Like Starting Over

Recently, we heard of some major changes at the agency where we undertook our training. Of the two permanent social workers we met there, one left to pursue another career and the other was laid off for reasons we can’t quite fathom. Both these women were really dedicated to their work and gave us some confidence that they would be there to help us when we finally decided to move forward. Now they’re both gone.

To be honest, the choice of agency was a bit of a bone of contention between Jose and me from the beginning (see February ’08 posts). We differed on our favorites, but for the same reasons. Jose preferred his choice because they were established and structured. To me, they felt institutionalized and ossified; I preferred my selection because the social workers were young and energetic and seemed flexible in a situation where flexibility is definitely needed. Jose read those features as disorganized and inexperienced.

A friend referred us to another agency that his friend had used to adopt her daughter. Jose pushed for us to make the switch to them. The problem was, they are located more than 20 miles north of us, beyond downtown LA. That would mean at least an hour’s drive, traffic permitting. Jose argued that it would be worth it, but I reminded him that I would be the one driving the child for parental visits and that shuttling an already traumatized child on a two-hour round-trip, three days a week was hardly conducive to building a strong, healing bond.

I got my way in the end, but it wasn’t a sweet victory. This needed to be something we were both 100% (or at least 99%) happy with, but Jose wasn’t really satisfied and I wasn’t happy because he wasn’t happy. What a mess.

It’s all water under the bridge now, anyway. If we do decide to move forward with this process, we can’t commit to an agency that doesn’t have the resources to help us. Drive or no drive, even I know that. Our two sets of friends are progressing with the agency, but they are both further along in the process than us. They have their completed home studies and all their documents in order; they are already ready to take in a child. As we have none of that, it only makes sense that we move to another agency that can get done what needs to be done. And that means going through 30 hours of training again. Oh joy!

Well, at least next time, we’ll know exactly what to expect—which doesn’t make me want to hurry out and go through it again.