I've been up since 4:30 this morning because my daughter, who's 2 and has been home from China a year, is terrified of the night. Nighttime in orphanage is a horrible thing and little ones, especially those with big disabilities, are the most vulnerable. Her fear has gotten better, but there are still nights where she cries inconsolably for hours.
At 6:00 this morning, my soon-to-be 5-year-old woke screaming, terrified that his mama and daddy weren't here. He does this a lot and it can take hours to get him back to sleep. I was trying to get the baby back to sleep when his nightmare began and once that started, I knew any chance of that was gone. He cried for someone to hold him until my husband came to get him out of bed and took him upstairs to ours. Thankfully, after being held closely, he finally went back to sleep.
I spent my early afternoon in a meeting at school about my oldest son -- he's 5 and was adopted from Uganda three years ago. He and our almost-5-year-old will both be starting kindergarten in the fall. They're best of friends and thankfully have been able to spend this year in preschool together, but our older son has cerebral palsy quadriplegia and cannot yet go to a typical class. I came away from the meeting realizing that all three of our children will likely end up in different schools next year because each has different needs. How am I supposed to be in all these places at once? That I have no idea about. I'm sad and discouraged that this system that's supposed to be for each and every child is making our lives so much more complicated.
After the meeting, I called the hospital. Our daughter is scheduled for some minor surgery at the end of May and we've been trying to get an MRI of her brain and spine done since she came home last summer. She's gone under anesthesia before, but they felt it was too much time under to do it then. This time? They're out of time slots for their one MRI machine. I went back and forth with radiology, with anesthesia, with the receptionist and left a message for the dentist, who will be doing her oral procedure, but in all likelihood, she's going to need to do the MRIs under anesthesia at a different time.
Sweet baby girl cried all afternoon because she was exhausted from being up so early. We braved the cold rain together, as she sobbed, to go get big brothers from school. We arrived home and biggest brother, who is nonverbal, began to sob too. This usually means one of two things with him -- either he's sad Mickey Mouse is over or he's hungry and he's afraid he's not going to get fed. The fear runs deep after being so malnourished and underweight for so many years.
I sat at my dining room table and held him tonight as he cried, whispering in his ear that I promise I'll never let him go hungry, that I promise I will always take care of him, that I will hold him while he cries for as long as he needs.
My sweet boy sat on my lap, hiccuping with sobs, until I asked him "Michael, would you like me to put you in the baby carrier?" He's 5-1/2, but he missed those first years with a mama and I've learned not to take those rules so seriously. Sometimes even a 5-1/2-year-old needs his mama to baby him.
We snuggled and hugged and tickled and I whispered in his ear "Mikey, you know that I love you more than anything, right?" He doesn't say much, so when he gives me a rare "uh huh" with a smile, my heart could burst. I fed him dinner, tickled his toes and sang him some songs (he's my biggest fan) and once again, all was right in his little world.
Some days, adoption is hard. Bone crushingly hard. The trauma runs deep, the fears never completely abating.
But we continue to fight.
We continue to advocate for the best care for these precious ones who began their lives with nothing and no one.
We hold them when they cry, or when they're scared, or when they beat you with their tiny fists, for reasons they don't even understand.
Why?
Because of those "uh huhs."
Because of the giggles I get from my daughter when I talk like Grover.
Because of the milestones we never thought we'd reach.
Because of those words "I love you. You're the best mama in the whole wide world."
Because every child deserves a mama and a daddy who will fight for them.
Because every child needs someone who will reassure them that they will always stay.
Because every child, no matter how deep the pain, how huge the loss, deserves a forever love.
No comments:
Post a Comment