my kids are coming to meet Caleb. My brother and his girlfriend are already here. Is this, okay?” Jenny asked. Is this normal? I wondered to myself. She continued, “But Bob is here, the birth father.” Maybe the birth father? I thought.
Brian had to leave, and I was left at the hospital to spend time with Jenny and her family. And Bill. And Bob. I took it all in. “Don’t be afraid that I’m going to change my mind, I won’t. He is yours to raise. He’s your son,” she told me. NICU staff took photocopies of Brian and my IDs and put them on Caleb’s NICU bed with a sign: Adopted Parents. Wow.
***
I left the hospital to give Jenny some time with Caleb and her family and let her know that Brian and I would return later to hold him before bed. Her family, very lovingly, extended themselves to me and I left with her mother’s cell phone number in my phone.
We arrived later to the security desk and showed our ID’s. We were quickly let back in and headed to the NICU for an hour to hold “our son”.
That night, we decided that I would continue to go into the hospital every morning until they determined whether or not Caleb would be moved to the withdrawal unit. He was beginning to show symptoms of withdrawal, but this was certainly unchartered territory for me, so I just went where they told me.
The next morning, I arrived alone at the hospital to find that security wouldn’t let me in; I needed to talk to a hospital social worker. I finally tracked down the hospital social worker, “Mrs. Bocka, Jenny left the hospital in the night which means she technically has abandoned him. We’re not sure if she will be responsive to returning to the hospital in order to make this right. But I don’t believe she signed all the necessary paperwork with your social worker. Any chance you know if she has?” I was stunned. AGAIN. I had no idea what she signed. “You’ll need to contact your social worker and determine if you have proper documentation. There will also be an emergency shelter hearing tomorrow to determine Caleb’s next steps. Child Youth Family services will need to take custody of Caleb, so I’m not sure if you will be able to foster him or adopt him at all,” the hospital social worker continued.
My social worker finally contacted me. “We’ve made it possible for you to enter the hospital. But you need to understand that Caleb will become property of the state temporarily until they determine his future…another family member could step up and adopt him or he could enter the foster care system,” she explained.
My voice quaked, “But she chose us…and then she left the hospital having signed half the paperwork? Does she know she just potentially derailed this process? What about what is best for him? So, I will come here every day and hold this baby…but, you’re saying that he may not become my son?”
“That is correct Kristen, and I’m sorry,” the social worker empathized.
We made a decision that day: if we were meant to hold this baby, and love this baby, for a short amount of time, then that is what we would do. He needed all of the love he could get, and I would do this for him. No matter the outcome.
For 20 days, I arrived at the hospital every morning, and I held Caleb while he withdrew from heroin, methadone, cocaine…etc. He was rigid, he was stiff, he cried with a high pitch, he sneezed often…and sucked on his binky like his life depended on it. We bonded deeply. Nurses watched from afar knowing the story. (I later learned that there was even a secret group behind the scenes cheering us on.) Nurses were told they could not support us openly, that it was the decision of CYF and their plan for Caleb, not ours.
On the 21st day when I arrived at security, I was told I could not come in. I wanted to vomit.
The hospital social worker told me that CYF was removing me from the hospital as I was too close to the baby and too close to the staff. There was a hearing dated July 1st that would determine whether Caleb would go into the foster system or back into the path of adoption. I was told that I could get a lawyer to represent us as potential adoptees (which I secured quickly with my social worker’s guidance). I was told by that lawyer that I could possibly get a 2ndlawyer to represent Jenny, if I could find her in the streets.
Find her?? So, I texted Jane Smith, her mother, whose number I had in my phone contacts. I explained to her that Caleb would enter the foster system if Jenny didn’t help re-direct his future. I explained that I’d been in the hospital for 3 weeks and could no longer get in. I found her brother on Facebook and wrote him a desperate message that I needed help.
Within 30 minutes my phone rang with an unknown number. Jenny. Rather than lashing out at her from my concern and frustration, I attempted to clearly explain the situation.
“Pick me up on the corner of Friendship Ave tomorrow morning at 9am,” she instructed.
***
I pulled up to the park near our agreed upon corner, her wet hair and tube dress within view as she casually strolled towards my car, completely unphased of the nightmare she had created. She held the cards to me becoming or not becoming this baby’s mother. A baby who I had held every morning and night for three weeks. A baby that consumed my thoughts as I cried myself to sleep. Yet, the stakes seemed lost on her.
Calmly, I tried to update her, “So, Caleb is most likely not Bob’s baby as he has a Mongolian spot on his butt which indicates he’s biracial. Do you by chance know of another possible birth father option who isn’t white?” Jenny laughed, “Well, he could be anything, Kristen…I don’t turn tricks with white guys. That’s why I figured he was Bob’s, because he looked white at birth.” Stunned. Again.
***
We walked into the office where we sat in front of the lawyer together and learned that the CYF lawyers would likely attempt to put Caleb into foster care. However, Caleb would also have a lawyer present to represent the best decision for him (an outside organization that protects the path of babies born in situations like this). I would have a lawyer representing Brian and me as his potential adopted parents. And Jenny would have a lawyer present to support her and her choices for Caleb. How did I get here?
On July 1st, the date of the hearing, I got a call from Bill, Jenny’s fiancé who shared with me that Jenny would not be showing up to court. “She never intended to, she’s an addict who can’t follow along with anything,” he explained.
My brain was suddenly melting down.
I called my lawyer to tell her that Jenny would not be showing up. “Ok, change of plans…do you have the contact information for Bob, the man she thought might be the birth father?” she asked. “I do, but what are you thinking?” I hesitantly respond as I tried to get a sense her plan.
“Well, he was there when she chose you and he was there when she made her adoption plan. He theoretically could be the witness by taking her role on in this hearing, whether he is the birth father or not,” she explained.
I called Bob and he answered. “Bob, would you be able to change your plans today and head to the courthouse in downtown Pittsburgh to help us adopt Caleb? We could be there all day, so I realize this is a HUGE request.” I boldly asked. He quickly responded, “You’re lucky because I’m a truck driver, and typically I’m gone for an entire day on a route down to DC. But I haven’t gone anywhere today yet. I can do this for you. I’ll make this right if Jenny can’t.”
***
We arrived at the courthouse and headed into the waiting room where Bob, Brian and I grabbed seats. When our case was finally called, we all lined up along with all the lawyers. As we lined up, my lawyer covertly nodded towards a woman, Caleb’s current foster mother. She continued to whisper that Caleb had been in another room in the building where his foster mom had been caring for him.
My head was spinning.
The hearing began. “Where is the birth mother?” asked the judge, who was pissed. The lawyers jumped in and used legalese to explain her addiction and that she was unable to present herself, therefore Bob was here on her behalf.
As I watched the orchestration happen from lawyer to lawyer, I could barely follow along. I looked over to my husband who was just crying. Like shoulder shaking crying. I scanned the room, from CYF social workers, to Bob, to Bill, to the foster mom, to our lawyer, when my lawyer grabbed my leg. “The judge is granting you permission to continue with the adoption process!” she translated.
The judge berated the CYF social workers, “Shame on you…this couple showed up morning and night for this baby…there is no reason for them being removed, there is no reason this baby should be in the system…no reason at all. What is best for this baby was happening the entire time, but you changed course when you shouldn’t have. I grant permission for adoption based on the partial documentation that the birth mother signed on 5/28 when she met Brian and Kristen. Done!” It was final.
I could exhale.
We would become his parents. And within 5 minutes of hugging everyone…the foster mother appeared with Caleb. “Congratulations,” she smiled as she gave him to me to hold. Is this how it’s supposed to happen? I didn’t have a baby seat for my car. I didn’t have diapers at my house. How would we get him home? It was 6pm and the courthouse was closing.
My social workers guided me down to the exit doors as Caleb cried hysterically. Was he hungry? Was he tired? Did he need to be changed? I heard one social worker say,“I’m running across the street to CVS to get formula and diapers, stay right here!” I heard my husband say “I’m driving to get a car seat, stay right here!” Total chaos. I tried to zone in on Caleb and gave him my full attention. But nothing was working.
By 7pm, I had called all of our local family, having asked everyone to bring clothes, diapers, baby products…anything they could get their hands on, and meet us at our house.
I stood in the vestibule of the courthouse. It was July, it was hot and I had a crying baby. My husband sped toward us, jumping out of the car where we then began installing the car seat. We hadn’t ever done this before. We hadn’t even driven a baby in a car before. Caleb was still crying. I sat in the backseat and held his hands. It was all I could do.
We arrived at our house to see everyone standing on the sidewalk waiting anxiously to meet their grandson, cousin, nephew, etc. We carried him inside. A mess, I fell to pieces. He was actually home. Our home.
***
When I was in the hospital morning and night for those first three weeks, there was a young nursing student who would say hi to me on her rounds. She would watch me. One day she sat next to me as I was feeding Caleb and she handed me a folded-up note. When she handed me this note, she said “You may want to read this after you leave here today. I hope it’s okay that I have given this to you. But I wanted you to know…that when I am here during the day, and I see this baby boy, I call him Tucker in my head. I don’t know if you planned to change his name…but that is what I call him.”
Our son Tucker Michael Bocka officially became our son on May 28th, 2015, exactly one year to day that we met him. We call this day “Best Day Ever.”
As we were celebrating Tucker’s adoption on The Best Day Ever, my father-in-law noticed a picture of Jenny that we had up on a bannered decoration. He immediately looked pale and gasped, “I know her. Oh my god I know her.” He explained, “Every morning, I would arrive at the same gas station before work to get my coffee…really early, like 5am in the morning. And every morning, Jenny would be at the same gas station to get cigarettes, just after finishing her night. I know her kids…I’ve driven her home in a rainstorm. I knew her when she was pregnant with Tucker. OH MY GOD…this is crazy. She would sometimes even buy me coffee if her night went well. You do know she’s a hooker, right?” I closed my eyes, “Yes, I do know that.” He continued, “Well…I know her. I really know her.”
Two years later in 2017, my husband’s father arrived at a McDonalds near that gas station when Jenny walked in. They recognized each other. He said she looked awful, strung out but he asked, “Do you know who I am?” And she smiled, “Yes. you’ve never judged me; you’ve always been nice to me…” He interrupted, “No, I mean, do you know who I am? Do you know that I am Tucker’s grandfather?” Silent, she started to cry. “I’m his grandfather. My son adopted your son.”
***
This is our story that is still being written. We will continue to help build Tucker’s life journey and hope he has everything he needs to thrive.
In June of 2018, I birthed Tucker’s sister, Penny Jo. That is our next story.
~Kristen Bocka
