You say goodbye and I say hello

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.)

Adoption Truth Part I: I have changed

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.

........................
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

New Year, Fresh Start

You know its been a while when...

you have to type in your entire blog URL because your new computer (the one you bought months ago) doesn't automatically start to load it with the first few words

you can't remember your blogger id or password

you can't even remember how to start a new post!

Today is day 1 of a new year. January 1, 2013.

Last night I held Ariam close and looked in her eyes telling her that she made 2012 the best year of our lives. She laughed. And maybe it was a bit dramatic. But it was true. Through the ups and downs, Ariam brings a light, a fire, a sparkle and a huge sense of happiness, peace and optimism to our home.

So that we won't forget, here are the biggies of 2012:

- Both of us changed jobs early in 2012. I left a job I had been working on for the past five years and began a new long-term consultancy. J settled into his life as a college professor and has never been happier.

Who we pretend to be...

Who we really are...

- At the end of March we traveled to Haiti for a week during J's spring break to meet our son, "Mr. Dimple." It was a very special time with a special baby.

- Travel. We did some. It wasn't up to our pre-parenting level of fun, relaxation or adventure. But it was memorable:

I took Ariam to California in May. (I was facilitator for a workshop at the Christian Alliance for Orphan Summit.)

Aya and Papa (my parents) joined us

We reunited with friends from Ethiopia!

Our small Ethiopia friends taught us to run naked on the beach (this was right before she stripped)!

We had a mommy/daughter beach day and made precious memories.

Ariam received and lost at least 4 pairs of sunglasses in the summer of 2012

J flew home in July to the small city he grew up in on the West Coast. It was an unplanned trip. He was back in his hometown for the funeral of his best friend, Alex. Alex's death was so sudden, so unexpected. It marks the heartbreaking mid-point of our 2012. We miss him every day.

Our best man.

J, Ariam and I went to Minnesota for a week in late summer to see old friends. It was supposed to be a girl's only trip but after Alex's death we decided not to miss opportunities to be together as a family and to see the people we love in person.

Met and fell in love here.

In late summer we celebrated baby brother's first birthday with cupcakes and a song. Ariam added to the growing stack of presents, cards and other artwork she is diligently creating for his arrival home.

Grandpa Jack made Ariam this awesome go cart. She spent late summer/early fall riding it as often as possible.

Gordon the preschool class mascot spent a weekend with us!

I went to London for work and spent a weekend with a dear friend in York. Prayed for miracles at Yorkminster Cathedral. We giggled our evenings away and walked/shopped with diligence during the day.

Was pampered, cocooned and completely loved and taken care of (and laughed until my stomach hurt and I couldn't walk) with this old friend and her hubby in Royal Tunbridge Wells.

Friendship that has taken us from  flip flops and stray dogs in rural Thailand to high heels and scones in England.

The fall was filled with pumpkins and trick or treating and sunshine.

I wish I could freeze them this way/this moment in time forever.

A light up princess crown from England (from Jackie and Ollie) was just the perfect accessory.

We drove to Santa Fe for a beautiful last warm fall weekend in early November.

Our solace. Our place of peace and escape. Closer to nature and closer to God.

Spent Thanksgiving in a small mountain town with wonderful friends and kids who plan to marry and make us beautiful babies. ;)

 - We ended 2012 the way we began it, with an epic 16 hour, 2 dogs, one restless preschooler, road trip to stay with family in Texas. This year it was much improved by the spacious used minivan we were rocking and the wonders of the ipad.

........................

And now I am watching the Rose Bowl parade. Specifically the part where a man coming home from overseas military duty surprises his wife and child on the parade route. My tears dripping on the keyboard.

I think it's safe to say that 2012 has made me hold what I have closer than ever while at the same time reminding me that our human earthly lives are so incredibly fragile and fleeting.

As a family, we have 2 goals for 2013.

1. Be even more diligent about making memories together and spending time with the people we love.

2. Bring home baby brother from Haiti. This girl of ours is so ready to be a big sister.

~ A

Loss

To Lose. It is a verb when you are talking about it abstractly. "Did you hear that so and so lost their (dog, house, child, parent)?"
Loss. A powerful noun when it refers to you and your own life. "I have experienced a loss."


Cassidy, our 13 year old English Springer Spaniel, passed away on June 4th. She was born on May 15, 1998. J and I bought her, on a humid summer evening, from a breeder in MN in July 1998 when she was 10 weeks old. We've had 3 dogs in our married life, Cassidy was the only one who has been like a child to us. Faithful is the best word to describe her. She always trusted us, always knew that we were her people. She was never happier than when we were all together - her pack - going anywhere, but together.




Summer 1998

 There was a time, right after we got married in 1999 and moved to a small city in NY, that J was in graduate school and I was extremely unemployed. He was in an art program and in the studio day and night. I was experience the life altering shatter of the Christian college bubble. You know, where you suddenly realize that the world is full of awful people (like the drug dealer/pimp who had loud s.ex in the apartment above us) and that your bachelor's degree in international relations means less than nothing in a small city in upstate New York.

Cassidy and I would walk to the huge park near our house and sit. Just sit on a hill near the confluence of the Genessee and Hudson rivers. I'd cry. She'd press against my side and let me keep an arm around her. Then suddenly she'd take off, chasing squirrels and rolling in grass and throwing her full body into the river for a stick. She'd return full of life and joy and look me in the eye to say "hey! wake up! It is SO great here in this sleepy city. And isn't it SO great that we can just hang out all day together?!" :)




Summer 1998 - Trout Lake Camp, MN


Passed away seems too easy of a description. We made the decision to put Cassidy to sleep on June 4th. If you've been reading here you know that she was diagnosed with a large lung tumor in January. The prognosis was 4-8 weeks and she gave us almost five months. In the end it seemed pretty clear that she was holding on the best she could because she's not one to give up on us. So we had to make the decision for her.

I came home from Ethiopia on the 2nd. The next day Cassidy followed me around the house with the "eyes." I know these particularly "eyes" because she used to give them to me while she was suffering from undiagnosed Addison's disease in 2002. They are the eyes that say "I'm not feeling good. Can you fix it?"

She was struggling for breath, coughing a lot, and she couldn't just lay down and get comfortable. Her job here with us was done and there were no more pills that could help. So on Saturday we took her in and helped her say goodbye.

It's a terrible thing, taking a life. I've never done it before, not even humanely. I have selfishly tried to rescue little dying birds, puppies, squirrels, and even a raccoon we hit with the car one time. If it were up to me I'd always choose life, even over humane death, and I'd see every person and animal live forever.

But life has a really crappy way of calling you out and ending sometimes before everyone feels ready to say goodbye.

We gave Cassidy a double stack cheeseburger. And a peanut butter bone. And the vet staff were incredible and loving and made it as easy as possible. We told little stories about her while they were prepping. Cassidy was so tired. I told her it was ok to let go and she just layed down and it was over. But not over for me. I see her in my mind's eye every day. Those last minutes of saying goodbye. The way her fur was so soft still. Her long ears that I've cried many tears into over the years. It is baffling how life can be there one second and the body there but the life gone, the next. We learn about this concept, and maybe I am the last 34 year old on earth who hasn't actually experienced it in either animal or human form, but it is....well... baffling. Mysterious.

So it has been a miserable week and a half. I thought once it was done and the tears were cried that day that it would all be over and life would move on. But every day last week there were more tears. There are still tears, they just don't always flow now.

We got her ashes back last Wednesday. And again, I marvel at how that is all our lives boil down to. Because whether we are human or doggie, life ends and in the end our dust can fit in a little box.

Never have I been more glad to know that there is life after death. Never have I found more comfort in the knowledge that God promises us a better place, where ALL things will be made new. Beloved dogs too. Life on earth is so fleeting. 13 years went by in the blink of an eye. Surely our human lives will be just a speck as well. I imagine that by the time I am very old, and my time is up, I will have said many, even harder, goodbyes and be even more comforted by the thought of heaven.

We sang a song in church on Sunday:

Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King
Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King
Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, we are going to see the King

No more crying there, we are going to see the King
No more crying there, we are going to see the King
No more crying there, we are going to see the King
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, we are going to see the King

No more dying there, we are going to see the King
No more dying there, we are going to see the King
No more dying there, we are going to see the King
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, we are going to see the King

It is an old gospel hymn with roots as a "Negro spiritual."
I can only imagine the losses of some of the people who have sung this song over the generations.

My loss, it is a first world loss. A priviliged loss. I don't forget that. But it is not any less painful for knowing that.

This past weekend we sold D.oris D.ay. Our scooter. I had this dream - that once we moved to Colorado we would travel everywhere by scooter. While some dreams are harder to bring true, this one wasn't so difficult - the scooter part. We bought DD within a couple of months of arriving here. We took her to the store, and for sunset rides around the lakes. She was sort of our last hurrah as a married couple without kids.

We sold DD last weekend. I cried both before and after. You know how once you start crying the tears manufacture much more easily? Yeah, that's been me since Cassidy's death. The tears are just there ready to spring out and fly all over the place - over a scooter, over a photo, over the thought of Ariam ever dying, over our under-celebrated 12th anniversary on Monday.

I think the couple that bought DD thought I was crazy. I may or may not have insisted that they call her DD and encouraged them to take her to watch the sunset at Sloan's Lake every night. I may have also (cringe) suggested that they buy the house for sale next door....

Here they are trying to appear understanding as I take a photo for this blog post and blubber about how my dog just died and I'm sad to say goodbye to the scooter too.

It would be nice to be able to pull it together in the coming weeks and enjoy some summer.

I think we need a puppy....

~A