Thanks for joining my recap of 2012. It was necessary for me to post. A reminder that in the dark and hard places of our life there is also light and beauty and so much love.
And now, to start the story. I need to ask for your grace. This blog is about to get a lot less rainbows and unicorns and pretty photos. I am not perfect and certainly don't have all the answers. What I have to share is deeply personal and it scares me to put it all out here in this way. Please be gentle with me. And with yourself. More than anything I am aware that adoptive parents read this blog and that words have a powerful way of touching places in our lives that we didn't want to disturb or consider too closely.
Thank you for coming back after I've been gone so long. Thank you for caring.
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Part I
I am not the same woman I was when this blog was born. Our
adoption of Ariam has deeply impacted and forever changed the way I see the
world. Reading my blog from inception to present, in preparation for reopening
it, was so eye opening.
The most significant change I see is in my perception of the
adoption triad (in our case, to keep it simple)– birthmother, adoptive mother,
daughter. Daughter to two mothers. Mothers sharing daughter. Across time, space
and beyond all comprehension, we are sharing.
We became parents to the most amazing, fantastic, joyful,
loving, funny, animated little girl on planet earth in June of 2010.
And at least once each week I look at this little girl of mine
and think about the girl who gave her life.
And Ariam asks about that girl-woman regularly. We talk
about how we’ve heard that her nose was so similar to Ariam’s. How she also had
light coffee colored skin. We talk about how sparkly her eyes must have been. I am deeply moved by this woman who connects us and I know that Ariam is as well.
We searched for her and that search turned upside down
everything I thought previously about adoption. It is very clear to us that
adoption was not Ariam’s birthmother’s plan. It has ended up as Ariam’s best
second option. But it was not predestined, it was not “meant to be” and it most
definitely damaged an inherent human right. The right her mother should have
had to be involved in decision making about her daughter’s care.
I am going to
share something here that has forever damaged something in my soul and for
which I hope Ariam forgives me someday for sharing. Because it will change you
too. And you need to hear this before I can move on to part II of our story.
We learned that when Ariam’s girl-woman birthmother learned
she was gone from the place she had entrusted her and gone from Ethiopia. She lay on the floor and cried. She cried for
‘days’.
that is not ok. That image of her haunts me. It will not be ok with Ariam. It is not acceptable in our book and we don't think it is in God's plan for his creation. It was the consequence of a choice her birthmother made. But it was not the logical linear consequence. It was not a consequence that would have occurred if the local orphanage had taken the time to investigate. In the same situation, it was not a consequence I would have had to pay for a youthful mistake. And it was a harsh penalty a young woman paid for some poor decisions - made with very few alternative options.
I am changed. I am humbled. I am seared to the core. And I
can never go back and be the same person I used to be. She can never be the same person she was growing to be.
As for Ariam. She doesn't know all of this story yet. So we won’t share more here. But she is a
deeply thoughtful, caring, and empathetic little girl. She is the girl who rubs her friends’ backs at preschool
when they are sad. She is the one who tells me she will hold her little brother
to her heart when he is scared. She is the one full of love, hope and trust.
She writes us love letters and brings them home from preschool daily.
Someday her heart will break when she learns her complete
story. How could it not?
This experience has shaped our family. It has shaped the way
we view adoption. It has profoundly impacted our view of birth families and our
appreciation for the difficult choices they make. And the ridiculously unfair and unjust "options" available (or forced) upon them.
We know, beyond a shadow of a doubt based on our experience,
that orphanages can create “orphans” and that adoption can create orphanages.
And if neither existed many children would remain in some form of family care
either with their parents or extended family.
And yet we also know that, without adoption as an option on the spectrum of care, many children would grow up alone, in institutions, without a family.
HOW to reconcile these two?
We are complicit in this system. A system that provides
families for some children who are very much in need and that creates “orphans”
out of others who have living, caring, and with some support entirely capable
birthparents.
We are complicit because we want to be a family. We want to
be parents. We want to bring Ariam’s little brother home from Haiti. As
adoptive parents, it is incredibly hard to overrule wants/emotions with sense,
logic, justice, big picture thinking. I know it is excruciatingly hard because
I live this.
Let’s start here. Let’s start this blog over with the
premise that we have arrived at the awareness of this tangled complexity. And that we have come to some conclusions based on our ongoing experience with adoption.
We as a family are awakened to the knowledge that we are complicit in a system that does not always serve those who most need it.
We have been complicit. But no more.
Done with the group think.
Done with feeling
emotionally held hostage.
Done thinking of our wants and needs and placing the highest priority on those.
Done turning a
blind eye to red flags.
Done stepping on egg shells with agencies and their
leadership.
Done worrying about the public opinion of other adoptive
parents.
We are in no way “anti-adoption” but we are fully awake to the fraud,
injustice, and perpetuated cruelties of the “system.”
So.
On February 26, 2013, with final adoption decree in hand, we
removed our son from the agency and orphanage that had been overseeing his care
in Haiti. Putting our own adoption (our ability to get a US visa to bring him home) on the line and in jeopardy for the sake of the truth.
I began this blog by wanting to add something to the story.
When it seemed our adoption in Haiti could be on the line and we had to make
some big choices, I was too scared to continue writing.
But no more.
For Ariam. For AJ. I love you both. This work is my gift to you –
your past present and future. This is our new beginning at the Watershed.
~A
