Over the past couple of weeks I have been thinking a lot about what the four of us Johnson-McCormicks were doing two years ago at this time. In December of 2004, Kyle and Owen were seven months old, lying together in a port-a-crib in an orphanage in Haiti. They were usually unclothed, often unfed, mostly un-held, sweaty, and barely getting by. Braydon and I were making daily phone calls to the adoption-and-immigration-powers-that-be both in Haiti and the U.S., we were done with all of our “nesting” and overly ready to hold our babies in our arms, we were crying a lot and not sleeping much at all, we were spending hours staring at every detail of every photo we had of our boys, we were barely getting by. It is very hard for me to think about what Kyle and Owen were going through during that time. I’m not going to write about my thoughts on that here, because honestly it is just too painful for me to do that, and I also don’t want to publicize some of those details. So, for those reasons, in this post I’m going to conscientiously focus on my own perspective instead of what theirs might have been. But I acknowledge fully that their situation was much worse than mine, and not even remotely comparable in any sense.
There are a few reasons I’ve been thinking about our waiting. First, it was around this time two years ago that I was starting to really suffer and the waiting was becoming intolerable for me. I remember last year I started to think a lot about the waiting during December too. Enjoying the holiday season with our boys now, it is hard to not reflect back from time-to-time on how difficult it was for us to be apart from our babies during that first Christmas. And I think it is important to remember that history and to not erase that away. But other things are also happening now that make me think a lot about it. Friends of ours who are in the process of adopting their second child from Guatemala are really struggling with their waiting. I look at their blog (click here) and I can feel their pain resonate sharply with me right through the computer screen. Ever since we got Kyle and Owen home, the level of empathy I feel for any waiting family is intense. And lastly, whenever one of our boys is sick I think about the waiting. So Kyle’s recent stomach bug has brought it up to the surface. More about that later.
Adoption is a beautiful miracle. I truly believe that in my life it is the most genuine miracle I’ve ever experienced or witnessed. But many adoptions, if not all, involve some period of difficult waiting. We were a waiting family for eight months – from the time we saw our first picture of Kyle and Owen and agreed to adopt them on May 24, 2004, to the time we carried them out of the orphanage on January 31, 2005. During that time we had to fill out hundreds of papers and forms, and write many checks, and wait for the Haitian and U.S. adoption and immigration processes to complete. During that time we received periodic photos and updates on the boys. But we had little information and lots of fears.
The pain of waiting was almost unbearable. At least it was for me. The only thing that made it live-able was the hope that our babies would come home… eventually. But every day of waiting for Kyle and Owen was filled with indescribable heart-breaking pain for me. Especially in the end – the last couple of months of waiting for them – I was just consumed with heart-break over the whole ordeal. I still have not gotten over it. And it has been two years.
During those eight months of waiting we kept a journal. I have never read through that journal – mostly because I just don’t want to wallow in that misery. But today I took the journal out to have a look at what was going on at this time two years ago. In the journal for December 13, 2004 (exactly two years ago today), there is no written entry. Instead there is a newspaper clipping from the Boston Globe. I’m assuming my father sent it to me, since he’s a big Boston Globe reader. The title of the article is: “Violence, Political Feuds Cloud Haiti’s Hopes for Haitian Democracy.” The article starts with this statement: “Hopes for a peaceful road back to democracy have all but vanished. The country remains violent and polarized, rife with political killings and reports of persecution and terror campaigns.” The article is folded together with another one from December 2, that we apparently printed out from Haiti-News.com. It is entitled, “Gun Battle Erupts as Powell Visits Haiti.”
On November 28 I had written: “We have been a waiting family for six months. We are going crazy. We think about Kyle and Owen every hour of every day. We stare at their photos, watch our 90 second video, do whatever we can to prepare for their arrival, but the waiting is simply dreadful. We feel powerless and at the mercy of the adoption agency and the adoption workers in Haiti. We feel heartbroken for the people of Haiti. How can so much suffering be allowed on our earth? We are hoping and praying our boys are o.k. We are so anxious to get them to us so we can care for them and love them. We dream of our babies and talk about them and wait. This is very difficult – the waiting.”
On December 21 Braydon wrote: “Going into this we knew the waiting would be difficult, but it has become unbearable. The only solace, and it doesn’t even help, is knowing it will end and the boys will come home. We talk to the adoption agency daily now, hoping that our constant attention will make them press harder, but there has been no change. I am calling Mr. Cadet in Haiti now too, the head of IBESR. Calling Mr. Cadet and asking him about our adoption is like calling the U.S. Secretary of State and asking him to deal with this. It’s pretty crazy, and no one does it, but we are very determined.”
At another point around these dates in the journal is this entry, written by me: “We wonder what it will be like to be a family. We wonder what they really look like, feel like, what they’re like. Waiting is heart-wrenching. I can’t even write about it because it is too hard and it hurts too much.
W aking hours are spent thinking of the babies.
A re they o.k.? When will we get them?
I s Haiti going to stay stable? Please stay stable.
T wins! It is so exciting to imagine it!
I n my heart I ache for them to get home.
N o one seems to really understand the emotions of the waiting.
G oing to Haiti to get them seems so far off – so surreal.”
Back to 2006 now: A couple of nights ago when Kyle was throwing up all over me, I was thinking about our waiting. At one point, I was holding his little body up so that he could throw up at least partially into the bathroom sink. He was vomiting violently, his body was convulsing, and he was starting to choke. He was scared. I didn’t know what to do, so I did what I remember my own mom doing for me: I rubbed his forehead at his hairline and I said as calmly as I could, “It’s o.k. Kyle, your mommy is here. Mommy’s here. I’ve gotcha. I’m here. It’s o.k. You’re o.k.” I could tell that he heard me. I could see that it soothed him. I could feel his body relax. And eventually the vomiting was over. I felt like a real mother.
After everything was cleaned up and he was in fresh pajamas, we sat in the big chair in Kyle’s bedroom with the lights dimmed and his music on. I had him wrapped in his cozy baby blanket and he held his honey bunny, but he was too exhausted to even suck his thumb. I tried to soothe him and I told him to close his eyes. Again, I was thinking about our waiting. I was thinking about how alone he had been. How surely he must have been sick at times in the orphanage – how scary that must have been to throw up as a baby and have no one to care for you. And how scary that must have been when his twin threw up next to him and had no one to care for him. As tiny infants in the orphanage, there was only so much they could actually do for each other. As we sat in Kyle’s room we could hear Owen outside the door with Braydon. It was keeping Kyle awake. He asked weakly, “Where’s my Owen?” And I said, “Owen’s with your Papi. Papi is taking care of Owen. Mama is taking care of Kyle.” And he closed his eyes.
I sat there for awhile holding him, thinking about what an honor it is to be able to be this boy’s mother. I couldn’t stop feeling overwhelmed with gratitude that my child has a mommy; that my baby has me to care for him; that my little boy is not alone in his sickness. All I could think was, “I have nothing in the world more important right now than to hold this child in my arms, I am so thankful that this child that I love has a mother, I am so grateful that this baby has a good home.” I laid him in his bed, asleep, and tucked him into his soft blankets.
A couple of hours later we heard Kyle coughing on the baby monitor. Braydon ran up the stairs jumping three steps at a time to get to his baby. I followed as fast as I could. Kyle had woken up in his bed and was wide-eyed and full of questions. “What happened?,” he asked. We talked about the throw up, about how scary it was, about how he had thrown up into the sink. And I carried him into Owen’s room to show him that Owen was sleeping soundly in his own bed. Satisfied, he asked for water. With Braydon on one side of him, and me on the other, we watched our precious toddler stand on a stool at the bathroom sink and gulp down a glass of cool water, then smile. In the dim darkness of the night Kyle turned and stared at Braydon. He said, “That’s my Papi.” Then he looked at me, and said with a small grin, “That’s my Mommy.” I said, “Yes, baby, you have a Papi and a Mommy. And we take care of you.”
The waiting is over. But we never forget.
These photos were taken of Kyle (top) and Owen (bottom) in late November, 2004 by the orphanage director. Two years ago today, these were the most recent photos we had of the boys and we were staring at them incessantly.
I picked up the boys with my friend, Esther, whom the boys adore and remembered how she “hit the ball!” this past summer. We went to the grocery store, which is always loads of fun with the two most adorable kids in the world! They sat in the truck cart and would say “excuse me!” as we came down the aisle and when I would make driving mistakes and bump a cardboard box along the aisle they would never cease to remind me – “we’re crashing, alex!” One woman even stopped me to ask what company I worked for and I told her I didn’t work for a company I was simply a personal nanny to these beautiful boys. She didn’t like that answer, but she surely enjoyed saying hello to Kyle and Owen! Another woman asked if they were “ours” referring to Esther and I (I’m assuming she assumed we were a lesbian couple that had adopted) and I, of course, sadly told her “no,” I was only their nanny.
So I assured him that the puppy was still here and pointed to Cyprus and that everything was okay. I patted him to sleep, and here we are! Night Night Cutie-Pa-Tooties!!!!
Recent comments