J and I just arrived home from spending a very extended period of time with AJ in Haiti.
When I arrived in Haiti in July I had every intention of staying until I crossed through the immigration line in the U.S. with him, proudly wearing our Colorado t-shirts, hopefully by end of this month.
But things don't always turn out the way we have planned. It became clear that AJ's passport and visa would not be ready in July or August.
J left Haiti first. So it was up to me on Tuesday afternoon to haul my 55 pound suitcase out to the van and wrap my arms around my distracted little boy with the frown on his face. I told him I would be back.
I didn't think I would cry. I honestly thought that I've cried every tear available to me since January and have not a single drop left.
But when he started crying I cried. I cried for him and for us. So many hellos and goodbyes. So much time passed since we first met. So many hurdles we've had to overcome and so many still to go. Confusing for a 2 year old.
I cried for the pure unfairness of life. And for what he will think when I am gone. And how he will view me when I show up again, randomly, in his life at a future date.
If I'm honest I am still crying. Something happened today that just set me off. It's interesting isn't it how when you are holding back one big set of tears, something can sneak in and trigger them from an unrelated angle?
I wonder sometimes how many times we can all pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off and keep going forward. How many times can I wipe away the tears in the shower and keep a stoic face when friends ask how the adoption is going. How many times can we go to Haiti and not bring AJ home?
I wonder how long Ariam can deal with this - the tension, the anxiety, the not knowing and waiting. I wonder how many more midnight phone calls I can field from other adoptive families using our former organization who are terrified for their children. How long can I keep up the strength to listen and support and encourage?
I guess we just keep walking forward. Putting one foot in front of the other. I'm going to try to blog more. It helps. Most of the time it is easier to write about all of this than it is to talk about it. Thanks for being here with me.
~A
AJ the morning before I left. He's getting so big.
(I put him in the Colorado t-shirt that was meant for his homecoming.)
When I arrived in Haiti in July I had every intention of staying until I crossed through the immigration line in the U.S. with him, proudly wearing our Colorado t-shirts, hopefully by end of this month.
But things don't always turn out the way we have planned. It became clear that AJ's passport and visa would not be ready in July or August.
J left Haiti first. So it was up to me on Tuesday afternoon to haul my 55 pound suitcase out to the van and wrap my arms around my distracted little boy with the frown on his face. I told him I would be back.
I didn't think I would cry. I honestly thought that I've cried every tear available to me since January and have not a single drop left.
But when he started crying I cried. I cried for him and for us. So many hellos and goodbyes. So much time passed since we first met. So many hurdles we've had to overcome and so many still to go. Confusing for a 2 year old.
I cried for the pure unfairness of life. And for what he will think when I am gone. And how he will view me when I show up again, randomly, in his life at a future date.
If I'm honest I am still crying. Something happened today that just set me off. It's interesting isn't it how when you are holding back one big set of tears, something can sneak in and trigger them from an unrelated angle?
I wonder sometimes how many times we can all pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off and keep going forward. How many times can I wipe away the tears in the shower and keep a stoic face when friends ask how the adoption is going. How many times can we go to Haiti and not bring AJ home?
I wonder how long Ariam can deal with this - the tension, the anxiety, the not knowing and waiting. I wonder how many more midnight phone calls I can field from other adoptive families using our former organization who are terrified for their children. How long can I keep up the strength to listen and support and encourage?
I guess we just keep walking forward. Putting one foot in front of the other. I'm going to try to blog more. It helps. Most of the time it is easier to write about all of this than it is to talk about it. Thanks for being here with me.
~A
AJ the morning before I left. He's getting so big.
(I put him in the Colorado t-shirt that was meant for his homecoming.)
It sounds totally inadequate, but so sorry that you are having such huge hurdles with this adoption. Breaks my heart for everyone who loves this little fella. SMACK!
ReplyDeleteOh A, my stomach dropped. I am just so, so sorry. Praying for you.
ReplyDeleteWe are crying together with you - and standing strong with you - and supporting you every step of the way.
ReplyDeleteThe only bright spot in this is your beautiful, shining, gorgeous boy.
ReplyDeleteHe's so lovely, and I'm so sorry. Cry all you want to, all you need to. Our family's thoughts and prayers are with you and your little family.
ReplyDeleteI love those dimples and the shine in his eyes. You're amazing and strong even if it doesn't always feel that way.
ReplyDeleteI am at a loss for words. Sending you hugs. Jen
ReplyDeleteOh this seems unfair. For everyone involved. Thinking of you all and hoping so much that things go quickly and that your next Hello is forever.
ReplyDeleteI know this particular pain. We waited 7 1/2 years for ours. Good-byes...sigh....there is no way to put that pain into words. My heart goes out to you guys. Please hang in there and keep the faith. ((HUGS)) to you warrior mom!
ReplyDelete