sometimes goodbye comes before hello

I'm not sure where to start. The past few days have been like a rush of events, all churning around me, but none of them involving me directly. I want to focus on one event in particular.

I have some amazing, wonderful, and inspiring friends. They are hoping to adopt. No, it's not Dave and Amy. These friends helped support me through my unplanned pregnancy, and were some of my biggest cheerleaders through placement and post-placement.

My heart is aching for them right now. They were told a sweet baby girl would be placed with them today, and as soon as they arrived in the baby's birth state, they were told the new mother had changed her mind - she would not be placing.  When I got the news, I was devastated. It shocked me, because I know how painful it would have been for the girl to relinquish her parental rights... but I cannot fathom how much pain is involved when you have to say goodbye before you even say hello.
 
I am praying for my friends. I am praying for that sweet baby girl. I am also praying for the new young mother. It will not be easy for her, but I'm praying she can be strong as she takes on the world. Although there is anger that my dear friends were hurt, the anger is not at the would-be birthmother. My anger is directed at how unfair infertility is. I don't struggle with infertility that I know of, but it hurts. It hurts to see people aching to be parents, and unable to do so biologically... and even more to see them be so close to having a child, and having it taken from them. It makes me angry that anyone else has to go through any of the emotional torment associated with placing a child for adoption. More than anything, though... there is sorrow. This is part of being human, and like it or not... I can't do anything about it. I can support, I can love, I can educate.

My dear friends who have gone through what may be the worst day you have ever known... I love you. So deeply. I pray for you, I wish I lived closer to you. I want you to know how much support you have, from those you know and many you do not. I know that our Heavenly Father loves you, and I wish so much there was something, ANYTHING, I could to do take your pain away. But I can't. As much as I want to.

I am a birthmother. I ache. And, unlike many, I also ache daily for the other side of my sorrow.