It was easier to be raw and real in China, when it seemed
like we wore every emotion on our sleeve, when family and friends were so far
away we breathed the distance with every breath, and when nothing was familiar
except the words on the page.
Now it’s different. We’re home, living life together, facing
the many challenges that any family faces, and trying to find a new rhythm
together, a new normal.
So I’m happy to tell you that after eight long months, we’ve
finally found that rhythm.
“Nobody said adoption was for sissies,” wrote some friends
on their blog three days after they returned from China with their newly
adopted daughter. How right they are. And I might even be willing to change that
statement so it says, “nobody said parenting was for sissies,” because as any
parent of a child knows, parenting takes patience, energy, resilience,
creativity and just plain determination.
But perhaps this adoption thing is something else entirely.
Perhaps when a child isn’t born into a family but instead spends 18 months
lying in a crib with no one touching him or talking to him, he comes home to
parents who have to teach him how to be a boy—how to be a human being, really.
And that teaching is hard work, enough to leave a mama bone tired at the end
of a day, and a daddy too.
Bone tired we have been. And we’ve given this journey every
little part of ourselves. So what a gift it is, eight months later, to arrive
at a place where we are finally seeing the fruits of our labor.
Let me explain.
But first, allow me this one confession. I have spent the last four weeks feeling very ANGRY at China and the child welfare system there. I know, I know—when we brought Matthew home, I wrote about wanting always to feel gratitude for his orphanage that they kept him alive and helped him grow for 18 months. But for some reason in late December, I started reading some other adoption blogs and ran into some very hard orphanage stories. One orphanage, in particular, has stuck with me. It’s located very close to Matthew’s orphanage, and the adoptive parents who visited it were overwhelmed with its horror. Things went on there that should never happen to children. It was similar in size to Matthew’s orphanage (about 30-35 children) with a very small staff of caregivers. Children were strapped to toilets for hours at a time until they could produce results, children who were as young as 12 months. Cribs were metal railings with wooden slats—no mattress or covering under the babies. This is likely what Matthew slept on as well, which explains his fascination with hard surfaces, especially the wood floors in our house. Walls were whitewashed and lacked color. There were very little toys.
But first, allow me this one confession. I have spent the last four weeks feeling very ANGRY at China and the child welfare system there. I know, I know—when we brought Matthew home, I wrote about wanting always to feel gratitude for his orphanage that they kept him alive and helped him grow for 18 months. But for some reason in late December, I started reading some other adoption blogs and ran into some very hard orphanage stories. One orphanage, in particular, has stuck with me. It’s located very close to Matthew’s orphanage, and the adoptive parents who visited it were overwhelmed with its horror. Things went on there that should never happen to children. It was similar in size to Matthew’s orphanage (about 30-35 children) with a very small staff of caregivers. Children were strapped to toilets for hours at a time until they could produce results, children who were as young as 12 months. Cribs were metal railings with wooden slats—no mattress or covering under the babies. This is likely what Matthew slept on as well, which explains his fascination with hard surfaces, especially the wood floors in our house. Walls were whitewashed and lacked color. There were very little toys.
It was a terrible place.
But the worst part was that when this particular family went
to leave the orphanage, the orphanage director sat them down and asked them to
sign a paper saying they had visited the orphanage and “found it satisfactory.”
The adoptive parents could hardly pick up the pen and sign the paper—but they
knew that if they didn’t sign, all 30 of the children in this orphanage might
no longer be eligible for adoption. It’s a complicated system, in China, like
in many other places in the world where “orphans” are cast aside and
institutionalized.
And as we have encountered so many challenges with
Matthew—the most recent being his language and communication—I’ve felt angry
again and again about the circumstances of his first 18 months. Aaron and I are
quite sure that he never sustained any actual abuse. But he was the victim of
institutional neglect that left him without much human contact, and with very
little stimulation. When we think of all the challenges that face him already
because he is an international adoptee and has a cleft lip and palate, we can
hardly fathom how different his development might have been had he received
nurture and touch from the very beginning of his life. And what’s even more
ironic is that we were matched with him on his one-year birthday but were
forced (by the adoption system) to wait until he was 18 months to pick him up.
Six long months (another 50% of his life) that he was lying in that orphanage
with no one to touch or talk to him.
So I’ve let myself be angry, although I haven’t exactly
known where to vent it. I do understand that orphaned children are the result
of many factors, not just some policies in China. Children are often the
victims of our world’s greed, poverty, and strange moral decision-making.
Matthew is just one child among thousands (probably millions) who have gotten
caught up in this. China certainly isn’t solely to blame.
But still this mama’s heart has ached over this travesty.
It’s amazing, though, because being more acquainted with
this system and imagining Matthew’s orphanage life a little more clearly, I’ve
also grown in my understanding of my son, which I consider a gift. When I think
about him lying in a crib for 18 months without a caregiver’s touch and
consistent voice, when I think about him crying with no one to respond to him,
it first makes my heart break, but it also helps make sense of some of his “strange”
behavior. Like how it’s taken eight months for him to make eye contact with me,
or how he’s just now initiating relationships.
And that is the good news. After all this time, coming
through three surgeries and a significant amount of pain, transition, and
trauma, our boy is waking up to the world around him. He’s not saying words
yet, but he’s starting to use some sign language to tell us things (more, milk,
all done, bye). He’s making car noises, trying to imitate sounds, and asking us
for help by his body and his eyes. He wants to be held ALL THE TIME, his warm
body melting into mine. He’s grown sturdy and strong (and even a little chubby,
having gained 9 pounds since he got home 7 ½ months ago). He is eating a huge amount
of solid food, loves trying new things, plays hard all day long, and reaches
for me or Aaron every chance he can get. And he cries (thank goodness) and when
he cries, he knows we’ll be there in an instant to hold or hug him, or to help
him. In our house, crying does mean something. And he’s learned this during the
past eight months.
It’s a miracle. A miracle.
I am so proud of him—my smart, strong boy who is unlearning
past habits (like isolation, withdrawal, lack of communication) and starting to
learn new patterns of communicating and interacting with us. It’s all so
gorgeous, I can hardly write about it without feeling tears come to my eyes.
I’m quite sure I will always feel both gratitude and anger
toward China and its systems for Matthew’s early months of life. I will also
feel so thankful that he ended up matched with our family and has made us
complete as a family of five. I can’t imagine life without him—really, truly.
As I watched my three children playing together earlier this
evening, it dawned on me that what once felt strange and new now feels normal—as
it should be. Matthew is here, he has found his place in our family, and he
will be with us forever. The first 18 months, although they seemed long when we
got home, will dissolve into almost no time at all as Matthew grows up in our
family and continues to learn and develop.
This is probably the best gift of all.
So don’t get me wrong—we still have plenty of challenging
days, where our energy doesn’t seem like enough and our questions and worries
are still huge. But when I hold my boy close at bedtime, singing my mama songs in
his ear, rubbing his head and feet, giving him kisses, I’m so proud of his
courage and strength, so grateful that he is home and we have settled into this
new life.
And I can’t wait to see what waits ahead for him—and for us—on
this incredible journey.
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| Our Northwest boy home from a walk in the rain with his mama! |
