I Won’t Hesitate No More

I’m freezing.

That’s probably the shock from hearing it’s finally time.  We’re finally on our way to Little Bro.

Lately I haven’t had words for this part of my life, this more personal blog.  The heartache for those I already love in Korea has pretty much taken over.  But today the excitement has barreled in, too, for me and my family.  And the shock that after almost 1 year to the day that my heart said “MAKE THIS CALL,” the little child who has had my heart for so very long will finally be in my arms.

 I cannot image how my life would be if I hadn’t followed my feelings on this one, if Appa hadn’t opened his mind and trusted a new plan, if Little Bro wasn’t our big star.  I’m so thankful things have worked out they way they have….right down to every delay and hiccup.

And it will be hard for him and others, and I can’t stop tempering my excitement with that knowledge, but my God, it’s a beautiful thing for my family, too.

The way our family and Little Bro came together is one unlike I ever thought I would write, but at every turn we’ve been blessed. The last year has changed me radically, and I believe it is for the better.

I won’t hesitate no more, no more

It cannot wait, I’m Yours

Well open up your mind and see like me

Open up your plans and then you’re free

Look into your heart and you’ll find love love love

-Jason Mraz, “I’m Yours”

Heartache

Our travel call for Little Bro is imminent.  Maybe not tomorrow or even this month, but I can probably count it down on my fingers and toes now.

And truly, I am having a hard time getting excited about it.  In fact, my biggest emotion lately is heartache.

Through a couple of ways, I've ended up feeling quite close to Little Bro's foster family, even though I have never had any direct contact with them.  But I know that the four of them love that little boy like a son and brother, and I know down to the pit of my stomach that driving him to the agency, handing him over to strangers, and then driving home alone is going to kill them.....all of them.

I know that for every day I tick off a calendar towards our Family Day, they are ticking a day off theirs, too. And when I think of it, it makes it hard for me to celebrate that tick.

It can be said that this is the way things happen, that they knew this when they signed up, and that they will be happy he is going to live with a family who will love him just as much as they do, but none of those things really bring me any solace, because I am sure they don't ease the heartbreak this family is feeling at all.

I am frantic to write my letter to them just right, to somehow convey the words I don't have, the guilt and sadness and horror and love and gratitude and respect I feel.  But the cursor had been blinking at me for the last 2 weeks, hammering home the reminder that there is nothing I can do to stop so much pain and loss from continuing to wrap itself around my sweet little boy.

Having been through this once before with Little Bug, I think it's made it easier and more important for me to consider the foster family's needs in this transition.  Little Bug was with his family for 9 months and the transition was traumatic for them; Little Bro is his family's first foster child and will have been with them for 20 months.

There is a time for joy, and has come and will again.  But right now I can't revel in my joy, my gain.  Not when I know how much pain is and will surround people who I already love.

The Darkness Excuse No Longer Works

Here is what the people who went past our house last night saw:

A mother, her dress clothes covered by her long dress coat and heels grating against the pavement, talking on the phone while pulling a 3-year-old little boy, also bundled up in winter gear to protect against the cold 30 degree temps, who was happily munching on french fries while taking the world in as his mother pulled his little red wagon up and down their driveway.

Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down.

If a 3 year old wants an evening picnic and a wagon ride, there is little in the world that is going to stop him from getting just that. Especially when Daylight Savings Time has robbed his mother of her one sure argument against them.

The Year of Love

Every year I've taken great care when picking out a wall calendar for my work space.  For some reason, I feel like the type of calendar a person displays and chooses to look at every day says a lot about them.  For the past few years, my calendars have always been beautiful landscapes of Idaho, my childhood home state.  The pictures of a place so different from my current one, but so familiar and comforting and beautiful, have made me happy for many, many, many months.

This year I didn't get an Idaho calendar.  I wasn't sure what I was waiting for, but I spent the entire month of January calendar-less.  And then, on Valentine's Day, I found my new focus for the year, the calendar I will proudly display for the next 10 months.

It is crumpled, water-stained, crudely cut and glued....and makes me smile every morning.

Window Shopping

Little Bug,

You've been home for 2.5 years now.  You know who your mama is.  So I'm cool with you calling any females who look between the ages of 16-50 "mama," because I know it's just the only name you know how to associate with adult women.  Besides I love being your "my mama."

However, when the new little girl in your class has her Korean mother there, it's slightly mortifying for your "my mama" when you run into the Korean mama's arms and refuse to leave.  I get that you were playing with her, but she looked at me like some horrific thing was happening, and she actually asked me if you were confused who your mama was because she was Korean.  I couldn't even be mad at her for asking, not as I was watching the bizarre love fest you had going on.  Granted, it got better when you moved on to your white teacher and did the same thing and she could see it had nothing to do with the way she looked or the accent she had.

You just didn't want to go home last night.  That's okay.  School looks a heck of a lot more fun some days than a healthy dinner, home therapy, and an early bedtime.  So I'll jazz it up if you promise to go easy on the pseudo window shopping. 

Love,
Your My Mama

It's Okay

As of today, we’ve been waiting 316 day (10 months and 10 days) since we said “yes” to Little Bro’s referral.  In my heart, I think it will be at least another 30-45 days before we can start our lives together as a family of four.  In comparison, 10 months and 10 days after we said yes to Little Bug’s referral we were finalizing his adoption…as in we finalized his adoption exactly 10 months and 10 days after accepting his referral.

So, on that day 2 years ago, if you had told me that the application I was turning in the next day would be the beginning of a process that would have me waiting over a year just to start waiting 316+ additional days to bring home an almost 2 year old, I would have told you outright that we couldn’t do it.  I would have said that I wouldn’t “be able to survive” or that it would have been the “most excruciating thing I would ever go through.”  Trust me, whatever I would have said, it would have been dramatic, emphatic, and filled with fear.

When you look at the last 10 months and 10 days on paper, it does sound horrific.  I’m about a far from patient as they come, and waiting this long for a child, while that child continues to bond with a loving family, both unaware of just how painful their separation will be, is mental and emotional torture.  Someone this weekend at the adoption conference I attended, after hearing about our process, asked me if I would be able to look back on the last year with anything but bitterness and sadness.  She asked if this had been the hardest year of my life.

And you know what, the answer is unequivocally no.

And surprisingly, not only did I truthfully tell her that it had not, but I actually said that it hadn’t been bad at all.  When I look back at the last 316 days, the first emotions that bubbles to the surface are of feeling lucky and grateful.  For every set back we’ve encountered (the quota being announced 2 days after we verbally accepted, the 9 week DCFS fiasco that pushed out official ATK back by a season, the huge gaps of time without a developmental update and that fear that inspired, the wait, the wait, the wait), we’ve been blessed with things we never expected.  We’ve gotten pictures and video in untold amounts that have helped us start our processes of getting to know Big Star and feel comfortable with the family he calls home.  We’ve had numerous people meet our son and give us little glimpses into his personality as he has grown. We finally got a developmental update that made up for the 8 months of silence in spaded. We’ve been surprised and blessed by an early EP submittal.

When I type it out, I see 10 months and 10 days of a divine hand and karma stepping in just at the precise moments when we needed it most, although it’s so much easier to ignore these little blessings when they are cloaked in this dark cloud of the wait.  And that makes me feel grateful…..so, SO grateful, because I know most families waiting haven’t gotten what we have.  I’m going to do everything in my power to pay it forward and hope that my words of thanks to those in Korea will help other families experience what we have.

But I wanted to get this out, for Little Bro, before I ride the next big adoption news high (which will hopefully come soon).  Even in the darkest moments, even on days like today where I have stared in intense obsession at my phone willing it to ring, I can still truly say that wait for him has made the year better than it has made it worse.

The last 316 days have been hard, but it's okay.  It's all going to be okay.

12 Hours to Remind Me That I am Not Enough

Yesterday I spent the day at another adoption conference.  I admit that I find these things absolutely fascinating and soul-filling.  Not because it was one of those "Save the Orphan" happy hearts and tears conferences, because it wasn't.  This was an educational conference for adoption social workers, adoptive parents, and prospective adoptive parents. Half the sessions I attended were very bleak and frank discussions on racism and the burdens of being a transcultural family (especially a transcultural adoptee). Not happy topics, especially sitting in the room as a white, upper-middle class adoptive mother. The rest of the sessions were on parenting and advocating for your child with special needs...only a "touching and affirming" topic if you aren't actually parenting a child with special needs.  Because for me, it was depressing, overwhelming, but really, truly, incredibly informative and helpful. (As an aside, I'm glad the class wasn't some affirming, YOU CAN DO IT special needs class...all the affirmation I need that parenting a child with special needs is a blessing and not a curse is to come home and watch my son come running on his two little legs into my arms while yelling "Mama's home!")

Yet, I came home 12 hours later with my mind running a million different directions.  I got information I was immediately able to use, and I got information I needed (and still need) to mull over, research, and let percolate. The last 24 hours, and the upcoming days and weeks will be filled with some mental shifts or tweaks. 

And that is empowering. Attending conferences like this help me to be a better parent for my children.  They remind me that it's not okay for me to read a couple books in preparation to adopt, attend some Korean festivals and go to a Korea restaurant once a month, and call it good.  They remind me that racism isn't something that I can hear someone talk about once and have a grasp on it as a whole.  They remind me that pediatricians and schools might not have the knowledge or skills to look at my son's whole history to make the best decisions.  They remind me that I am the temporary gatekeeper to my child's world, but that the world that is inherently his is not mine.

I have so many things I'll be undoubtedly writing about as I work thought them in my head, but for now, I thought I would share the most memorable bit of info from yesterday (memorable as in the true sense of not having to go to my notes which are across the room).

I heard Kevin D. Hofmann speak yesterday and spent some time again today on his blog (which, if you read, know that some of the best discussions come from the dialogue in the comments, so don't pass those up).  He is a successful, well adjusted, seemingly happy man/son/brother/husband/father.  He is biracial and was adopted a very long time ago by a white family.  And although he seems happy with his life and clearly loves his family, he doesn't pull punches and try to sugarcoat the topic.  He made a lot of really excellent points, but two comments that drove into my heart are below:

1. "Culture isn't fried chicken, tacos, or spring rolls." Ouch. And he's so right.  Although I love the fact that my son is packing back kimchi when we go to a Korean restaurant, is any part of the experience actually allowing him to access his cultural heritage? No.  No more so then him becoming an honorary Italian any time we go to an Italian restaurant.  Looking at Korean art in our home?  Nope, not unless he knows what the words say or the symbols mean.  Wearing a hanbok?  Nope. Not unless he is actively participating in an event that Koreans would normally wear a hanbok at.  I don't think he was inferring that these things are wrong to do with our children, but rather, I think he means that it's not enough.  And I agree with him.  BUT, honestly, it's all I can give my children, since I am not Korean.  Even taking my children back to Korea again and again won't be enough, because they'll be experiencing it through the eyes of a foreigner. At some point, I have to admit that I cannot give my sons their Korean heritage.

Which brings me to the second point from Kevin D. Hofmann that hit home for me.

2. Just as you would, as a parent, move mountains and sacrifice for your child with special needs to get what he or she needed to reach their full potential, so should we consider living as a transcultural adoptee a type of "special need." They need to have access to their cultural heritage that can be given only by those who are part of that culture; they need to have a chance to understand that part of themselves and be able to reclaim it should they desire to; and they need to have parents who not only support that need, but are willing to sacrifice their own comfort for it.  Mr. Hofmann feels the best way to do this is to become the minority and allow your child the opportunity to be a majority in some small part of their lives. This one is harder for me, and something I am still trying to figure out how best to do, but it's a theme that comes up over and over from adults who were adopted transculurally, so as hard as it is for me to understand and want to admit and accept, my gut tells me it is the truth. 

Appa and I are not doing enough, that much I know.  And I am thankful for the reminder.  But for now, I've only gotten far enough to acknowledge the truth....figuring out what to do with that truth will take a little more time.