Where We Are

I've tried a couple of times to write a post about what this part of the waiting is like, and I just can't quite come up with a good description. Basically, this part of the waiting is...well...it pretty much sucks. We went to New York for a week over Christmas, which distracted us wonderfully and helped a lot. Then we came home. And we put together that second crib. And we bought some stuff we needed. But for me there's just no excitement in it. We don't have a court date, yet, and the kids aren't ours, yet. I have moments of hope and excitement, but mostly I just feel anxious and uncertain. I'm not worried about the kids. I have faith that the women at the orphanage know what they are doing and are taking excellent care of them. I can wait to bring them home, too. Don't get me wrong. I wish I could bring them home tomorrow. But I feel like if I have to wait some more, I can. Still, being matched with children who you desperately want to be yours and yet are not yours is a really odd thing. You have to be attached to them, because you need that emotional bond to form. Yet you're afraid to get attached to them because what if you never get to bring them home? Sometimes it happens that way. Not often, but sometimes.

This brings me to another problem. I can't seem to let myself hope or pray that we will bring Dinke and Dinka home. Because hoping for that feels like making a wish against our children's birth family. Part of the purpose of the court hearing and the built-in wait beforehand is to give any birth family members a chance to come forward. And if our children's birth family wants to care for them, then how could we possibly want to stand in the way of that? Every pang of longing I feel is a reminder that I am failing to keep my own selfish desires in check, a reminder that I am not yet the person I wish to be. We believe that ideally children should grow up in the families to which they are born. Yet we are so in love with these little guys already that I can't bear to think about not bringing them home. So I can't think about bringing them home, and I can't think about not bringing them home. I seem to have settled into something of a depression about it. I need a court date. I can handle whatever the outcome is. I just would like to find out sooner rather than later so this state of limbo can come to an end. So that one way or another, I can finally let myself experience the feelings that I know are there.

In the meantime, these feelings of love and grief and gratitude grow and multiply largely undetected, like some kind of beautiful cancer.

The hardest part for me is that no one understands what we are going through. Most people simply have no patience for anyone saying anything other than positive things about adoption. It's all sunshine and roses, don't ya know? I mention that I'm having trouble sleeping or that I'm worried, and people say stuff like, "Well, you'd better get used to not sleeping!" Or, "I'm pretty sure worrying is in a parent's job description!" Very funny, no? Ha ha. Ha. Or people will remind you that once you meet your children, all of these painful experiences fade. I'm sure that's true, but what if these are not our children? Everyone means well, and mostly people just aren't sure what to say, but not being able to talk openly without being dismissed certainly adds to the loneliness already inherent in this process. The truth is that no one knows what your adoption experience is like but you. It's just the way it is.

What is the adoption process like? Miraculous. Unfair to all concerned. Lonely. Humbling. Painful. Wonderful. Adoption highlights what is best and what is worst in the world and in its people. Some people refer to it as a "journey," and even though I roll my eyes at such expressions they are kind of right. We have learned so many things about ourselves and about the world that we never would have thought about otherwise. I definitely think it has made me a better person. I will be a better parent to these children than I would have been if we had started a family without going through this process. Even if we never bring these children home, we have grown an immense amount in the last two years. For that I am thankful.

We had an amazing 2009, but I am happy to see the beginning of a new year. No matter which way things go, 2010 will certainly be a year of judgment and of healing. I say bring it on.