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Heartbreak and Happiness

A Gay Couple's Sojourn Through the Perils of Adoption

Balboa Press

All Journeys Begin Somewhere

What started as a journey to complete our family turned into a quest that would try our very souls, affecting every decision we made and have yet to make.

I met my partner in August 2003. Our meeting was destined — we later discovered we had often been in the same places at the same time, but till then our paths hadn't crossed. When we first began chatting, I knew we were meant to be together.

I was born in one of the outer boroughs of London in the late 1970s. I think, in their heart of hearts, my parents knew I was different from my siblings.

I loved spending time in my own imagination. I loved school and everything it represented. I was the middle child in a middle-class family. We always seemed to be able to go on holiday, even if it were only to Butlins, Pontins, and all the holidays that you can get for cheap out of the paper.

My parents were also very good at ensuring that we only knew what we needed to know. My dad clearly loved us but could not express his emotions. This ability came years later and is something I will always cherish. He was born at the end of the war to parents who only tolerated each other.

My granddad was very good at altering his memories. I thought that he had fought in the war and that he had single-handedly supported the allies. Well, that was my childhood memory. According to my dad, Granddad had, in fact, been a watchman who checked for any fires at the local gasworks. It did make me laugh. It is a strange coincidence, but as I write this, I remember that he died twelve years ago today, so here is a drink to you, Granddad!

My nan had died ten years previously, and although my dad told me that they never really got on, I don't think Granddad ever got over her death. He went to stay with a relative for what was supposed to be two weeks and ended up staying years.

My mother's parents were very different. Grandfather died when I was about two, so my memories of him are sparse. Nan used to tell me that he spent a lot of time with me, as I was a sickly child born with health concerns that continue to follow me. But without these health issues, I would not be the person I am now. Nan was a formidable lady, who was a nurse for a time and who was used to getting her way. I think my grandparents had their problems, but Nan would never admit to that. She outlived my grandfather by thirty years and only recently passed away. I miss her greatly, and I have visited her grave many times. I have also been working on my family tree, and I am enjoying discovering more about her family.

Our family moved several times, the last being when I was about eight to be closer to my grandparents. When I started school, I met someone who is still a very special friend. I spent many happy years in that old Victorian school and a great deal of time with my grandmother, who, although old to my childish eyes, retained a delightful, witty personality.

When I think back, I recall the old person smell that she always had — you know the smell I mean. She told tales of her youth and her career and also stories about my grandfather. We often used to walk by an old house of hers that overlooked the beach. It had a huge sitting room, and I recall a square wooden table in the bay window where we used to sit, eat, and play games. Despite her age, she exerted an influence over my aunts and uncles. My homework was always done on time, and people used to call me a swot, but I didn't mind. I spent many happy years at that school and then at the local secondary that my siblings, aunts, and uncles had attended. It has since been knocked down, and a new school has been built in its place, but I remember the happy times and, in particular, two teachers who supported and inspired me.

One was an Australian English teacher, who, though only at my school for a year, really taught me to enjoy English and reading. I kept in touch with her after she left, and although there was a long gap, we have recently reconnected. School was a haven for me; it was a special time in my life when I enjoyed learning and meeting with dear friends, who taught me a lot about myself and about who I wanted to become.

Growing up, I used to look at people and wonder what they were thinking and whether I was like them. I used to think about getting married and about having children. But, somehow, I knew I was different and my life would not turn out in the way I had planned.

Sweet Sixteen and a Little Beyond

My sixteenth birthday was a day to remember as the only thing I wanted was a gold wedding band. A strange present to some, and even more strange to my parents, but they gave it to me. I loved it, and when people used to ask about it, I said it was because I would never get married. I had always said that I would never get married; it was a feeling I had shared with my parents.

I still have this ring, but I did eventually meet someone to spend my life with and to marry.

After I left school, I was chronically tired and very ill. After a battery of tests that ruled out everything else, I was diagnosed with ME, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which I suffer with to this day.

I am well most of the time, but some days I am so tired that I literally cannot move. Often I force myself to move because if I surrender to the illness, I fear it will be the end of me.

I moved out of the family home when I was seventeen and relocated three counties away in a city I had visited once. I moved for many reasons, few of which I explained to my parents. I just announced one day that I wanted to move, and a month later, I was gone.

Never again will I have the freedom to depart so blithely; it now takes months of planning to move anywhere. Now that I think about it, it takes months of planning to do anything, to buy anything, or to make any decision. Surely you think this must be a sign of old age or procrastination. I first shared a house with eleven other people. This lasted a year until I began to understand and realize who I was and who I wanted to be. At this time I finally understood that I was gay.

I'd had girlfriends, but it never seemed or felt right. Being gay, being with a man, felt right. I knew that this was when some of my own personal battles would start.

I remember one day in particular when I was working in a bar and was talking to an older guy. He was telling me about his wife and family, and I told him about being gay. He said he was sorry that I had chosen this life because, by doing so, I gave up my right ever to have children.

This made me think. I had done nothing wrong. What did he mean that I would have to miss certain parts of my life? I would love to be a dad, but according to my patron, this would never be possible.

Where Do I Go Now?

I never really knew what I wanted to do as a career; at school I completed a work placement at a local accountancy firm, but it was not for me. Working with the public gives me the greatest satisfaction.

I have managed pubs, worked in homeless hostels, and helped people in their homes. I later worked with families who need help. This has given me a genuine insight into the real issues both individuals and families face and the professionals they come up against.

As a young lad, I thought I would earn lots of money and have a nice house, a family, and a job that I loved. I have all of these things except, of course, the earning lots of money. I just never realized in what way they would come true.

Around this time, I discovered a love of writing, especially poetry. I have been able to create several poems especially for this book; they capture my feelings as we have journeyed through this process.

Over time I had relationships, but they never lasted. I did learn a great deal, however; I thought I knew love, but it was never love. The lessons I learned have stayed with me, and I am still in contact with many friends from that period in my life.

Things changed when I was twenty-four. It was a Wednesday, and though I had not planned to go out, my flatmate insisted. I never realized how much I would thank her years later. Earlier that day, she and I had been talking about relationships; we had both just come out of relationships, and I was feeling low. At half past ten, she begged me to go out. Persuading me with the inducement of half-price drinks, I eventually conceded.

Our meeting was a cliché. Our eyes locked across the club. I needed cigarettes but only had a lighter. He needed a lighter but only had cigarettes. And so, through our mutual love of tobacco, I met my would-be husband. God, how I miss smoking sometimes!

That first night we talked about everything, including children. We found out that we had mutual friends and had been at the same places at the same time. We both knew from the start that one day we wanted to raise children. We both felt, even then, that we had lots to offer but did not know if same-sex couples were allowed to adopt. That night we talked until five in the morning, and we have not stopped since. I sometimes wonder whether we could have come together earlier if we had taken a different path. I do know that we would have ended up together regardless.

Our relationship went from strength to strength. A year to the day we met, we held a ceremony to declare our love for each other. This did not go without a hitch. Note to self: never jokingly tell people to wear a hat — they will take you seriously! Our plans for a small, intimate service grew to an event with 160 people. I also happened to mention to the venue that I would be wearing a dress, but that's another story! We had ordered flowers, which we forgot to take out of the fridge. A dear friend prepared some music, which was forgotten. Also, the poems the celebrant had selected to read during the ceremony were rather sensual, not to mention the fact that my mother was there with her twin and my little sister! The looks that people gave were ever so funny. Many people drank vast quantities, and, to this day, they deny all knowledge. Thankfully, I still have the pictures!

The ceremony took all of about twenty minutes, and the reception was seven hours of much talking, dancing, and singing. I saw people there I had never met before or since. Many long-term couples split up in the months following the ceremony; only three got back together. Somehow, the bar tab for just my husband and me was two hundred pounds! To this day, I have no idea if we actually drank that much. Not that we mind particularly: this was the first time that all the people we loved were in the same place at the same time. The only people to decline our invitation were my new in-laws.

A few years later, we had a second ceremony. The law had changed, and we could make our union legal. At the local registry office, two years and one day after we met, we said our vows, and I meant — and still mean — every single word. This was a service just for us and a handful of our dearest and closest friends.

How to Make a Baby (with the Local Authority)

I am a gay man in his early thirties who has lived and experienced both the good and the bad, the ups and the downs.

I always said that I wanted to live my life with as few regrets as possible. I have done everything I have done for a reason at the time. I may not have made the right decision, but I will always stick by my choices.

My partner is my life, and I am very proud of him. I can rely on, trust, and talk to him like I have never been able to do with anyone else. We can talk about anything from the weather to politics and fashion.

Having children was a thought that was always there, and so one day we picked up the phone. After careful consideration of different agencies, we chose our local authority. The social worker was very keen as I explained what we had to offer, and then I mentioned that my partner was a man. I was then kindly informed that they were very busy and someone would get back to me.

The call never came, and I later discovered how departments stick together, even when they have done wrong. We always thought that adopting children would feel wonderful and that we would be supported throughout the whole process. How wrong were we? I recall later talking to another social worker in the local authority who said that our initial inquiry must have been directed to the wrong department. At the time, they were crying out for adopters and the law had recently changed to allow same-sex couples to adopt.

We did phone again, and that was the start of a very interesting, long, and winding road — a journey full of uncertainty. We started talking about the world of adoption with our friends and family, who thought we were mad. To them, surrogacy (or borrowing a friend's womb for nine months) was much easier and less traumatic. In hindsight, they were probably right!

The more we talked, the keener we became. We researched, read, and asked others for opinions. Looking back, I realize we believed too much in what we thought would happen as opposed to the reality of what could possibly go wrong. We thought that we would be told both the success stories and the stories of failure; we believed we would be informed of both the positives and negatives of any children we might be matched with. I had dreams of being a "normal family" and believed that if we asked for help from the local authority, it would be freely given without judgment or prejudice.

Since this time, I have spoken to many adopters about their experiences. While there are some fairy tales, the vast majority of stories are very much the opposite. I have come to realize that adoption is not for the fainthearted; it will divide and conquer even the strongest of relationships. Any expectations of help or support from social workers or the local authority should be dispensed with immediately. Bringing up children who have suffered for too long through trauma and stress is either the making or breaking of even the strongest of families.

I would like stress that this is not the fault of the children but more of the individuals who are meant to be supporting the interests of the child both pre- and post-placement. Too often this support is not freely given, as many authorities are not willing to invest in these children until they are in a long-term placement. The result, of course, is children who, through no fault of their own, are left traumatized and broken. When they are fortunate enough to be adopted, the adopters are left — ill-prepared — to pick up the pieces from the placing authority. Why is this the case? Budgetary constraint, I am sorry to say. Always the bottom line, never mind the fallout.

So where do the children fit into all of this? According to our two children, adoption means a forever family: a family who will love them unconditionally. Our eldest child always tells us how lucky he is to have found us. This is a lovely thing to hear, as we feel the same, and something we cling to through the darkest and most difficult times.

Who's the Daddy? — Fumbling in the Dark

According to the individual who finally rang us back regarding our query about adoption, the first step is the quarterly open house for prospective adopters. To say it was an interesting night is an understatement. The majority of people in attendance were over thirty, middle class, and white. We were the only same-sex couple there and, to be fair, everyone probably thought we were brothers.

Sitting there in this sea of bland, conservative people, we felt like lepers. Yes, the law had changed to allow nontraditional families to adopt, and adoption agencies were expected to reflect this; however, the entire evening consisted of lectures on being "forever mummies" and "forever daddies." Sitting there, we both asked the perpetual question, "Who's the daddy?"

We did ask about the language used and expressed how it made us feel. We were informed that this was the language and materials provided by the BAF, the British Association of Adopters and Fosterers. Even if they wanted to challenge the materials or language, they were not allowed to do so. I later discovered that this is not the case: the BAF suggests social workers should be flexible and tailor the materials and language to better reflect the groups going through. However, they do recognize that many social workers struggle to stay current and change as processes and policies are further refined to better reflect the changing face of adoption.

After we got our children and somehow managed to settle them and survive with them, I was asked to attend an open house as a speaker. This, I thought, was positive. Could it be that the social workers we were working with to support our children were trying to portray to prospective adopters the true, worst-case scenario face of adoption? No. I was given a list of the things I was and was not allowed to say. Anything negative was to be omitted from my presentation. I was told to focus on the positives and that, potentially, some of these adopters would be receiving children from the same local authority as ours. If asked today, they would probably deny that this conversation took place.

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Excerpted from Heartbreak and Happiness by Jonathan Merrick. Copyright © 2015 Jonathan Merrick. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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