Yes, there has been deafening silence. I feel horrible, guilty, shameful, etc. But there is reason behind it all. For those of you following our journey, you know we had been told we were approved. Well, we kept waiting and waiting for the papers to be signed, and then out of the blue we got a....
DENIAL NOTICE!
Yes indeedy, can you %#$##* believe that? "Our documentation does not quite meet the requirements" in Rwanda. We have no idea what that means other than no. So. back to the drawing board.
It came as quite a shock, and we weren't/aren't updating with all the details on this public forum for a variety of reasons, mostly legal. Some would suggest an appeal in Rwanda, but that is a futile effort we believe, and as of now we are not ready to pursue international adoption in another place like Ethiopia. We are brokenhearted and exhausted.
I packed all the baby stuff away again, and it was hard altho I have to say it is nothing like the feelings I had when Trace died. It did bring up all sorts of the emotions from when Trace died and I am still really struggling over here in my little microcosm of a world. How can it possibly be that a woman who wants to be a mother so badly to a child who needs a mother can't seem to have the cards line up in her favor? It is easy to go to a place of feeling like the Universe is trying to tell me that I am not worthy. I am not sure that God is that personal, though...
Anyway, if you would like to know more, you will need to have contact with me off this public forum. Leave me your email and I will be in touch when I can. You have all been amazingly supportive and kind, and have held me up at some pretty weak times. I only wish I could have some feel-good news, but this journey is not yet at that chapter, I guess.
Along other lines, we were able to completely change the lives of 6 people in Rwanda. The family I wrote about before... the mother was trained to make jewelry by my dear friend Tina, and she has already made so much money that she opened a bank account! Days after we moved her out her old house collapsed to a three foot pile of rubble. I try to keep focused on this... we did not travel to Rwanda for not and I am sure I will be continuing work there in some way in the future. This woman and family are so grateful and they literally have a new life and joy.
Many blessings,
jaya
Monday, July 28, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Downer post
The adoption is still stuck, stagnant. The explanation we are being given is that the person who needs to sign the document (the Minister by my understanding) is still not in. But I did some fancy calendar referencing and it seems very suspicious to me that the Minister would be out of the office for three weeks straight. Now who am I to pass judgment, but she is head hauncho there and I can only think of three possibilities. Either the adoption agency misinterpreted and she really is there, but just hasn't signed it yet (cause we all know how hard it is to get time to write your name in cursive at the bottom of a page stuck under your nose), or she Minister who was new when I traveled just couldn't hack the job and she hasn't been replaced yet, or they have no intention of signing the letter or just the same, there is no letter to sign. Regardless, it is all out of my control obviously and is discouraging me to no end.
Honestly, I want to quit. Kinda. Let's be honest: if a baby was dropped from the sky and landed at my feet, I would be happy beyond belief. But enduring what seems like an impossible journey at this point puts me over the top. I just don't want to expend energy on it. And you might say, "So don't. Don't think about it." But that is just not possible. If we quit I'll think about it and if we keep going, I will also.
The only thing new here is another wave of nearly paralyzing grief. I can't determine why it is surging now... perhaps this longing for a baby left unsatiated... perhaps the arrival of Mother's day. Perhaps the anniversary of my dear friend's death. Regardless, the nightmarish dreams that I had in the beginning are back. If you have lost a child, you know the ones: where you dream some hell, perhaps your child dies in the dream, and when you awake you realize there is no escape of the hell. You get to live it in real life. It is the exact opposite response from usually bad dreams where you startle yourself awake only to say "Phew... it was just a dream." Someone made a joke to me the other day when I was with Ariah. They joked about leaving our children behind with the facilitator of the group. "And never come back" the joker said, referring to the children. Oh, how he didn't know how that sounded to a mother whose child is dead. On Mother's day we attended a choral performance, some of the singers sang a tribute to mothers to the tune of Amazing Grace. All I heard of it was something about watching your child learn to walk, and holding his hand through this or that... I bolted for the door, needing fresh air and trying desperately to escape the pain of never being that kind of mother to my child.
So life goes on, but there is a painful emptiness here... a suspension between the loss and the longing, an inertia that penetrates me.
Just the other night I watched the most fantastic movie on the genocide to date: "Sometimes in April." It renewed my commitment to Rwanda and the people there. What a heartbreaking story they live every day, a journey that seems utterly impossible and yet it is taken, has been taken, one step at a time for 14 years. What a testament they are to the power of humans to endure.
Honestly, I want to quit. Kinda. Let's be honest: if a baby was dropped from the sky and landed at my feet, I would be happy beyond belief. But enduring what seems like an impossible journey at this point puts me over the top. I just don't want to expend energy on it. And you might say, "So don't. Don't think about it." But that is just not possible. If we quit I'll think about it and if we keep going, I will also.
The only thing new here is another wave of nearly paralyzing grief. I can't determine why it is surging now... perhaps this longing for a baby left unsatiated... perhaps the arrival of Mother's day. Perhaps the anniversary of my dear friend's death. Regardless, the nightmarish dreams that I had in the beginning are back. If you have lost a child, you know the ones: where you dream some hell, perhaps your child dies in the dream, and when you awake you realize there is no escape of the hell. You get to live it in real life. It is the exact opposite response from usually bad dreams where you startle yourself awake only to say "Phew... it was just a dream." Someone made a joke to me the other day when I was with Ariah. They joked about leaving our children behind with the facilitator of the group. "And never come back" the joker said, referring to the children. Oh, how he didn't know how that sounded to a mother whose child is dead. On Mother's day we attended a choral performance, some of the singers sang a tribute to mothers to the tune of Amazing Grace. All I heard of it was something about watching your child learn to walk, and holding his hand through this or that... I bolted for the door, needing fresh air and trying desperately to escape the pain of never being that kind of mother to my child.
So life goes on, but there is a painful emptiness here... a suspension between the loss and the longing, an inertia that penetrates me.
Just the other night I watched the most fantastic movie on the genocide to date: "Sometimes in April." It renewed my commitment to Rwanda and the people there. What a heartbreaking story they live every day, a journey that seems utterly impossible and yet it is taken, has been taken, one step at a time for 14 years. What a testament they are to the power of humans to endure.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
small post
Well, to answer everyone's question... no there is no update. I am beginning to really believe that this was all a joke. A nice expensive vacation in Rwanda... the hope we needed to get us through the hell of losing so much. Now though, still nothing and I just can't believe that it will ever happen. I am grateful to be with my family and that feels like enough right now.
Spring is upon us and gardens need to be planted, summer camp needs to be planned for and fuel needs to be saved for. Life happens. So I have let go of the process of this adoption.
I am still feeling very connected to my Rwandan friends, though. Happy has lost his job and all his friends have left for the US. I feel awful for him and wish there was something I could do. Richard has come to the US only to find out how cost prohibitive the college he was hoping to attend is... and now I hear that the baby of the family I am helping is very sick. That is where my mind is, not so much on the adoption.
Mother's day approaches and feels different this year than it did last year. I think then I stayed in bed all day long feeling awful... how could it be mother's day when I had failed as a mother and only managed to "kill" my baby, or so I chose to view it... this year I know I am a mother of all my babies regardless of what world they are in. I am grateful for that healing.
I'm off to dig in the dirt,
Jaya
Spring is upon us and gardens need to be planted, summer camp needs to be planned for and fuel needs to be saved for. Life happens. So I have let go of the process of this adoption.
I am still feeling very connected to my Rwandan friends, though. Happy has lost his job and all his friends have left for the US. I feel awful for him and wish there was something I could do. Richard has come to the US only to find out how cost prohibitive the college he was hoping to attend is... and now I hear that the baby of the family I am helping is very sick. That is where my mind is, not so much on the adoption.
Mother's day approaches and feels different this year than it did last year. I think then I stayed in bed all day long feeling awful... how could it be mother's day when I had failed as a mother and only managed to "kill" my baby, or so I chose to view it... this year I know I am a mother of all my babies regardless of what world they are in. I am grateful for that healing.
I'm off to dig in the dirt,
Jaya
Monday, April 28, 2008
What A Few People Can Do
I am at a complete loss for words and hence my silence.. that and I keep waiting for good news (or just plain news for that matter) to share with you all. So the news to report on the adoption front is only that supposedly the Ministry has "approved" our case, but now the Minister needs to sign the letter and she has been out of the office. The lawyer is going back tomorrow to check, but with the way things work there, it very well may require her to go back again and again. Nothing can happen until that letter is signed. Sigh. For a week we have been in limbo over whether or not to celebrate the "approval" but I think we will hold out until it has been signed and is official.
I think I will tell you all of the family we are trying to help...
So on one of my last days in Rwanda, I asked my dear friend Happy to show me the slums. He asked, "Are you sure?... You will cry." "I'm sure. I have been living in a very ritzy American household, I want to see another reality." So Happy took me to his neighbor's house. This is a family of six, he told me, a widow and her children that he has been trying to help for months now. Their church group has gone to clean the house and Happy has donated food and clothes. We bounce up and down through the ruts along the red mud road, Happy stopping along the way to ask through his window to the kids below where the mum of this family is. We come to a stop in front of a dirty house front and out come the kids, followed by their mum holding the five month old girl. "Muzungu" is all I can make out, the rest is Kinyarwanda that I can't understand. We go in to look around at the living conditions.
The roof has blown off, the mud walls crumbling beneath it, and the dirt floor has turned to mud with the April rains. The house is made of two rooms, one for sleeping and one for cooking. In the sleeping room is one mat where the six of them sleep together and the children are covered in bites from the bugs that sleep with them also. Above their mattress is a leaning mud wall, cracked vertically in two places. Happy and I inspect it for a while determining that it is only a matter of time before the family is buried alive while they are sleeping. The other room houses a cooking pot and branches used for fuel. The kids themselves (ages 5 months, 4, 6, 8 and 13) are gorgeous, but filthy. When we ask, we find that the woman feels it is impossible to clean since the mud comes in constantly with the rain and dust from the road. Their source of water is very far away and they can scarcely afford to buy it.
Cleaning this mess up seems impossible, futile. Looking at the wall, Happy and I are thinking the same thing at the same moment. We need to move this family. And so we do...
In a day's time we have met with the mum, received assurance that she will keep a new place clean and safe, heard her ideas for sustaining her own life, found a new house with power and cement floors, paid five months rent, purchased 3 brand new mattresses, collected new sheets and clean clothes, sent the family for haircuts, cleaned them up and moved them in!
Moving them was amazing, the mum was so excited.. can you imagine? In the morning you wake up not sure how you will survive and by nightfall you have a new home, clean clothes and beds, and hope for tomorrow! A crowd grew that day, watching us work and word spread around the neighborhood that a Muzungu and her friend Happy had helped this family. The next day Happy had five more families banging on his gate for help... you can't help everyone, but you can help where you feel called to do so.
Now here in Vermont, some homeschoolers are learning about this family and working hard to sponsor them. One family has sold brownies on a college campus, earning 27 dollars so far- enough to nearly pay for one months rent! On Memorial day Ariah will be selling her famous chocolate chip cookies to raise money for the family. In addition to helping the mum to keep her home and buy food and water, we are also researching sending her to tailoring school so she can learn a skill that will allow her to make money in the future, supporting her own family herself. Next year the kids will need $210 dollars total for all their school fees.
I will forever remember looking into the woman's eyes as we stood in her new house deciding to buy it. I couldn't speak to her with words, but I stood in front of her facing her for a moment, then we hugged and began the move.
I think I will tell you all of the family we are trying to help...
So on one of my last days in Rwanda, I asked my dear friend Happy to show me the slums. He asked, "Are you sure?... You will cry." "I'm sure. I have been living in a very ritzy American household, I want to see another reality." So Happy took me to his neighbor's house. This is a family of six, he told me, a widow and her children that he has been trying to help for months now. Their church group has gone to clean the house and Happy has donated food and clothes. We bounce up and down through the ruts along the red mud road, Happy stopping along the way to ask through his window to the kids below where the mum of this family is. We come to a stop in front of a dirty house front and out come the kids, followed by their mum holding the five month old girl. "Muzungu" is all I can make out, the rest is Kinyarwanda that I can't understand. We go in to look around at the living conditions.
The roof has blown off, the mud walls crumbling beneath it, and the dirt floor has turned to mud with the April rains. The house is made of two rooms, one for sleeping and one for cooking. In the sleeping room is one mat where the six of them sleep together and the children are covered in bites from the bugs that sleep with them also. Above their mattress is a leaning mud wall, cracked vertically in two places. Happy and I inspect it for a while determining that it is only a matter of time before the family is buried alive while they are sleeping. The other room houses a cooking pot and branches used for fuel. The kids themselves (ages 5 months, 4, 6, 8 and 13) are gorgeous, but filthy. When we ask, we find that the woman feels it is impossible to clean since the mud comes in constantly with the rain and dust from the road. Their source of water is very far away and they can scarcely afford to buy it.
Cleaning this mess up seems impossible, futile. Looking at the wall, Happy and I are thinking the same thing at the same moment. We need to move this family. And so we do...
In a day's time we have met with the mum, received assurance that she will keep a new place clean and safe, heard her ideas for sustaining her own life, found a new house with power and cement floors, paid five months rent, purchased 3 brand new mattresses, collected new sheets and clean clothes, sent the family for haircuts, cleaned them up and moved them in!
Moving them was amazing, the mum was so excited.. can you imagine? In the morning you wake up not sure how you will survive and by nightfall you have a new home, clean clothes and beds, and hope for tomorrow! A crowd grew that day, watching us work and word spread around the neighborhood that a Muzungu and her friend Happy had helped this family. The next day Happy had five more families banging on his gate for help... you can't help everyone, but you can help where you feel called to do so.
Now here in Vermont, some homeschoolers are learning about this family and working hard to sponsor them. One family has sold brownies on a college campus, earning 27 dollars so far- enough to nearly pay for one months rent! On Memorial day Ariah will be selling her famous chocolate chip cookies to raise money for the family. In addition to helping the mum to keep her home and buy food and water, we are also researching sending her to tailoring school so she can learn a skill that will allow her to make money in the future, supporting her own family herself. Next year the kids will need $210 dollars total for all their school fees.
I will forever remember looking into the woman's eyes as we stood in her new house deciding to buy it. I couldn't speak to her with words, but I stood in front of her facing her for a moment, then we hugged and began the move.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Ha! And I had the nerve to ask you to still read the blog! I haven't been too on the ball lately...
I'm on the ground in Vermont, or so they tell me, but I think I left parts of me in Rwanda... or maybe I took so much home with me, I really can't tell the difference. How amazing to see my family walk into the airport to fetch me! I swooped down and grabbed up Ariah smothering her with enormous hugs. How wonderful to lay eyes on my husband too! But other than my family, arriving home feels utterly anti-climactic. Vermont is, truth be told, more drab and dull than I have ever known it to be. I don't think it has changed, but I have.
I wish I had words to explain what it feels like to be walking in a sea of Rwandan people, smelling their body odor, hearing their numerous voices singing out sentences in Kinyarwanda. I wish I could explain the thing that comes alive inside when a procession develops around you when walking down the road. "Muzungu! Muzungu!" you hear from the houses and suddenly there are kids surrounding you holding your hand, or at least scrambling to find themselves at the least a digit to grab hold of. I miss that, I miss the music, the motorbus fumes, the polite honking , the kid's big white grins, the warm air, the lush landscape, the busy streets, the night fires.
The jet lag has been impossible returning... I had a few nights of complete delerium. Ri's only upset has been when I can't stay up at night with her, which has been true every night since my return. Truly I expected some behavioral fallout from her, but so far the only thing she has exhibited is trust, love, and joy!
Still nothing from the Ministry. Maybe tomorrow... I figure there will be three choices for tomorrow: either I will know nothing, we will hear that we were approved, or we will hear that they are denying us. I am a bit nervy to say the least.
It is hard to be home without a baby in some ways. I do feel let down to a degree, but I also feel happy with my decision to return during the waiting. It has been a glorious week, and the garden has received attention, our family has holed up and enjoyed each other. Yesterday we celebrated my grandfather's 90th birthday, which I never wanted to miss... so considering the situation, we all feel like things are as good as they could be.
Thank you all for keeping the circle of support and love... what a journey this has become!
I'm on the ground in Vermont, or so they tell me, but I think I left parts of me in Rwanda... or maybe I took so much home with me, I really can't tell the difference. How amazing to see my family walk into the airport to fetch me! I swooped down and grabbed up Ariah smothering her with enormous hugs. How wonderful to lay eyes on my husband too! But other than my family, arriving home feels utterly anti-climactic. Vermont is, truth be told, more drab and dull than I have ever known it to be. I don't think it has changed, but I have.
I wish I had words to explain what it feels like to be walking in a sea of Rwandan people, smelling their body odor, hearing their numerous voices singing out sentences in Kinyarwanda. I wish I could explain the thing that comes alive inside when a procession develops around you when walking down the road. "Muzungu! Muzungu!" you hear from the houses and suddenly there are kids surrounding you holding your hand, or at least scrambling to find themselves at the least a digit to grab hold of. I miss that, I miss the music, the motorbus fumes, the polite honking , the kid's big white grins, the warm air, the lush landscape, the busy streets, the night fires.
The jet lag has been impossible returning... I had a few nights of complete delerium. Ri's only upset has been when I can't stay up at night with her, which has been true every night since my return. Truly I expected some behavioral fallout from her, but so far the only thing she has exhibited is trust, love, and joy!
Still nothing from the Ministry. Maybe tomorrow... I figure there will be three choices for tomorrow: either I will know nothing, we will hear that we were approved, or we will hear that they are denying us. I am a bit nervy to say the least.
It is hard to be home without a baby in some ways. I do feel let down to a degree, but I also feel happy with my decision to return during the waiting. It has been a glorious week, and the garden has received attention, our family has holed up and enjoyed each other. Yesterday we celebrated my grandfather's 90th birthday, which I never wanted to miss... so considering the situation, we all feel like things are as good as they could be.
Thank you all for keeping the circle of support and love... what a journey this has become!
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Words No One Wants to Read
I'm coming home. Without a baby.
I finally had a discussion with my lawyer that helped me to precisely understand the possible time frame for all the steps involved. Communication here is difficult and for many reasons, we had not been given an accurate description of everything involved. Part of this was on the agency's end, partly from the lawyer, and also due to the fact that this is a pilot program. We are the pioneers.
Pretending that we had the authorization in hand from the ministry, the steps that need to be taken to match the child, go to the doctor, test everything, file the paperwork with the courts, have the hearing should take 3 to 5 weeks if everything is smooth. Then it is required to go back to the Ministry to finalize and then begin the Visa process with the embassy. Those two steps average another 2 weeks. AND I DON'T HAVE THE LETTER YET which adds more time. I decided it was impossible for me to stay here that long, to be away from my beloveds in Vermont for potentially another 8 weeks on top of the 3 I have already spent.
So, back I come. To be honest, it is a little hard returning to an expectant community without a baby once again. I guess the feeling would be one of embarrassment. It also is tough looking at all those tiny clothes and leaving them behind in Rwanda, when I really want to use them once and for all. But on the whole, my spirits have been lifted with the clarity of what I need to do.
I am not giving up hope. I do not regret traveling. The adoption IS moving. The Ministry has given urgent (for them) attention to this case. Apparently everyone (now 4 people) have read the file and are meeting on Monday to decide our fate (which is enormously disconcerting truth be told, but that is another post.) So it has moved fast for Rwanda. I hear that some Dossiers have taken a year to get through the Ministry, but the average fast one takes 8 weeks. We are at 3 next week. Me being here on the ground has moved the process along, so I don't think it was a mistake in that regard.
What it looks like now is that the lawyer will continue to press on while our family s together in VT. She will call when everything is thru the court and it is time for me to come back. I have to be here to go back to the Ministry and do the Visa. Another 2 weeks away from my family.
I cannot wait to be reunited with Ri and Scott. I am a weary traveler, for sure, and I already have it planned how tightly I am going to embrace them and sit in the back seat with Ri and maybe even put all the mattresses on the floor for one big sleepover the first night... it feels good to be coming back for a spell and with hope in our hearts.
Please don't stop reading, there is more to come. Many things which I have not yet written about a family that needs immediate help, about my visit to the orphanage. And we still need every ounce of energy and support and prayers possible.
Many Blessings, I will see many of you soon!
I finally had a discussion with my lawyer that helped me to precisely understand the possible time frame for all the steps involved. Communication here is difficult and for many reasons, we had not been given an accurate description of everything involved. Part of this was on the agency's end, partly from the lawyer, and also due to the fact that this is a pilot program. We are the pioneers.
Pretending that we had the authorization in hand from the ministry, the steps that need to be taken to match the child, go to the doctor, test everything, file the paperwork with the courts, have the hearing should take 3 to 5 weeks if everything is smooth. Then it is required to go back to the Ministry to finalize and then begin the Visa process with the embassy. Those two steps average another 2 weeks. AND I DON'T HAVE THE LETTER YET which adds more time. I decided it was impossible for me to stay here that long, to be away from my beloveds in Vermont for potentially another 8 weeks on top of the 3 I have already spent.
So, back I come. To be honest, it is a little hard returning to an expectant community without a baby once again. I guess the feeling would be one of embarrassment. It also is tough looking at all those tiny clothes and leaving them behind in Rwanda, when I really want to use them once and for all. But on the whole, my spirits have been lifted with the clarity of what I need to do.
I am not giving up hope. I do not regret traveling. The adoption IS moving. The Ministry has given urgent (for them) attention to this case. Apparently everyone (now 4 people) have read the file and are meeting on Monday to decide our fate (which is enormously disconcerting truth be told, but that is another post.) So it has moved fast for Rwanda. I hear that some Dossiers have taken a year to get through the Ministry, but the average fast one takes 8 weeks. We are at 3 next week. Me being here on the ground has moved the process along, so I don't think it was a mistake in that regard.
What it looks like now is that the lawyer will continue to press on while our family s together in VT. She will call when everything is thru the court and it is time for me to come back. I have to be here to go back to the Ministry and do the Visa. Another 2 weeks away from my family.
I cannot wait to be reunited with Ri and Scott. I am a weary traveler, for sure, and I already have it planned how tightly I am going to embrace them and sit in the back seat with Ri and maybe even put all the mattresses on the floor for one big sleepover the first night... it feels good to be coming back for a spell and with hope in our hearts.
Please don't stop reading, there is more to come. Many things which I have not yet written about a family that needs immediate help, about my visit to the orphanage. And we still need every ounce of energy and support and prayers possible.
Many Blessings, I will see many of you soon!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Better than Oprah, this web log of mine!
I am in utter awe of the community that has been created on a simple blog page. This web log has become an altar of sorts... a place where prayers are connected, and goodness and love have woven together a tapestry that spreads it fibers over each one of us.
It is a monsoon here in Kigali, this old red earth reddened more with the blood of millions of hopeful and joyous people. The rain came down so hard last night it woke the whole house. I wonder from my bed of 700 thread count sheets how dry the village slums are right now... what about all those babies crying, hanging on their mothers legs, hungry and fending off the mosquitos? For here a mosquito can be as deadly as a lion. I toss and turn, feeling the bones beneath me, they must be here where I sleep, for they were everywhere in Rwanda. If you came you would feel it too... the history is in everything. It breathes just like us, constantly keeping itself alive without effort.
Somehow people from all corners of the world have gathered here on the internet to witness and be part of this mysterious journey of ours... and what I know is this: this is not just our journey. This journey, the one since Trace really, has reached and touched many more lives than I can even count. For sure, this blogspot and the hopes and fears and prayers shared here are growing daily. People seemed moved to take time from their own challenging and hectic lives to be part of the love and sometimes pain that is offered up. Not to say that the journey is becoming anyone else's story, it doesn't feel like dramatic like a reality series...just to say that we are making ripples and affecting people, using love to raise consciousness and awareness. This comment board has been a classroom of sorts... for me to be sure, but also I suppose for all of us here. What is written for me is applicable to anyone of us and blesses all. Go back and read the comments... we have wise people here speaking up even when I have never seen their own faces. And maybe, just maybe, this love that is being witnessed here can extend to the dear people and soil of Rwanda. God knows they still need boistering up. Or maybe just to your own very precious beings within.
I talked to the agency today in the states. "Go to the orphanages," they directed me. "I was going to go today," I say, "but it is raining." When I return I will be a shadow of myself. I will have this place in my own bones... for I have taken in everything that is Rwanda. Perhaps not really a shadow, but perhaps only that I will have stripped more of my ego self away and remembered a little bit of who I really am. I am now slowed by the rain. A time to stop and just be.
The family I stay with has a dinner ritual called "What was the best part of today?" The kids seem to like this at ages 4 and 7. Last night I was asked. After thinking I said, "Well... the best part of my day. You know the roundabout? The big traffic circle? Well... in the middle of the roundabout were a group of about twelve Rwandese. They sat on the ground in the hot sun among two heaps of what looked like grass, giant piles of long, lined up grass. They were sorting thru it or something. I wanted a photo, but it is a very busy traffic circle with no place to pull off. So, Happy and I drove around and around the traffic circle fr a good twenty minutes until I had successfully captured the photo of the group sitting sorting grasses. It was a very hard task in a moving car with windshields and traffic in the way. But it was so fun and silly to be spending our time driving round and round!"
I showed the girls my picture and then the parents explained what was happening with those workers and that grass. The roundabout is a very high visibility place and it happens to be where government officials like Bush come when they visit here... (unless you are have the sad fortune of being Kofi Anan who was driven away by hissing and rock throwing when he came.) So what does that have to do with grass? Well apparently while the grass (mostly crab grass here) looked fine to the average passer-by, it was not good enough for someone. Those people have dug up the old grass and now have the very tedious task of taking the ordered-from-somewhere-else grass-complete-with-root systems one plant at a time and nestling it in the soil. A grass transplant if you will. This takes months as you can imagine, but the end product is as neat as a head of glamorous African braids.
I look out the window through the monsoon to the slums on the hillside and wonder what any one of us can ever do to touch others who need it most. I guess the answer is, we do what we can, exactly what is being done here on this web log. I am in awe. Bless you all.
It is a monsoon here in Kigali, this old red earth reddened more with the blood of millions of hopeful and joyous people. The rain came down so hard last night it woke the whole house. I wonder from my bed of 700 thread count sheets how dry the village slums are right now... what about all those babies crying, hanging on their mothers legs, hungry and fending off the mosquitos? For here a mosquito can be as deadly as a lion. I toss and turn, feeling the bones beneath me, they must be here where I sleep, for they were everywhere in Rwanda. If you came you would feel it too... the history is in everything. It breathes just like us, constantly keeping itself alive without effort.
Somehow people from all corners of the world have gathered here on the internet to witness and be part of this mysterious journey of ours... and what I know is this: this is not just our journey. This journey, the one since Trace really, has reached and touched many more lives than I can even count. For sure, this blogspot and the hopes and fears and prayers shared here are growing daily. People seemed moved to take time from their own challenging and hectic lives to be part of the love and sometimes pain that is offered up. Not to say that the journey is becoming anyone else's story, it doesn't feel like dramatic like a reality series...just to say that we are making ripples and affecting people, using love to raise consciousness and awareness. This comment board has been a classroom of sorts... for me to be sure, but also I suppose for all of us here. What is written for me is applicable to anyone of us and blesses all. Go back and read the comments... we have wise people here speaking up even when I have never seen their own faces. And maybe, just maybe, this love that is being witnessed here can extend to the dear people and soil of Rwanda. God knows they still need boistering up. Or maybe just to your own very precious beings within.
I talked to the agency today in the states. "Go to the orphanages," they directed me. "I was going to go today," I say, "but it is raining." When I return I will be a shadow of myself. I will have this place in my own bones... for I have taken in everything that is Rwanda. Perhaps not really a shadow, but perhaps only that I will have stripped more of my ego self away and remembered a little bit of who I really am. I am now slowed by the rain. A time to stop and just be.
The family I stay with has a dinner ritual called "What was the best part of today?" The kids seem to like this at ages 4 and 7. Last night I was asked. After thinking I said, "Well... the best part of my day. You know the roundabout? The big traffic circle? Well... in the middle of the roundabout were a group of about twelve Rwandese. They sat on the ground in the hot sun among two heaps of what looked like grass, giant piles of long, lined up grass. They were sorting thru it or something. I wanted a photo, but it is a very busy traffic circle with no place to pull off. So, Happy and I drove around and around the traffic circle fr a good twenty minutes until I had successfully captured the photo of the group sitting sorting grasses. It was a very hard task in a moving car with windshields and traffic in the way. But it was so fun and silly to be spending our time driving round and round!"
I showed the girls my picture and then the parents explained what was happening with those workers and that grass. The roundabout is a very high visibility place and it happens to be where government officials like Bush come when they visit here... (unless you are have the sad fortune of being Kofi Anan who was driven away by hissing and rock throwing when he came.) So what does that have to do with grass? Well apparently while the grass (mostly crab grass here) looked fine to the average passer-by, it was not good enough for someone. Those people have dug up the old grass and now have the very tedious task of taking the ordered-from-somewhere-else grass-complete-with-root systems one plant at a time and nestling it in the soil. A grass transplant if you will. This takes months as you can imagine, but the end product is as neat as a head of glamorous African braids.
I look out the window through the monsoon to the slums on the hillside and wonder what any one of us can ever do to touch others who need it most. I guess the answer is, we do what we can, exactly what is being done here on this web log. I am in awe. Bless you all.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Down and out
well, they still don't have it. the woman who needed to read it hasn't yet and she also happened to be gone for the day. i am told she will be in in the am, but honestly i am breaking down. completely. the only thing i want right now is my family, ariah and scott, and i want to bail on this endeavor. i could be close, or i could be far away. i can't tell from this perspective. but i want out. now.
Monday, April 7, 2008
You Raise Me Up
Just want to tell you all that you rock. The only thing helping me to keep moving besides Ariah wishing for me to come back with a baby (which I have to admit is a pretty strong motivator especially given last time) are your comments, your insights, your words of support, but truly the net you have woven of love and wishes and compassion. Thank you all and please, please, keep it up. Naiomi, the Merrells! Wow. It is so good to hear your voices. I need it.
I am too tired to explain with any redemptive quality how tough this is. See, even that is the understatement of the year. It is just hard... every moment of every day it is hard. A fight of sorts in my psyche, even I dare say in my Spirit. I want to fold and hop on a plane with everything that I have and yet I want this child with the same everything that I have. And I wish I could say that I was god with positive visualization, with the ways of Jerry and Esther Hicks or the Secret. But if what I feel is going to be what I get then I am doomed because my mind has not been producing much good lately. I am riddled with fear and terror, worst case scenarios and sometimes still despair.
But then, I stay anyway due to hope. So many people rooting for us, for me here in Kigali and across the world. I will let everyone down if I fold now. Myself included.
Tomorrow I go back to the Ministry to see if progress has been made. And I am terrified.
Kmom, you talk about labor, going thru your past issues, births...I can tell you that "last time" is up for me big time. I am terrified mostly now cause last time I was safe up until last minute. Everything was fine but plummeted the closer I got. Same thing now... I fear that the closer I get the more doomed I become. What a lovely thing the psyche is. What I need is a good thorough watching of Borat. Yes, indeed it is true. I love the film Borat. Makes me laugh so much that I have no room for any emotion other than complete joy. Kinda like Charlie the Unicorn did for Amy.
Anyway. I have to go to sleep. I had a big day which involved quite the traumatizing walk with the dog where I am staying. Apparently people are scared of dogs here, particularly after the history (which everyone very sensitive to right now since today is the anniversary of the beginning of the killings) and when I left the gate for the street, kids started throwing things at us and hollering, screaming and running away but also running toward us egging on the poor girl till finally she chased a child and bit him.
Please pray that this is it and our family can move ahead after tomorrow.
I am too tired to explain with any redemptive quality how tough this is. See, even that is the understatement of the year. It is just hard... every moment of every day it is hard. A fight of sorts in my psyche, even I dare say in my Spirit. I want to fold and hop on a plane with everything that I have and yet I want this child with the same everything that I have. And I wish I could say that I was god with positive visualization, with the ways of Jerry and Esther Hicks or the Secret. But if what I feel is going to be what I get then I am doomed because my mind has not been producing much good lately. I am riddled with fear and terror, worst case scenarios and sometimes still despair.
But then, I stay anyway due to hope. So many people rooting for us, for me here in Kigali and across the world. I will let everyone down if I fold now. Myself included.
Tomorrow I go back to the Ministry to see if progress has been made. And I am terrified.
Kmom, you talk about labor, going thru your past issues, births...I can tell you that "last time" is up for me big time. I am terrified mostly now cause last time I was safe up until last minute. Everything was fine but plummeted the closer I got. Same thing now... I fear that the closer I get the more doomed I become. What a lovely thing the psyche is. What I need is a good thorough watching of Borat. Yes, indeed it is true. I love the film Borat. Makes me laugh so much that I have no room for any emotion other than complete joy. Kinda like Charlie the Unicorn did for Amy.
Anyway. I have to go to sleep. I had a big day which involved quite the traumatizing walk with the dog where I am staying. Apparently people are scared of dogs here, particularly after the history (which everyone very sensitive to right now since today is the anniversary of the beginning of the killings) and when I left the gate for the street, kids started throwing things at us and hollering, screaming and running away but also running toward us egging on the poor girl till finally she chased a child and bit him.
Please pray that this is it and our family can move ahead after tomorrow.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Hope and hope again
Here I am still in Rwanda, which can either be indescribably beautiful or burdensome depending on the frame of mind. The last two days I struggled with burden, and hence my absence from the computer. I went to check my Dossier at the Ministry and who I needed was out in the field again. Till today it turned out, but all the while I knew it could be till Tuesday next week. And man did I get slammed with grief and fear and "what the fuck am I doing here"'s. Suddenly the idea of being in the foreign land seemed like the most random and asinine (no idea how to spell that word and I refuse to look in the English-French dictionary on the shelf behind me) idea. No not idea. Reality. What was I thinking to come here to this place. I could come home and call it a luxary vacation. A failed mission, but a trip of a lifetime.
So, I despaired. I read before I left that to despair is to turn your back on God. I even wrote it in my journal so as to remember it. But that didn't keep me from doing it. Each time I called Scott in hysterical tears he told me to pray. But how do you pray while your back is turned?
In my mind this was taking too long. I have become homesick and the idea of being away from my beautiful beaming daughter is eating the flesh from my bones. Literally. I stopped eating for two days and I am back down to my waif-like self in stature. All that weight I packed on for months prior to travel has melted away. So, the urge pulsated through me, even moving my feet to walk to the airport and book the next flight home. I yelled at them and they stopped. I am stuck in some thick used motor oil between my baby at home and the promise of a baby here. I can barely move and if I do, I don't know which way to go.
On the day that I am told I cannot volunteer in the orphanage until the Minister has signed my documents, I go walk the street. My eyes are puffy and red where they are not dark with circles and my contacts have turned to foggy lenses like the ones you wore as goggles when you swam as a child. I have been crying all night long. And the day before.
A little boy follows me. "Bonjour" he says. I get ready to say no to him, as is my policy here. I know when a child politely says Bonjour, he is poising himself to follow while keeping his eye on the zipper of my new Vera Bradley handbag. His way of begging. I could ignore him, but my other policy is that when I refuse, I always look into the being of the child and see him first. I always lock eyes so that I can feel what it is I am refusing him and who it is that I refuse. He is small. Dirty. A network of stitches adorn his left brow and I contemplate where he has obtained medical care. "No" I say in French.
But he follows me still. He does not lay eyes on my purse. Instead, he keeps my gaze despite my effort to keep looking ahead to the sidewalk as I walk. "Je fait". He's hungry. "Je mange". If I had food, I would surely give it to him but I have nothing other than a thick stack of rwandenese francs and tears gallore. I ask "you want to eat? Come with me." I have a plan. A plan that will at least help him with his hunger and me with my stuckness.
He follows me to my hotel. I motion to him to stay at the door, and I go inside to the bar turned breakfast buffet. "Can I buy breakfast for my friend, please?" motioning to the door where he is obediently standing. Of course I can. So I sit him down and proceed to get him food which proves to be difficult since I can't communicate with him. A beautiful young woman named Hope of all things comes over, her heart three steps ahead of her body. She flows like cinderella's fairy godmother around this child, sweeping him up to wash his hands, patting him on the head and unfurling a napkin in his lap. She brings plate after plate of food to him, opening up fruit and peeling eggs, clearing away the wrapping as he eats, keeping the tea flowing. She looks natural. Beautiful . Angelic.
She can see my awe of her and in her minimal english she tells me she loves orphans. "Mmmm," I sound. That is the correct rwandan response. "Me, I was orphan." Hope says, and I see the tears in her eyes.
This is a perfect moment, one I have managed to snap a photo of. Three of us, all wanderers of some sort, coming to the table with our burdens and feeling the goodness of life still.
So, I despaired. I read before I left that to despair is to turn your back on God. I even wrote it in my journal so as to remember it. But that didn't keep me from doing it. Each time I called Scott in hysterical tears he told me to pray. But how do you pray while your back is turned?
In my mind this was taking too long. I have become homesick and the idea of being away from my beautiful beaming daughter is eating the flesh from my bones. Literally. I stopped eating for two days and I am back down to my waif-like self in stature. All that weight I packed on for months prior to travel has melted away. So, the urge pulsated through me, even moving my feet to walk to the airport and book the next flight home. I yelled at them and they stopped. I am stuck in some thick used motor oil between my baby at home and the promise of a baby here. I can barely move and if I do, I don't know which way to go.
On the day that I am told I cannot volunteer in the orphanage until the Minister has signed my documents, I go walk the street. My eyes are puffy and red where they are not dark with circles and my contacts have turned to foggy lenses like the ones you wore as goggles when you swam as a child. I have been crying all night long. And the day before.
A little boy follows me. "Bonjour" he says. I get ready to say no to him, as is my policy here. I know when a child politely says Bonjour, he is poising himself to follow while keeping his eye on the zipper of my new Vera Bradley handbag. His way of begging. I could ignore him, but my other policy is that when I refuse, I always look into the being of the child and see him first. I always lock eyes so that I can feel what it is I am refusing him and who it is that I refuse. He is small. Dirty. A network of stitches adorn his left brow and I contemplate where he has obtained medical care. "No" I say in French.
But he follows me still. He does not lay eyes on my purse. Instead, he keeps my gaze despite my effort to keep looking ahead to the sidewalk as I walk. "Je fait". He's hungry. "Je mange". If I had food, I would surely give it to him but I have nothing other than a thick stack of rwandenese francs and tears gallore. I ask "you want to eat? Come with me." I have a plan. A plan that will at least help him with his hunger and me with my stuckness.
He follows me to my hotel. I motion to him to stay at the door, and I go inside to the bar turned breakfast buffet. "Can I buy breakfast for my friend, please?" motioning to the door where he is obediently standing. Of course I can. So I sit him down and proceed to get him food which proves to be difficult since I can't communicate with him. A beautiful young woman named Hope of all things comes over, her heart three steps ahead of her body. She flows like cinderella's fairy godmother around this child, sweeping him up to wash his hands, patting him on the head and unfurling a napkin in his lap. She brings plate after plate of food to him, opening up fruit and peeling eggs, clearing away the wrapping as he eats, keeping the tea flowing. She looks natural. Beautiful . Angelic.
She can see my awe of her and in her minimal english she tells me she loves orphans. "Mmmm," I sound. That is the correct rwandan response. "Me, I was orphan." Hope says, and I see the tears in her eyes.
This is a perfect moment, one I have managed to snap a photo of. Three of us, all wanderers of some sort, coming to the table with our burdens and feeling the goodness of life still.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Still Waiting
What is it about my pregnancies that I am required to go beyond what seems reasonable to wait? 44 weeks with both of my babies. And that amount of waiting, when you know that all that has to happen is the switch to be thrown suddenly, is painstaking. Believe me, it just is. And now here I am doing much the same thing. Waiting. For some supernatural force to come in and throw the switch so it can commence.
Veronique was there (which was unusual since it was raining. Raining? You say? What in God's name dies that have to do with staffing an office? well, in Rwanda, it is common for nothing to happen, people to not even come into work if it is raining. And boy was it ever. Monsoon. Paved roads turned to huge rapid red rivers.) It is hard to tell the reaction of Rwandenese. They are stoic, poker faced always until suddenly they laugh or give eachother five. So Veronique to me seemed unmoved, but according to the lawyer it was just the opposite and she said she needed to first scrutinize my document. She will do this "As soon as possible" which really means she has given me her word, but as to the when, which is what Americans want to know, that is left a mystery. Soon means maybe this week, maybe next. Maybe today. Who knows.
So, I wait.
And wait. Gods help me.
What is it that every Rwandenese looks at when I walk by them? Always they look at my feet. IS it that they are noticing my stylish Teva Mush flipflops that Nola has perforated as a puppy? Or are they taken with the sheer brightness of my pasty white skin? I think the later. I cannot make it down the street without gangs of kids saying, "Bonjour Donnez=Mois Cent Francs muzungu?" Or simply saying "Muzungu, Muzungu." The adults know better. They do comment though on how rich Muzungu are. The average income here is $250 a year. Namaharo at the front desk lives in a house with no running water and no power. He takes care of his small sister and small brother and has to pay for their food, clothes, schooling housing and his own all by himself. Namaharo would like to go to school so that he can get a good job (he would like to be a lawyer) but he cannot afford to since his little siblings depend on him. What namaharo needs to go to school himself is 2,000 dollars a year, US. I wonder if our community could sponsor him. We would be sponsoring three people in Rwanda for less than $200 a month. Is that doable?
I gave money to a woman yesterday. I vowed not to, because once I do, then they follow me around asking for it. But this woman had a brand new baby. And she showed her to me and asked for money. How could I not? So I did. The trouble I got into then was that everyone in my proximity had something to say along the lines of what a good person I was to help, asking for my phone number "Because I love you so much." said in a thick African accent. It took me 40 minutes to traverse a 15 minute distance. Everyone talking to me and asking for my contact info and tellig me I am a child of God.
There are lizards on the roof where I stay, and the same creatures run under the concrete that serves as a bridge everytime I step on it on my way across the ditch to the sidewalk. I live in a hotel in th ebusiness district, which affords a nicely paved road and a fancy hotel with wonderful African tea I have discovered, a patissarie and a swimming pool. So, I live in luxary compared to my friend Namaharo. His name means peace.
Namaharo was only ten when the genocide occurred. He has lived in Rwanda his whole life and will likely never have anything other than a meanial job if that. He is thin. Very thin for lack of food, and yet he makes a very good salary of $150 a month US. For three people.
Today I will go with a gentle Rwandenese Happy to the Genocide Memorial. I am a ee bit uncomfortable going with him, only because he says he reacts strongly since he was here at the end of the war and saw and smelled it all. I don't want to make it hard for him, but he seems to want to go.
So I wait. In the waiting is space, Scott wisely telle me. Space to become scared. Space to rethink things. Doubt.
Space to fight the doubt.
Blessings,
Jaya
Veronique was there (which was unusual since it was raining. Raining? You say? What in God's name dies that have to do with staffing an office? well, in Rwanda, it is common for nothing to happen, people to not even come into work if it is raining. And boy was it ever. Monsoon. Paved roads turned to huge rapid red rivers.) It is hard to tell the reaction of Rwandenese. They are stoic, poker faced always until suddenly they laugh or give eachother five. So Veronique to me seemed unmoved, but according to the lawyer it was just the opposite and she said she needed to first scrutinize my document. She will do this "As soon as possible" which really means she has given me her word, but as to the when, which is what Americans want to know, that is left a mystery. Soon means maybe this week, maybe next. Maybe today. Who knows.
So, I wait.
And wait. Gods help me.
What is it that every Rwandenese looks at when I walk by them? Always they look at my feet. IS it that they are noticing my stylish Teva Mush flipflops that Nola has perforated as a puppy? Or are they taken with the sheer brightness of my pasty white skin? I think the later. I cannot make it down the street without gangs of kids saying, "Bonjour Donnez=Mois Cent Francs muzungu?" Or simply saying "Muzungu, Muzungu." The adults know better. They do comment though on how rich Muzungu are. The average income here is $250 a year. Namaharo at the front desk lives in a house with no running water and no power. He takes care of his small sister and small brother and has to pay for their food, clothes, schooling housing and his own all by himself. Namaharo would like to go to school so that he can get a good job (he would like to be a lawyer) but he cannot afford to since his little siblings depend on him. What namaharo needs to go to school himself is 2,000 dollars a year, US. I wonder if our community could sponsor him. We would be sponsoring three people in Rwanda for less than $200 a month. Is that doable?
I gave money to a woman yesterday. I vowed not to, because once I do, then they follow me around asking for it. But this woman had a brand new baby. And she showed her to me and asked for money. How could I not? So I did. The trouble I got into then was that everyone in my proximity had something to say along the lines of what a good person I was to help, asking for my phone number "Because I love you so much." said in a thick African accent. It took me 40 minutes to traverse a 15 minute distance. Everyone talking to me and asking for my contact info and tellig me I am a child of God.
There are lizards on the roof where I stay, and the same creatures run under the concrete that serves as a bridge everytime I step on it on my way across the ditch to the sidewalk. I live in a hotel in th ebusiness district, which affords a nicely paved road and a fancy hotel with wonderful African tea I have discovered, a patissarie and a swimming pool. So, I live in luxary compared to my friend Namaharo. His name means peace.
Namaharo was only ten when the genocide occurred. He has lived in Rwanda his whole life and will likely never have anything other than a meanial job if that. He is thin. Very thin for lack of food, and yet he makes a very good salary of $150 a month US. For three people.
Today I will go with a gentle Rwandenese Happy to the Genocide Memorial. I am a ee bit uncomfortable going with him, only because he says he reacts strongly since he was here at the end of the war and saw and smelled it all. I don't want to make it hard for him, but he seems to want to go.
So I wait. In the waiting is space, Scott wisely telle me. Space to become scared. Space to rethink things. Doubt.
Space to fight the doubt.
Blessings,
Jaya
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Group Visualization
Okay, I have sooo much to write about, but first I have a tremendous request. You know the spoon benders? The idea that if enough people sit around and focus all their energy on something happening, anything can? Even bending a spoon? Well. Right now I need ya'll to focus on tomorrow. I am going to the Ministry to find Veronique. (See I want to say hopefully find Veronique, cause what if she still isn't in?) I need Veronique to review the Dossier and write the letter immediately, tomorrow. Then I need the Minister to be available to sign it so that I can go to the orphanage and be assigned a child. So, can everyone send some very very focused energy seeing this happen like clockwork tomorrow, that Veronique is in and that the Dossier is there and complete and that the letter is written immediately for the Minister to sign. Perhaps I have to wait in the office while they complete this, but it is done tomorrow easily and smoothly.
Now. The rest of the update.
Matthew, it is good to hear your voice. (Everyone elses too. I am literally in tears reading all your words, feeling all your hearts.) But Matthew, I have been feeling Amy all around me. Constantly. She is so happy about what I am doing, you know how happy she would have been for us if she were still alive and now well, she is just that happy. I can feel it. And she roots me on, she is completely sure that I can see this process thru. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if she already knows which child will be ours and has been watching him/her the entire time. Trace and her have been quite the team and I talk to and listen to them at every step.
How surreal it is to awake to sunlight and music that sounds like an entire congregation of Rwandenese singing like Ladysmith Black Mambazo streaming thru the window panes, the windo ajar and onto my bed. I immediately arose and went outside onto the patio to listen, to try to read my Brain Child magazine. But I couldn't read. All I could do was lift my face to the intense equatorial sun and let the voices and tones fill by core. Ahhhh.. Africa. I spent hours upon hours loading my iPod so as not to become bored during my waiting. But I literally cannot do anything. 5 days I have had of waiting for this Veronique and it is impossible to fill the space. Here the space wants to stand alone and asks only that I stand in it, open. I really can't explain it. But I have tried to keep occupied in many varied situations and it is simply futile. I just keep coming back to the breath of my body and the meditation that is Africa.
Now here this: request number two for one day. Please. Please. Please read or watch something about the genocide in Rwanda. Start with Imaculee's book "Left to Tell" and her story of finding God while hiding in a 3 by 5 bathroom with 7 other women for something like 90 days. She was hunted, but they never discovered her. Or watch Hotel Rwanda even if the idea makes you cringe and you think to yourself "I don't need to see that. Why ruin a perfectly good mood with watching such horrible atrocity?" Or get "Ghosts of Rwanda" from netflix (actually we have a copy you can borrow) which is a Frontline documentary on the genocide and explains the UN's position (standing by unarmed and watching one million Tutsi's be hacked to death in the streets and churches) and gives the story of General Dellaire, an honorable man who's life has become a struggle to survive since his hands were tied in Rwanda.
Last night I had the priviledge (there are very very few cultural events here in Rwanda) of attending a film festival at a fancy restaurant. (See, Diane, I am eating!). We watched "Shake Hands With The Devil" a movie based on the book by the same title written by General Dellaire. Now. Unless you have really studied the genocide and the history leading up to it, you may have a hard time comprehending how moving it is to sit in an open air restaurant overlooking the Kigali city lights with Rwandenese sitting at your sides watching an intense film about evil that destroyed an entire country, one million mothers, babies, fetuses, men, children, grandmothers in one hundred days. The people sitting around me are survivors. They either have to carry guilt or they carry grief. Or both. This land survives too. A land that was quite literally in apocolyptic state in July of 1994, bodies everywhere, buildings bombed and hacked and looted and burned. And now it thrives. Looks just like Vermont but with different trees. Beauty grows from absolute impossible despair. New life blossoms from the cracks where hope still somehow survived.
I think I can relate.
Oh, this baby. I feel it is really close now. Perhaps this week I will meet him. Or her. I am dreaming of it, suckling it. I am feeling my mama instincts kick in. Someday soon I will kick into gear from prodromal to contractions that come closer and closer culminating in birth. At least I won't have to get cut apart this time. One definite benefit of adoption. C-section rate is a lot lower.
I have been very blessed here to have been taken in by a family who lives here working for USAID. They live just around the corner from the hotel and have played hosts to me daily, setting me up with clean water, computer use, skype, food, directions, contacts and family time (they have two adorable girls age 4 and 6). They have invited me to stay starting Friday at the end of this week, and will be good company for me when I have the baby. Their home is luxurious, secure and equipped with groundsmen, cooks and nanny's. That is normal here as the dollar goes very far for and American in Rwanda. And it provides work for some locals who may make 150 a month when the average annual income is 250. For sure it is a different experience of Africa than if I were living in a hut, but considering the circumstances, I think it is keeping me sane.
The orpahange... well, the lawyer (called an associate here) advised me to go through all the necessary steps prior to volunteering at the orphanage. So, I iwll look forward to going and helping after the baby has been assigned.
Okay, over and out. I need to walk home before the monsoon hits. Boy can it rain here.
Love to you all, and thanks for your visualizations!
jaya
Now. The rest of the update.
Matthew, it is good to hear your voice. (Everyone elses too. I am literally in tears reading all your words, feeling all your hearts.) But Matthew, I have been feeling Amy all around me. Constantly. She is so happy about what I am doing, you know how happy she would have been for us if she were still alive and now well, she is just that happy. I can feel it. And she roots me on, she is completely sure that I can see this process thru. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if she already knows which child will be ours and has been watching him/her the entire time. Trace and her have been quite the team and I talk to and listen to them at every step.
How surreal it is to awake to sunlight and music that sounds like an entire congregation of Rwandenese singing like Ladysmith Black Mambazo streaming thru the window panes, the windo ajar and onto my bed. I immediately arose and went outside onto the patio to listen, to try to read my Brain Child magazine. But I couldn't read. All I could do was lift my face to the intense equatorial sun and let the voices and tones fill by core. Ahhhh.. Africa. I spent hours upon hours loading my iPod so as not to become bored during my waiting. But I literally cannot do anything. 5 days I have had of waiting for this Veronique and it is impossible to fill the space. Here the space wants to stand alone and asks only that I stand in it, open. I really can't explain it. But I have tried to keep occupied in many varied situations and it is simply futile. I just keep coming back to the breath of my body and the meditation that is Africa.
Now here this: request number two for one day. Please. Please. Please read or watch something about the genocide in Rwanda. Start with Imaculee's book "Left to Tell" and her story of finding God while hiding in a 3 by 5 bathroom with 7 other women for something like 90 days. She was hunted, but they never discovered her. Or watch Hotel Rwanda even if the idea makes you cringe and you think to yourself "I don't need to see that. Why ruin a perfectly good mood with watching such horrible atrocity?" Or get "Ghosts of Rwanda" from netflix (actually we have a copy you can borrow) which is a Frontline documentary on the genocide and explains the UN's position (standing by unarmed and watching one million Tutsi's be hacked to death in the streets and churches) and gives the story of General Dellaire, an honorable man who's life has become a struggle to survive since his hands were tied in Rwanda.
Last night I had the priviledge (there are very very few cultural events here in Rwanda) of attending a film festival at a fancy restaurant. (See, Diane, I am eating!). We watched "Shake Hands With The Devil" a movie based on the book by the same title written by General Dellaire. Now. Unless you have really studied the genocide and the history leading up to it, you may have a hard time comprehending how moving it is to sit in an open air restaurant overlooking the Kigali city lights with Rwandenese sitting at your sides watching an intense film about evil that destroyed an entire country, one million mothers, babies, fetuses, men, children, grandmothers in one hundred days. The people sitting around me are survivors. They either have to carry guilt or they carry grief. Or both. This land survives too. A land that was quite literally in apocolyptic state in July of 1994, bodies everywhere, buildings bombed and hacked and looted and burned. And now it thrives. Looks just like Vermont but with different trees. Beauty grows from absolute impossible despair. New life blossoms from the cracks where hope still somehow survived.
I think I can relate.
Oh, this baby. I feel it is really close now. Perhaps this week I will meet him. Or her. I am dreaming of it, suckling it. I am feeling my mama instincts kick in. Someday soon I will kick into gear from prodromal to contractions that come closer and closer culminating in birth. At least I won't have to get cut apart this time. One definite benefit of adoption. C-section rate is a lot lower.
I have been very blessed here to have been taken in by a family who lives here working for USAID. They live just around the corner from the hotel and have played hosts to me daily, setting me up with clean water, computer use, skype, food, directions, contacts and family time (they have two adorable girls age 4 and 6). They have invited me to stay starting Friday at the end of this week, and will be good company for me when I have the baby. Their home is luxurious, secure and equipped with groundsmen, cooks and nanny's. That is normal here as the dollar goes very far for and American in Rwanda. And it provides work for some locals who may make 150 a month when the average annual income is 250. For sure it is a different experience of Africa than if I were living in a hut, but considering the circumstances, I think it is keeping me sane.
The orpahange... well, the lawyer (called an associate here) advised me to go through all the necessary steps prior to volunteering at the orphanage. So, I iwll look forward to going and helping after the baby has been assigned.
Okay, over and out. I need to walk home before the monsoon hits. Boy can it rain here.
Love to you all, and thanks for your visualizations!
jaya
Friday, March 28, 2008
So much to say
Okay, I have a good connection now in which to write you. Communication here was extremely frustrating for the first three days, and all my attempts to use either the cell phone, the internet, my vonage phone, all failed. It was due to a combination of obstacles, mainly that I had no money on my cel phone (duh!) and also the fact that constantly the networks are busy here.
I have so many stories already to tell if I had the time, I think when I return to Vermont I shall host a story circle in which we can sit and I can show photos and tell of my travels. You who are far away, maybe we can set up a skype session, lol. (I'm an Oprah wannabe truth be told, and she is doing a classroom every Monday thru skype. It is very cool. )
But first, let me say that reading all your words is enormous. Mom, I cried reading the hymn. Thank you for those words. Only thing better would have been hearing you sing them to me like when I was little. Kmom, you are absolutely right, this is prodromal. And part f me wants to jump ship, abandon myself and the process and fly home. Give in feeling I have not the strength to do this for days and days, and yet here I am with no pitocin and being asked to trust the process. Your words of strength and support, your hands across the water will be what carries me thru. For this, while exciting, is not easy.
Ah, Rwanda. Really, if you ever get the urge to travel this place is it. Not that I should know since all I have to compare it to is Montreal and Disney World's Animal Kingdom, lol. But truly this land is amazing. Rolling green hills, just like Vermont. People with big hearts and smiles. But also, with so much history and heaviness that can be sensed also. The thing I was not prepared for was how young everyone is. I am older than most everyone here, and I think I have only seen about 5 people from the generation ahead of me. I guess it makes sense given that everyone who was here either fled in 1969 or in 1994. Either they fled or they were killed. My lawyer was born in Uganda and moved here later on. The waiter was born here, fled to Congo in 1994 somehow (a very fortunate escape from what I gather) and then came back four months later. The two men I dined with yesterday both came here in 1994 after the war. One was a soldier at age 16 and came back in at the tail end of the genocide from Uganda.
Most happy moments: this morning walking here to use the computer in an American residence I saw a mother and I'd say 2 year old waiting for the bus. She was beautiful and the child well... they are all beautiful to me. As I approached I saw the baby was fishing around down her shirt feeling her breasts. She seemed used to it. Next was the crowd of little kids all dressed alike in blue skirts and blue checked tops who crowded around me on the sidewalk, "Muzungu, muzungo" and they wanted to touch me. I touched them all, the soft almost lamb=like hair on their heads.
Scariest turned funniest moment: Okay, so the American I have had the fortune of using as what she calls my "personal assistant" invited me to a book club. I decided to go. Give it a try. "Can I bring my crocheting?" I ask? Sure she says, no problem. I ask her to elaborate a wee bit on what exactly I could expect and if I would be comfortable there. "It is just a time to go around the circle and each person share what they are reading You don't have to speak if you don't want to." Okay, I think I can handle this. So. We set out after a very funny incident of overpaying the hotel by thousands of rwandanese francs. We are late due to this and anyhow we pull over into the dark by the side of a road. This must be the place I am figuring when something raps on the door. I look out into the darkness but I can't see anyone. Still, Julie opens the door to the knock and me, with my PTSD, am definitely thinking "Oh Shit." I can't see anyone. No one is there. Wait. I do see something. The shiny-ness of a machine gun barrel. Hmmmm. My eyes finally focus probably due to my ears hearing the french coming from is mouth. It is so dark and he is so dark that he was really hard to see. So Julie gets out despite the Machine-gun guy and I follow and he is shouting at her as she walks away. I am a wee bit reluctant to follow her as it is just not instinctual for me to turn my back and walk away from a machine gun guy yelling at me. Still, the guard at the gate says it is okay (I guess he didn't want us leaving the car on the street) and he lets us through. The house looks very official suddenly now that I can focus on something other than my complete panic with the armed men. I ask while we are approaching the house "Um. Where exactly are we?" "Oh, this is the Ambassador's home." Just as she says this I see many people mingling inside the glass wall. "No. No. No." I say, shrinking away. turning back toward the armed men from where I had come. "What do you mean, no?" asks Julie of me just as the ambassador's wife comes to let us in. "I don't mingle," I say as the door opens. Julie hands the dish she has brought throug the door to her and tells her that she has forgotten something at home and will be right back. The woman asks me if I would like to come in. "No. NO NO!!!". Yikes. I run away down the street, past the militia men (not really, but they may as well have been to me) and to the security of Julies home and computer while she mingles and discusses books.
Anyway. There are a few little stories. You may be wondering what the heck is going on with the whole reason I am here: the adoption. Well. We filed the Dossier with the Ministry on Tuesday. Wednesday we were able to get an audience with the Minister herself to explain my case and explain to her the urgency of it all. She was very nice and said she would sign right away for us. However, the woman that needs to prepare the document for her to sign, Veronique, is out "in the field" until Monday. So, I have been killing time until then. Today I think I shall go back again and ask for her. I was told by some locals that the thing to do is spend some time sitting in her office. That way they get to know me as the muzungu who keeps waiting for Veronique. They know i need to see her and I have put in my time. Still, if she is not there today, my plan is to go monday and tell her the Minister is waiting to sign and tell her that I will wait until she has reveiwed the document and prepared the letter. Hopefully that will give me what I need to make the assignment of the child with the orphanage.
So. That is that. I will try to update again soon, but until then, please keep leaving messages. I need all of your voices of reassurance.
Blessings,
Jaya
I have so many stories already to tell if I had the time, I think when I return to Vermont I shall host a story circle in which we can sit and I can show photos and tell of my travels. You who are far away, maybe we can set up a skype session, lol. (I'm an Oprah wannabe truth be told, and she is doing a classroom every Monday thru skype. It is very cool. )
But first, let me say that reading all your words is enormous. Mom, I cried reading the hymn. Thank you for those words. Only thing better would have been hearing you sing them to me like when I was little. Kmom, you are absolutely right, this is prodromal. And part f me wants to jump ship, abandon myself and the process and fly home. Give in feeling I have not the strength to do this for days and days, and yet here I am with no pitocin and being asked to trust the process. Your words of strength and support, your hands across the water will be what carries me thru. For this, while exciting, is not easy.
Ah, Rwanda. Really, if you ever get the urge to travel this place is it. Not that I should know since all I have to compare it to is Montreal and Disney World's Animal Kingdom, lol. But truly this land is amazing. Rolling green hills, just like Vermont. People with big hearts and smiles. But also, with so much history and heaviness that can be sensed also. The thing I was not prepared for was how young everyone is. I am older than most everyone here, and I think I have only seen about 5 people from the generation ahead of me. I guess it makes sense given that everyone who was here either fled in 1969 or in 1994. Either they fled or they were killed. My lawyer was born in Uganda and moved here later on. The waiter was born here, fled to Congo in 1994 somehow (a very fortunate escape from what I gather) and then came back four months later. The two men I dined with yesterday both came here in 1994 after the war. One was a soldier at age 16 and came back in at the tail end of the genocide from Uganda.
Most happy moments: this morning walking here to use the computer in an American residence I saw a mother and I'd say 2 year old waiting for the bus. She was beautiful and the child well... they are all beautiful to me. As I approached I saw the baby was fishing around down her shirt feeling her breasts. She seemed used to it. Next was the crowd of little kids all dressed alike in blue skirts and blue checked tops who crowded around me on the sidewalk, "Muzungu, muzungo" and they wanted to touch me. I touched them all, the soft almost lamb=like hair on their heads.
Scariest turned funniest moment: Okay, so the American I have had the fortune of using as what she calls my "personal assistant" invited me to a book club. I decided to go. Give it a try. "Can I bring my crocheting?" I ask? Sure she says, no problem. I ask her to elaborate a wee bit on what exactly I could expect and if I would be comfortable there. "It is just a time to go around the circle and each person share what they are reading You don't have to speak if you don't want to." Okay, I think I can handle this. So. We set out after a very funny incident of overpaying the hotel by thousands of rwandanese francs. We are late due to this and anyhow we pull over into the dark by the side of a road. This must be the place I am figuring when something raps on the door. I look out into the darkness but I can't see anyone. Still, Julie opens the door to the knock and me, with my PTSD, am definitely thinking "Oh Shit." I can't see anyone. No one is there. Wait. I do see something. The shiny-ness of a machine gun barrel. Hmmmm. My eyes finally focus probably due to my ears hearing the french coming from is mouth. It is so dark and he is so dark that he was really hard to see. So Julie gets out despite the Machine-gun guy and I follow and he is shouting at her as she walks away. I am a wee bit reluctant to follow her as it is just not instinctual for me to turn my back and walk away from a machine gun guy yelling at me. Still, the guard at the gate says it is okay (I guess he didn't want us leaving the car on the street) and he lets us through. The house looks very official suddenly now that I can focus on something other than my complete panic with the armed men. I ask while we are approaching the house "Um. Where exactly are we?" "Oh, this is the Ambassador's home." Just as she says this I see many people mingling inside the glass wall. "No. No. No." I say, shrinking away. turning back toward the armed men from where I had come. "What do you mean, no?" asks Julie of me just as the ambassador's wife comes to let us in. "I don't mingle," I say as the door opens. Julie hands the dish she has brought throug the door to her and tells her that she has forgotten something at home and will be right back. The woman asks me if I would like to come in. "No. NO NO!!!". Yikes. I run away down the street, past the militia men (not really, but they may as well have been to me) and to the security of Julies home and computer while she mingles and discusses books.
Anyway. There are a few little stories. You may be wondering what the heck is going on with the whole reason I am here: the adoption. Well. We filed the Dossier with the Ministry on Tuesday. Wednesday we were able to get an audience with the Minister herself to explain my case and explain to her the urgency of it all. She was very nice and said she would sign right away for us. However, the woman that needs to prepare the document for her to sign, Veronique, is out "in the field" until Monday. So, I have been killing time until then. Today I think I shall go back again and ask for her. I was told by some locals that the thing to do is spend some time sitting in her office. That way they get to know me as the muzungu who keeps waiting for Veronique. They know i need to see her and I have put in my time. Still, if she is not there today, my plan is to go monday and tell her the Minister is waiting to sign and tell her that I will wait until she has reveiwed the document and prepared the letter. Hopefully that will give me what I need to make the assignment of the child with the orphanage.
So. That is that. I will try to update again soon, but until then, please keep leaving messages. I need all of your voices of reassurance.
Blessings,
Jaya
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Here in Kigali
well, i made it. to rwanda that is, but not nearly as far as i need to go with this process. the flights were uneventful- easy really but long and well... just long. i went thru 2 sun ups in less than a day, once in dulles and once over africa. both were amazing and looked exactly the same, but the one over africa was ore brilliant and moving of course just by the nature of it welcoming me to africa. flying over the country was moving beyond words... looking down and seeing desert... red earth with river running thru it at times, populated only by a few sparse villages here and there.
i am finding everything friendly and good. i am lonely and weepy, missing my family so much already.
i will try to update soon. hoping to meet with the minister tomorrow.
xoxoxox
jaya
i am finding everything friendly and good. i am lonely and weepy, missing my family so much already.
i will try to update soon. hoping to meet with the minister tomorrow.
xoxoxox
jaya
Friday, March 21, 2008
I'm going in!
Here goes... I'll believe it for real when I see it, but as of right now I have purchased a ticket for Sunday arriving Kigali Monday. I have no time to post any details or feelings right now (gotta go scramble to pack) but I will try to update from overseas.
I'm not sure how internet access is. I'm sure to find a 'puter somewhere though...
Wish me godspeed.
I'm not sure how internet access is. I'm sure to find a 'puter somewhere though...
Wish me godspeed.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Bodyguard
Well, still no word from the lawyer which has me a wee bit concerned. Anyway. The document looks really good and altho I have no idea what that means for our family in actuality, I feel good about the recommendation from the Embassy. Our aim is to have me leave immediately after Easter. I am calling tomorrow for flights, and it is probable that the wonderful woman who has been leading us thru this whole thing will be going with me.
Someone inquired today whether or not I have a body guard, and while I went laughing my head off in response, the deafening silence clued me into the serious nature of the suggestion. Hmmm... a body guard? I hadn't thought of that.
Well, no I'm not gonna have a body guard. Truth be told I am going to risk it all for this venture. There are times I lie awake in bed wondering if I am walking into my sure demise... searching to my death for a child, forever searching and willing to risk everything for the longing left after Trace died and took with him my womb. Maybe I am crazy, I think. What ever am I doing? Putting everything I already have in harms way in order to get the one thing I cannot have on my own. And maybe it is written that I shall not have anymore children, after all a mother could surely come to that conclusion after a miscarriage, a still birth and the catastrophic rupture of her womb. God is trying to tell me something, I can convince myself... and I am not listening. Maybe I barely escaped death last time and this time "they" will finally get me. Really? Is that the view of God/Goddess/Universe that I have? Some all powerful entity waiting to finally "get" me?
I don't know, that could be true, but I prefer to rest easy in feeling like Trace is at the helm with Spirit... that his coming and going brought everything they needed to into this life, that it was a perfect whole experience for him and me, and that while painful, it set the stage for us to open our home, hearts and beings to this baby with its own very real story.
For this is just the beginning, right? Or the continuation. I often wonder what it will be like for this baby... what its own story is... I dream of his brave mother who will have birthed him, and will have left him- either by the force of death, or by the force of something greater than I can understand- a mother who out of love, or grief, or knowing or fear, will have turned her back to this young being and walk away, a mother who will have given our family the very gift of new life. How was he conceived? How was he nurtured? How was his birth? How many hours, days did he lie still before he was found? How is the pain of this in his heart? Does his mother now drop to her knees in grief scream feeling her now flaccid and empty womb beneath her hand? Did she make a mistake? What will she carry for the rest of her life? And this baby... how did his ancestors survive 14 years ago when one million beautiful babies, children, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers were hacked to bits and left for the dogs in less than eighty days? This baby is only here because his people survived. And if this baby survived because it was his own parents who did the hacking, than they too are survivors of great grief and guilt and evil.
Maybe we will know the story and maybe we won't. Perhaps we will imagine it, or piece it into being like a quilt sewn square by square, sometimes disjunctive and sparse. Or maybe our child will always wonder where he came from and who let him go and he himself will carry the burden of his story, of his people.
And maybe, just maybe, that is why we go now to Rwanda... after our own losses (which I am not comparing to what happened in the genocide)and traversing the great expansive and barren territory of hell-grief, our own lives becoming post apocalyptic in a way, we can understand a little of the grief carried in the hearts and beings of these people who now have built hope on top of their own pile of bones. They are a people that have bloomed life from a truly apocalyptic state. In just a few days/weeks I will be blessed to set foot on those bones and feel the hope and reconciliation that exists today. There are people who killed building houses for the families of the dead. There are victims visiting the jails and verbally forgiving the killers of their families. This is the place we will be united with our child. This is illustration of hope and healing and the great heart of humanity.
No, no bodyguard. I go in vulnerable and humble, open to feel it all, ready to step into the church where piles of bodies still remain and try to imagine the 100 days of genocide, the stench, the cries, the machetes swinging. Ready to love a hundred babies with everything that I have knowing that soon I will have to walk away while they clutch to my legs, knowing that many of them will never have a family, that many will die of disease. Ready to hear the sounds, smell the smells, see the hearts of a different place on this earth. Ready to see the scars, hear the longing, listen for the joy. Ready to look into the faces and stories of a people that look different than but the same as my own white face. I am ready. I am open. I am un guarded.
Let me meet this child.
Someone inquired today whether or not I have a body guard, and while I went laughing my head off in response, the deafening silence clued me into the serious nature of the suggestion. Hmmm... a body guard? I hadn't thought of that.
Well, no I'm not gonna have a body guard. Truth be told I am going to risk it all for this venture. There are times I lie awake in bed wondering if I am walking into my sure demise... searching to my death for a child, forever searching and willing to risk everything for the longing left after Trace died and took with him my womb. Maybe I am crazy, I think. What ever am I doing? Putting everything I already have in harms way in order to get the one thing I cannot have on my own. And maybe it is written that I shall not have anymore children, after all a mother could surely come to that conclusion after a miscarriage, a still birth and the catastrophic rupture of her womb. God is trying to tell me something, I can convince myself... and I am not listening. Maybe I barely escaped death last time and this time "they" will finally get me. Really? Is that the view of God/Goddess/Universe that I have? Some all powerful entity waiting to finally "get" me?
I don't know, that could be true, but I prefer to rest easy in feeling like Trace is at the helm with Spirit... that his coming and going brought everything they needed to into this life, that it was a perfect whole experience for him and me, and that while painful, it set the stage for us to open our home, hearts and beings to this baby with its own very real story.
For this is just the beginning, right? Or the continuation. I often wonder what it will be like for this baby... what its own story is... I dream of his brave mother who will have birthed him, and will have left him- either by the force of death, or by the force of something greater than I can understand- a mother who out of love, or grief, or knowing or fear, will have turned her back to this young being and walk away, a mother who will have given our family the very gift of new life. How was he conceived? How was he nurtured? How was his birth? How many hours, days did he lie still before he was found? How is the pain of this in his heart? Does his mother now drop to her knees in grief scream feeling her now flaccid and empty womb beneath her hand? Did she make a mistake? What will she carry for the rest of her life? And this baby... how did his ancestors survive 14 years ago when one million beautiful babies, children, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers were hacked to bits and left for the dogs in less than eighty days? This baby is only here because his people survived. And if this baby survived because it was his own parents who did the hacking, than they too are survivors of great grief and guilt and evil.
Maybe we will know the story and maybe we won't. Perhaps we will imagine it, or piece it into being like a quilt sewn square by square, sometimes disjunctive and sparse. Or maybe our child will always wonder where he came from and who let him go and he himself will carry the burden of his story, of his people.
And maybe, just maybe, that is why we go now to Rwanda... after our own losses (which I am not comparing to what happened in the genocide)and traversing the great expansive and barren territory of hell-grief, our own lives becoming post apocalyptic in a way, we can understand a little of the grief carried in the hearts and beings of these people who now have built hope on top of their own pile of bones. They are a people that have bloomed life from a truly apocalyptic state. In just a few days/weeks I will be blessed to set foot on those bones and feel the hope and reconciliation that exists today. There are people who killed building houses for the families of the dead. There are victims visiting the jails and verbally forgiving the killers of their families. This is the place we will be united with our child. This is illustration of hope and healing and the great heart of humanity.
No, no bodyguard. I go in vulnerable and humble, open to feel it all, ready to step into the church where piles of bodies still remain and try to imagine the 100 days of genocide, the stench, the cries, the machetes swinging. Ready to love a hundred babies with everything that I have knowing that soon I will have to walk away while they clutch to my legs, knowing that many of them will never have a family, that many will die of disease. Ready to hear the sounds, smell the smells, see the hearts of a different place on this earth. Ready to see the scars, hear the longing, listen for the joy. Ready to look into the faces and stories of a people that look different than but the same as my own white face. I am ready. I am open. I am un guarded.
Let me meet this child.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
One Step Forward Eighty-two Steps Back
As promised, the Embassy delivered and I had the Dossier in hand Tuesday at noon. It looks great and there is the needed letter attached stating the specifics of our case. So, of course, I went and reserved a ticket for Saturday the 15th, arriving the 17th in Kigali.
NOPE! Can't do it. I won't be on the plane... now WE CAN'T FIND THE LAWYER! She is MIA. I need her to pick me up from the airport and take me from there to the Ministry to deliver the paperwork, and without her go-ahead I can't do anything worthwhile other than sight-see. So, I am still grounded. I have no idea where she is or when she will return and now I am facing a holiday (Easter) so travel will most likely be delayed due to that.
I am fugly. Dh asked me what I needed last night (I think he is hoping that something would make it easier to live with me at the moment) and honestly the only thing I need is to get on a plane. No bubble bath is gonna fix this. At least I have an iPod to listen to while I pump every two hours....
NOPE! Can't do it. I won't be on the plane... now WE CAN'T FIND THE LAWYER! She is MIA. I need her to pick me up from the airport and take me from there to the Ministry to deliver the paperwork, and without her go-ahead I can't do anything worthwhile other than sight-see. So, I am still grounded. I have no idea where she is or when she will return and now I am facing a holiday (Easter) so travel will most likely be delayed due to that.
I am fugly. Dh asked me what I needed last night (I think he is hoping that something would make it easier to live with me at the moment) and honestly the only thing I need is to get on a plane. No bubble bath is gonna fix this. At least I have an iPod to listen to while I pump every two hours....
Saturday, March 8, 2008
UH-huh!
Yup. Got the Dossier, no letter on it. Got in touch with the woman at the Embassy, she was completely embarrassed and promised to send the letter out FedEx this weekend so that I would have it Monday a.m. and suggested that I make travel arrangements.
So, I called the agency and we started the details of travel- how much money to bring, who to tip, how to not get scammed, and blah blah. I was gonna plan travel for Wednesday, get in Thursday and have the lawyer take me to the Ministry to deliver the Dossier Thursday or Friday. The woman from the agency will accompany me if I feel I need her...
So I'm on the phone blathering about the arrangements, doing all last minute details, and flipping thru my paperwork.
Wait a minute. Wait. WAIT. These papers don't look right.
The Dossier in my hands just seems off. There are two documents: One is the original. One is a copy. What distinguishes them apart is that the original is fastened together with a very official (and costly to place) rivet, fastened also with an off-white satin bow. The cover page is on heavy cardstock, US seal and Condoleezza Rice's signature. The rest of the document that follows is mostly on similarly important looking papers all with embossed seals of some sort or another. The copy is just that: A uniformly stark white flimsy paper series paper clipped together complete with yellow post-it titled "copy" in plain blue printing.
Only the copy has Embassy seals on every page (at 30 bucks a pop) with painstaking text hand written next to each one authenticating the copy.
HUH?!?!?! I needed the original official copy to be authenticated. The seals need to be on the original!
So. Off to the Rutland airport I went today. Drove there (well kinda, it took me an hour of circling the surrounding towns to actually find the airport and then when I finally arrived there the kind policeman told me that fedex was actually not there, but on the other side of things...) and got there at 12:03 to find they close at noon. But alas, the lady felt bad for me and let me in and rescued the day. Can you believe that I had to repackage up the Dossier, stick it in a self sealing envelope and send it BACK to the Embassy?
I felt so badly for myself that I went directly to Staples and spent half of what a good Rwandan makes annually on an iPod. Came home and proceeded to download podcasts so that I have something to listen to in Rwanda (if I ever ever ever get there). Put a bunch of my favorite mixes on there too which didn't work out so great as they pop up "Untitled Artist" and "Untitled 1" and so on. So now my iPod looks like this:
Untitled 1
Untitled 1
Untitled 1
Untitled 2
Untitled 2
Untitled 3
Untitled 3
Untitled 3
You get the idea. Which also means that I get a totally different mix when I hit play since all the songs line up as tracks under the artist "Untitled". Sucks. Any pointers? Grr.
One step forward 4 steps back.
Oh, and if you are feeling grumpy that you donated and I bought something as frivolous as a made-in-someplace-else hunk of natural resources, I am too. Only I am really really enjoying it already and the distraction from my self-inflicted waiting-for-our-child misery. Plus I didn't use that money, I used back pay Scott finally got for the last two years of working without a contract! Woo-hoo!
Going nutty,
Jaya
So, I called the agency and we started the details of travel- how much money to bring, who to tip, how to not get scammed, and blah blah. I was gonna plan travel for Wednesday, get in Thursday and have the lawyer take me to the Ministry to deliver the Dossier Thursday or Friday. The woman from the agency will accompany me if I feel I need her...
So I'm on the phone blathering about the arrangements, doing all last minute details, and flipping thru my paperwork.
Wait a minute. Wait. WAIT. These papers don't look right.
The Dossier in my hands just seems off. There are two documents: One is the original. One is a copy. What distinguishes them apart is that the original is fastened together with a very official (and costly to place) rivet, fastened also with an off-white satin bow. The cover page is on heavy cardstock, US seal and Condoleezza Rice's signature. The rest of the document that follows is mostly on similarly important looking papers all with embossed seals of some sort or another. The copy is just that: A uniformly stark white flimsy paper series paper clipped together complete with yellow post-it titled "copy" in plain blue printing.
Only the copy has Embassy seals on every page (at 30 bucks a pop) with painstaking text hand written next to each one authenticating the copy.
HUH?!?!?! I needed the original official copy to be authenticated. The seals need to be on the original!
So. Off to the Rutland airport I went today. Drove there (well kinda, it took me an hour of circling the surrounding towns to actually find the airport and then when I finally arrived there the kind policeman told me that fedex was actually not there, but on the other side of things...) and got there at 12:03 to find they close at noon. But alas, the lady felt bad for me and let me in and rescued the day. Can you believe that I had to repackage up the Dossier, stick it in a self sealing envelope and send it BACK to the Embassy?
I felt so badly for myself that I went directly to Staples and spent half of what a good Rwandan makes annually on an iPod. Came home and proceeded to download podcasts so that I have something to listen to in Rwanda (if I ever ever ever get there). Put a bunch of my favorite mixes on there too which didn't work out so great as they pop up "Untitled Artist" and "Untitled 1" and so on. So now my iPod looks like this:
Untitled 1
Untitled 1
Untitled 1
Untitled 2
Untitled 2
Untitled 3
Untitled 3
Untitled 3
You get the idea. Which also means that I get a totally different mix when I hit play since all the songs line up as tracks under the artist "Untitled". Sucks. Any pointers? Grr.
One step forward 4 steps back.
Oh, and if you are feeling grumpy that you donated and I bought something as frivolous as a made-in-someplace-else hunk of natural resources, I am too. Only I am really really enjoying it already and the distraction from my self-inflicted waiting-for-our-child misery. Plus I didn't use that money, I used back pay Scott finally got for the last two years of working without a contract! Woo-hoo!
Going nutty,
Jaya
Friday, March 7, 2008
Stringing you along...
The title to this post is written to the tune of That Muppet Movie song, "Movin' Right Along." Please go back and read it with the tune in mind.
I purposely haven't written here in attempt to let you all feel like I feel. In the void of not knowing. Did it work? LOL.
So. I found the Dossier. I finally (after being told "anyday" for 3 or 4 weeks) decided to call the Embassy myself and see where the Dossier was, and lo and behold... drum roll please... it was sitting on a desk there. Complete, mind you, but still sitting on a desk there.
Apparently they understood that they were NOT SUPPOSED to mail it out, and rather that whoever dropped it off (a currier service) would return to pick it up. Anyway, when I found this out I immediately had them fedex it overnight to me. Avoid the middle man, I have decided in all of this.
So yesterday was the day it was really once and for all supposed to arrive. We have decided that once it is in our hands, I will go myself and deliver it to the Ministry in Rwanda rather than having it sent there. So, this was my ticket to go. I thought perhaps I'd leave Sunday or Monday at the latest...
I waited all morning, and it finally arrived around noon on my doorstep. I opened it to find the document all stamped by the embassy and signed by Condaleza Rice (no idea how to spell her name and no desire to google it, sorry). HOWEVER... No letter!
I guess typically it has a cover letter stating that everything is deemed in order and that the family is recommended for adoption. In my case, the woman at the Embassy had supposedly heard the details of our case and was going to write a letter stating those details- that I am lactating and therefore should be matched immediately with the youngest infant possible. No letter!
ARGH!
Yes, I am yelling. I'm pumping as I sit here and type. I am tired of wondering, of waiting, of pumping, of longing, of hoping, of worrying. I just want to go! Anyway. I did call the Embassy back and apparently the woman I need to write the letter is gone from the office until Monday.
Still, I spoke at length with her secretary and she is very patient and sweet. She is supposed to be calling the woman I need the letter from on her cell, asking about it and calling me back by the end of the day. She assured me that the letter was something that would only take moments to write and that it could be here promptly. Who knows in reality what exactly promptly means though.
So you are wondering about me taking this dossier to Rwanda myself, eh? Well, the theory at work is that the squeaky wheel gets oiled. Maybe by me being there I can get things going with my presence alone. HA! Do you think this white woman will get noticed there?
Cross your fingers for me and visualize two weeks. I am in and out. Back to Vermont with a new baby.
If doubt crosses your mind screen, let it out. I need everyone's positive thinking. This can happen! Yes it can. (you can tell I am definitely talking to myself here).
Signing off,
Jaya
I purposely haven't written here in attempt to let you all feel like I feel. In the void of not knowing. Did it work? LOL.
So. I found the Dossier. I finally (after being told "anyday" for 3 or 4 weeks) decided to call the Embassy myself and see where the Dossier was, and lo and behold... drum roll please... it was sitting on a desk there. Complete, mind you, but still sitting on a desk there.
Apparently they understood that they were NOT SUPPOSED to mail it out, and rather that whoever dropped it off (a currier service) would return to pick it up. Anyway, when I found this out I immediately had them fedex it overnight to me. Avoid the middle man, I have decided in all of this.
So yesterday was the day it was really once and for all supposed to arrive. We have decided that once it is in our hands, I will go myself and deliver it to the Ministry in Rwanda rather than having it sent there. So, this was my ticket to go. I thought perhaps I'd leave Sunday or Monday at the latest...
I waited all morning, and it finally arrived around noon on my doorstep. I opened it to find the document all stamped by the embassy and signed by Condaleza Rice (no idea how to spell her name and no desire to google it, sorry). HOWEVER... No letter!
I guess typically it has a cover letter stating that everything is deemed in order and that the family is recommended for adoption. In my case, the woman at the Embassy had supposedly heard the details of our case and was going to write a letter stating those details- that I am lactating and therefore should be matched immediately with the youngest infant possible. No letter!
ARGH!
Yes, I am yelling. I'm pumping as I sit here and type. I am tired of wondering, of waiting, of pumping, of longing, of hoping, of worrying. I just want to go! Anyway. I did call the Embassy back and apparently the woman I need to write the letter is gone from the office until Monday.
Still, I spoke at length with her secretary and she is very patient and sweet. She is supposed to be calling the woman I need the letter from on her cell, asking about it and calling me back by the end of the day. She assured me that the letter was something that would only take moments to write and that it could be here promptly. Who knows in reality what exactly promptly means though.
So you are wondering about me taking this dossier to Rwanda myself, eh? Well, the theory at work is that the squeaky wheel gets oiled. Maybe by me being there I can get things going with my presence alone. HA! Do you think this white woman will get noticed there?
Cross your fingers for me and visualize two weeks. I am in and out. Back to Vermont with a new baby.
If doubt crosses your mind screen, let it out. I need everyone's positive thinking. This can happen! Yes it can. (you can tell I am definitely talking to myself here).
Signing off,
Jaya
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Still nothin
Thanks to all of you who are keeping us in your hearts... I still have not heard anything, suffice it to say that as far as I know the Dossier is not lost, just still sitting in the Embassy's office for some reason. Hmmm?!?!?!?
I am going crazy. There is so much swirling around in my mind and heart. The fearful place is that this will never happen. Gods how I just want to be home with a baby! What if it doesn't work this time? I don't think that would be survivable... anyway, I am really going thru the mill as they say. I even lost my milk supply! Down from 16 ounces to 4! See what stress does to the body?
I did have two good dreams last night- for my whole adult life I have had a repeating dream of my first true love. In the dream I always want him and he doesn't give me the time of day... I awake in tears, all my high school feeling of love come rushing back in and I feel like I miss him desperately and made the wrong choice to marry my dear husband, lol. (I have no idea why.. I have no contact with the old boyfriend). Anyway, I dreamt that I was with him and this time we were together (as together as two can get, lol) and guess what? I decided to leave him! Told him it would never work between us, and literally turned my back and walked away as he called after me... I kept walkin'.
I'm healed!!!! LOL.
And then one of my dear friend Amy Donaldson who passed away 8 months ago... she was there and I was so happy she hadn't left us.. she told me this adoption would happen, but it would be harder than I thought.
Amy would be so supportive of this, she always wanted to adopt. I know she is smiling down on us, cheering us on in our endeavor. I love that she visited last night. Thanks, Amy. It was so good to see your face again.
I am going crazy. There is so much swirling around in my mind and heart. The fearful place is that this will never happen. Gods how I just want to be home with a baby! What if it doesn't work this time? I don't think that would be survivable... anyway, I am really going thru the mill as they say. I even lost my milk supply! Down from 16 ounces to 4! See what stress does to the body?
I did have two good dreams last night- for my whole adult life I have had a repeating dream of my first true love. In the dream I always want him and he doesn't give me the time of day... I awake in tears, all my high school feeling of love come rushing back in and I feel like I miss him desperately and made the wrong choice to marry my dear husband, lol. (I have no idea why.. I have no contact with the old boyfriend). Anyway, I dreamt that I was with him and this time we were together (as together as two can get, lol) and guess what? I decided to leave him! Told him it would never work between us, and literally turned my back and walked away as he called after me... I kept walkin'.
I'm healed!!!! LOL.
And then one of my dear friend Amy Donaldson who passed away 8 months ago... she was there and I was so happy she hadn't left us.. she told me this adoption would happen, but it would be harder than I thought.
Amy would be so supportive of this, she always wanted to adopt. I know she is smiling down on us, cheering us on in our endeavor. I love that she visited last night. Thanks, Amy. It was so good to see your face again.
Monday, February 25, 2008
An Ugh and a Sigh
Alright, they lost our Dossier! This is what they mean when they say adoption is a roller coaster, huh?
It supposedly went to the Embassy, but never got back to the agency in the pile of others that did get returned over the weekend. Or maybe it just didn't get approved and it is at the embassy still. So time will tell. Stay tuned, I got wind yesterday that I may be on the brink of leaving. I should know more today, even if that more is that I know nothing at all, lol.
I'll keep ya'll posted...
It supposedly went to the Embassy, but never got back to the agency in the pile of others that did get returned over the weekend. Or maybe it just didn't get approved and it is at the embassy still. So time will tell. Stay tuned, I got wind yesterday that I may be on the brink of leaving. I should know more today, even if that more is that I know nothing at all, lol.
I'll keep ya'll posted...
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I had great plans for tonight... Install my Vonage phone, file an amended tax return (forgot I had a job when I filed the first time, lol!), take a bath, do a herbal face steam, read my new Paulo Coelho book, maybe watch an Angelina Jolie movie I've had my eye on for two weeks...
Yup. I did none of those. I sat my ass in front of this screen and worked on my blog.
So, I may as well do what I was planning to do all week, and that is update you all. Right after I told J of my aches and pains with the waiting for this adoption while pumping milk she called me and was tremendously reassuring and patient. She was kind and generous with her time and sensitivity, which really made me feel like I had climbed into a warm lap, secure and content.
J thinks this will go quickly still, she recommended I keep up the pumping and pack my bags! Supposedly we should have an approval from the Embassy today or tomorrow, and then they send it to Rwanda. It takes a few days to get there, but once it does that is the last place it needs to go before it goes to the courts! The approval there could be instantaneous since it already has the Embassy's approval. Time will tell. Cross your fingers.
I'm scared shitless (can't think of a better word to use at the moment). When "nothing" seems to be happening, I freak out that it never will happen. When it speeds up and there is evidence of progress, I freak out that it is happening. Either way, it is just plain scary. Whatever. At the end of the day it is just fear and never did hold me down much. I can move despite it.
But can you imagine? We may have our child soon!
Yup. I did none of those. I sat my ass in front of this screen and worked on my blog.
So, I may as well do what I was planning to do all week, and that is update you all. Right after I told J of my aches and pains with the waiting for this adoption while pumping milk she called me and was tremendously reassuring and patient. She was kind and generous with her time and sensitivity, which really made me feel like I had climbed into a warm lap, secure and content.
J thinks this will go quickly still, she recommended I keep up the pumping and pack my bags! Supposedly we should have an approval from the Embassy today or tomorrow, and then they send it to Rwanda. It takes a few days to get there, but once it does that is the last place it needs to go before it goes to the courts! The approval there could be instantaneous since it already has the Embassy's approval. Time will tell. Cross your fingers.
I'm scared shitless (can't think of a better word to use at the moment). When "nothing" seems to be happening, I freak out that it never will happen. When it speeds up and there is evidence of progress, I freak out that it is happening. Either way, it is just plain scary. Whatever. At the end of the day it is just fear and never did hold me down much. I can move despite it.
But can you imagine? We may have our child soon!
Friday, February 15, 2008
What It Is To Wait After A Term Infant Loss and While Lactating
What It Is To Wait After A Term Infant Loss and While Lactating:
An open letter to those working with us in this adoption…
My husband and I have been longing to enlarge our family since 2004. In that year I did get pregnant easily, just as I had with my daughter, but I miscarried that already loved child early on in the pregnancy. It was a great loss, and we were happy when we felt ready to conceive again. At the turn of 2006 we conceived our son, who after 10 months of a very healthy pregnancy was killed during birth from a uterine rupture. Just after the cesarean surgery that attempted to save him, I began to bleed to death. I bled for nearly two hours before I implored the doctors to take my womb... and they did. So not only now did I have to drop to my knees with grief over my son, I also had to integrate somewhere into my being the fact that I would never be woman again in the manner of being able to hold life within. Very literally the only thing that kept me afloat during those times (aside from our living daughter) was hope.
We hoped and prayed that there was some way a child would still come into our lives, either by surrogacy or adoption. I threw all my baby supplies out the window (I really did; right onto the grass below), emptied my boy’s room, and waffled between despair and resolution that I would be doomed to a lifetime of unmet dreams (never having another baby) and a feeling of peace when the image of mothering a new child despite all this tragedy moved in.
And then along came J who introduced to us an opportunity to build our family and our love for another culture in a far away place that to us now seems not-so-far away, Rwanda. This child is already loved in so many mysterious ways stirring within me. I sit at night and chant his name (despite the fact that it could very well be a girl). I light a candle below Trace’s photo and ask for guidance on this journey to this baby and this country. Trace assures me everything is as it should be. Every two hours when I hook my sore, dripping breasts up to a hospital-grade pump and begin my 15 minutes of milk expression I visualize the baby suckling at the breast.
And none of this is easy. It sounds graceful, but really it is filled with faltering stumbling efforts to keep my chin up, my heart open and my resolve and courage high. A million times a day I sink. When I pump and picture a baby, I remember expecting Trace and picturing him… images of changing a diaper, giving him a massage, letting Ariah snuggle him to sleep, suckling at the breast, slinging him close to my body, his round curved, hunched over body conforming to my torso, swaying as I walk. Anyone who has slung a newborn knows this feeling in their cells. And then immediately my mind does a “Well, you visualized all of this with Trace and he died. This baby will not manifest either. You are doomed.”
Ugh. Dead in the water with fear.
And so it goes. Up and down, up and down… Terrified that it will never work or is all a joke, just like last time when everyone was excited and I had to come home from the hospital with my baby in a box. I could get to Rwanda and they could say no, and I could come home to all the excited people and have to say, “Just kidding. There’s no baby.” I know from my friends who have experienced infant loss that these feelings are totally normal. I know it from reading all the books pertaining to the subject. It is just very difficult to navigate a pregnancy or expectancy after the loss of a child; hard to have any faith in all the hope and faith. After all, we had that last time and it didn’t ensure anything.
And so now I walk this journey even differently from the woman who goes thru a subsequent pregnancy, because this is an international adoption and heck I haven’t ever even seen the faces of the people that are supposedly working on this other than J. The agency is in a different state, I have never seen the building, I have only ever talked to someone from there once, and it is impossible so far to get an answer to a call, difficult if possible to get a return call or email. I don’t really want to say it, but it can make me feel as if there may not really be an agency…. Maybe they are not legit? How would I know? I want to believe they are, believe me. What I would do for some hand holding—for someone at the agency to communicate with me on where things are, check in to see how everything is going with the process, with the waiting. Just a kind voice on the other end that reaches out, touches base, gives us an update and asks how we are. That would help to make things real for me. It would help to feel connected to the process and to trust that everything is legit and that the people we are working with and paying money to are indeed real humans.
I look at the diapers I got out when I thought that travel would be within a few weeks (we do cloth). There are diapers around the house, Ariah is using them for her baby dolls, and I am grumpier and grumpier by the minute. I got these out with Trace. He didn’t need them. I have one dead baby (not counting the miscarried one, and why shouldn’t I?) and an incinerated womb and maybe I really am doomed to a life with no future children. Maybe I will have to throw the diapers out the window again. I know this sounds dramatic, but it really is where my mind goes.
The pumping routine: Most women can get pregnant, carry a pregnancy to term, push the baby out and milk comes in. But I am not most women. I have to induce lactation since I cannot go thru the hormonal changes of a pregnancy, and so in November I began the process of doing this. I went on birth control and began a prescription medication to cause lactation. Then in January I began pumping with a double-sided hospital grade pump. Every. Two. Hours. In case you can’t quite understand what every two hours means, it means this: pump 6:45-7:00 am. Brush teeth, get dressed, let dog out, get medications ready, daughter wakes up. 8:45 am pump again. Get daughter breakfast, eat with her, clean up, wash all bottles for pump, store milk, pump again 10:45. 12: 45. 2:45. 4:45. 6:45 when your family has just sat down for dinner. 8:45 while I read a bedtime story to my daughter. Up in the night to pump too. In between those times of expressing milk to the rhythmic whir of the pump, I get to boil milk, store milk, take herbs to produce milk, wash bottles and pump parts. EVERY. TWO. HOURS. EVERY. DAY. for six weeks now. I do not know how much longer I can do this. In fact, if this is going to be more than a month of waiting (which if someone would talk to me I may very well find out that it will be) then I need to stop and start up again later. I just want the people working with me to take this into strong consideration. I know there is no way to know how long a thing will take, but communicating with me and having a dialogue would help immensely at this time. Right now I have to gather information that is our best guess in order to make a decision on what to do about pumping, about whether to stop and resume at another time. I cannot do this without communication.
The bottom line is that I am a mother who is ready to parent a child. There is a child in need of a mother and a family. I have lots of nutritious milk waiting to feed this baby. I need him/her at my breast just as (s)he need me to hold him gently and sing him his story.
Please take these things into consideration when working with me. I write this not as a criticism, but in hopes of helping you to do your jobs in a way that is gentle to families like ours. This is no easy place to be.
I am off to go pump.
Sincerely,
Jessica Holliman
Lactating mama to an angel baby
An open letter to those working with us in this adoption…
My husband and I have been longing to enlarge our family since 2004. In that year I did get pregnant easily, just as I had with my daughter, but I miscarried that already loved child early on in the pregnancy. It was a great loss, and we were happy when we felt ready to conceive again. At the turn of 2006 we conceived our son, who after 10 months of a very healthy pregnancy was killed during birth from a uterine rupture. Just after the cesarean surgery that attempted to save him, I began to bleed to death. I bled for nearly two hours before I implored the doctors to take my womb... and they did. So not only now did I have to drop to my knees with grief over my son, I also had to integrate somewhere into my being the fact that I would never be woman again in the manner of being able to hold life within. Very literally the only thing that kept me afloat during those times (aside from our living daughter) was hope.
We hoped and prayed that there was some way a child would still come into our lives, either by surrogacy or adoption. I threw all my baby supplies out the window (I really did; right onto the grass below), emptied my boy’s room, and waffled between despair and resolution that I would be doomed to a lifetime of unmet dreams (never having another baby) and a feeling of peace when the image of mothering a new child despite all this tragedy moved in.
And then along came J who introduced to us an opportunity to build our family and our love for another culture in a far away place that to us now seems not-so-far away, Rwanda. This child is already loved in so many mysterious ways stirring within me. I sit at night and chant his name (despite the fact that it could very well be a girl). I light a candle below Trace’s photo and ask for guidance on this journey to this baby and this country. Trace assures me everything is as it should be. Every two hours when I hook my sore, dripping breasts up to a hospital-grade pump and begin my 15 minutes of milk expression I visualize the baby suckling at the breast.
And none of this is easy. It sounds graceful, but really it is filled with faltering stumbling efforts to keep my chin up, my heart open and my resolve and courage high. A million times a day I sink. When I pump and picture a baby, I remember expecting Trace and picturing him… images of changing a diaper, giving him a massage, letting Ariah snuggle him to sleep, suckling at the breast, slinging him close to my body, his round curved, hunched over body conforming to my torso, swaying as I walk. Anyone who has slung a newborn knows this feeling in their cells. And then immediately my mind does a “Well, you visualized all of this with Trace and he died. This baby will not manifest either. You are doomed.”
Ugh. Dead in the water with fear.
And so it goes. Up and down, up and down… Terrified that it will never work or is all a joke, just like last time when everyone was excited and I had to come home from the hospital with my baby in a box. I could get to Rwanda and they could say no, and I could come home to all the excited people and have to say, “Just kidding. There’s no baby.” I know from my friends who have experienced infant loss that these feelings are totally normal. I know it from reading all the books pertaining to the subject. It is just very difficult to navigate a pregnancy or expectancy after the loss of a child; hard to have any faith in all the hope and faith. After all, we had that last time and it didn’t ensure anything.
And so now I walk this journey even differently from the woman who goes thru a subsequent pregnancy, because this is an international adoption and heck I haven’t ever even seen the faces of the people that are supposedly working on this other than J. The agency is in a different state, I have never seen the building, I have only ever talked to someone from there once, and it is impossible so far to get an answer to a call, difficult if possible to get a return call or email. I don’t really want to say it, but it can make me feel as if there may not really be an agency…. Maybe they are not legit? How would I know? I want to believe they are, believe me. What I would do for some hand holding—for someone at the agency to communicate with me on where things are, check in to see how everything is going with the process, with the waiting. Just a kind voice on the other end that reaches out, touches base, gives us an update and asks how we are. That would help to make things real for me. It would help to feel connected to the process and to trust that everything is legit and that the people we are working with and paying money to are indeed real humans.
I look at the diapers I got out when I thought that travel would be within a few weeks (we do cloth). There are diapers around the house, Ariah is using them for her baby dolls, and I am grumpier and grumpier by the minute. I got these out with Trace. He didn’t need them. I have one dead baby (not counting the miscarried one, and why shouldn’t I?) and an incinerated womb and maybe I really am doomed to a life with no future children. Maybe I will have to throw the diapers out the window again. I know this sounds dramatic, but it really is where my mind goes.
The pumping routine: Most women can get pregnant, carry a pregnancy to term, push the baby out and milk comes in. But I am not most women. I have to induce lactation since I cannot go thru the hormonal changes of a pregnancy, and so in November I began the process of doing this. I went on birth control and began a prescription medication to cause lactation. Then in January I began pumping with a double-sided hospital grade pump. Every. Two. Hours. In case you can’t quite understand what every two hours means, it means this: pump 6:45-7:00 am. Brush teeth, get dressed, let dog out, get medications ready, daughter wakes up. 8:45 am pump again. Get daughter breakfast, eat with her, clean up, wash all bottles for pump, store milk, pump again 10:45. 12: 45. 2:45. 4:45. 6:45 when your family has just sat down for dinner. 8:45 while I read a bedtime story to my daughter. Up in the night to pump too. In between those times of expressing milk to the rhythmic whir of the pump, I get to boil milk, store milk, take herbs to produce milk, wash bottles and pump parts. EVERY. TWO. HOURS. EVERY. DAY. for six weeks now. I do not know how much longer I can do this. In fact, if this is going to be more than a month of waiting (which if someone would talk to me I may very well find out that it will be) then I need to stop and start up again later. I just want the people working with me to take this into strong consideration. I know there is no way to know how long a thing will take, but communicating with me and having a dialogue would help immensely at this time. Right now I have to gather information that is our best guess in order to make a decision on what to do about pumping, about whether to stop and resume at another time. I cannot do this without communication.
The bottom line is that I am a mother who is ready to parent a child. There is a child in need of a mother and a family. I have lots of nutritious milk waiting to feed this baby. I need him/her at my breast just as (s)he need me to hold him gently and sing him his story.
Please take these things into consideration when working with me. I write this not as a criticism, but in hopes of helping you to do your jobs in a way that is gentle to families like ours. This is no easy place to be.
I am off to go pump.
Sincerely,
Jessica Holliman
Lactating mama to an angel baby
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Hitting the "Wall"
Alright, I'll admit it. The waiting is slowly eating away at me.
Eating away? How is that you might say? Well, I can no longer sleep. Just like pregnancy insomnia when the dark hits and my emotions hit the wall... suddenly I am sure of only one thing: that I cannot do this anymore, that this is never happening and really it is all just a joke. Harumph. And then there are the days when I awake and open one eye just a tiny reluctant slit, only enough to verify that there is light and that the light is actually real and not just a twist of my constantly morphing dreams. "Yup, I really am here," I think. "And it is another day so find one thing to be grateful for before you even move. Just think, you'll have your baby soon!" And then the day spirals downward from there, a constant fight to stay upbeat and happy in the moment and not slip into complete despair and assurance that this is never going to happen. I struggle all day, the ratio of positive vibes to resignation that this is all a cruel joke follows a definite downward decline. By the time night falls, I have given up completely and the insomnia of wretched feelings begin anew.
Fun. Fun.
So it is night and I give up. I found out that our paperwork is not even thru to the Embassy yet and I have no idea when it will be going... I feel as if all our longing and hopes and dreams are in the hands of some entity much like the Wizard of OZ himself (of course before we found out he was just a regular person). Last night I failed to sleep since I was worried sick about going into Kenya the whole night. The night before that I did fall asleep, but a clap of random wintertime thunder startled me awake. I nearly lept out of the bed gasping for breath as I thought I was being bombed in Africa. Hard to know where I am these days... my heart and body seem to already be stretched somewhere between Middletown Springs, Vermont and Kigali, Rwanda. Stretched between Trace and this new baby, both of whom I never really met. So if I seem distracted or not here completely these days, I would say it stands to reason.
So please send out all the vibes and prayers you have. Please pray for strength and lightheartedness and trust and guidance. Please pray for a safe journey, divine timing and patience. Gods know I need everything I can get right now.
All blessings,
Jaya
Eating away? How is that you might say? Well, I can no longer sleep. Just like pregnancy insomnia when the dark hits and my emotions hit the wall... suddenly I am sure of only one thing: that I cannot do this anymore, that this is never happening and really it is all just a joke. Harumph. And then there are the days when I awake and open one eye just a tiny reluctant slit, only enough to verify that there is light and that the light is actually real and not just a twist of my constantly morphing dreams. "Yup, I really am here," I think. "And it is another day so find one thing to be grateful for before you even move. Just think, you'll have your baby soon!" And then the day spirals downward from there, a constant fight to stay upbeat and happy in the moment and not slip into complete despair and assurance that this is never going to happen. I struggle all day, the ratio of positive vibes to resignation that this is all a cruel joke follows a definite downward decline. By the time night falls, I have given up completely and the insomnia of wretched feelings begin anew.
Fun. Fun.
So it is night and I give up. I found out that our paperwork is not even thru to the Embassy yet and I have no idea when it will be going... I feel as if all our longing and hopes and dreams are in the hands of some entity much like the Wizard of OZ himself (of course before we found out he was just a regular person). Last night I failed to sleep since I was worried sick about going into Kenya the whole night. The night before that I did fall asleep, but a clap of random wintertime thunder startled me awake. I nearly lept out of the bed gasping for breath as I thought I was being bombed in Africa. Hard to know where I am these days... my heart and body seem to already be stretched somewhere between Middletown Springs, Vermont and Kigali, Rwanda. Stretched between Trace and this new baby, both of whom I never really met. So if I seem distracted or not here completely these days, I would say it stands to reason.
So please send out all the vibes and prayers you have. Please pray for strength and lightheartedness and trust and guidance. Please pray for a safe journey, divine timing and patience. Gods know I need everything I can get right now.
All blessings,
Jaya
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Sunday Morning Ramble (Its All Blessed)
Somehow change seems to render me silent. I never write in journals during times like these... it only becomes inviting to me to record my thoughts after everything is worked out and still, which I realize leads to one empty journal sitting near your bed. Life is change, right?
The characteristic of mine is carrying itself over into the blog world and I find myself mum in these days of waiting. The truth however, is that so very much is going on internally and I just feel reluctant to start blabbing all of it in this public forum. I don't talk about much of it to anyone, really. Not even DH. I really try to keep my focus on the positive, on the gratitude of what is already, of all the blessing in our life. After all everything is blessed right? Even the sticky hairy parts of life, the ones we come up against with fear or reaction or that are off-putting.
Let's face it.. humanly it is tempting to not like the story of why I am where I am. I could choose to think, "Wow. This sucks. My perfect beautiful boy was ripped from my womb literally moments before birth. Nothing was wrong with him other than the fact that my body killed him. I traded my womb for my life. I have no uterus, a tied up vagina, no menses at 33. My abdomen is scarred and jagged and my heart weak. Not only is that not bad enough, I have to secure a child monetarily from another country, hope it doesn't have HIV or a future of detachment disorder, travel to dangerous scary places and risk my own life again, try to transition my one living sweet daughter to her new sibling and be ready to be asked questions the rest of my life like 'Is he yours?' And who does this hell happen to? Do you know the odds of a spontaneous rupture when not induced? And supposedly it wasn't even near my incision? And even when rupture does happen, I was on my way to the OR for crying out loud... usually babies are saved."
I have reason enough to piss and moan and feel like a victim. But I don't.
Instead I feel into Trace and I feel his blessing. He was here for ten whole months in body. Ten moths of complete and utter bliss for both of us. Sure pregnancy was challenging, but it was an altered state of reality, one where The Divine entered me and kissed my swelling belly each moment. of. the. day. Never did I falter from prayer and guidance. Never did I give power to anyone else. I caressed Trace and sang to him and him to me for our entire time together. Trace knew no pain in this existence. He knew no suffering emotional or physical. He only was cared for and loved and listened to and honored. Is there any existence, any relationship or experience more blessed than that?
And my life. I chose to live. Literally lied on the table bleeding out and spoke the words, "I will not die. I will not leave my daughter." And so it was. My life was saved when I offered willingly my womb. Blessed, truly.
And now my heart knows deep grief, the deepest ever to be experienced, which also means it knows deep love. They are two sides of the same coin. My heart is like the polished piece of seaglass. It has been beaten and torn across the bottom relentlessly, crashed over rocks and washed over and over the waves, never given a moment to catch a breath. And now it has turned from virgin state to worn smooth beauty. Only something so beaten can become so valuable and special. Reminds me of the Velveteen Rabbit.
How many people get to go to Rwanda to find their child? How many people does this happen to? It is a blessed event, there is one child somewhere in this world... in one place at this very moment... working its way toward us as we work our way slowly and mysteriously toward it. What greater power could exist than that of great love that moves mountains, moves layers of resistance and fear and pity to bring two (or three or four or five) people together into family. How could we possibly be here, in this moment without being blessed the way we have in our lives? With *all* that is in our lives- what looks and feels good, and what feels bad too.
In the days before we discovered the opportunity to adopt from Rwanda, our family was planning to move forward with a gestational surrogacy. And this was special... it seemed God-given. A woman very dear to us, a woman whose life had been greatly affected by us and us by her offered to carry a baby for us. We shed tears of gratitude and sheer wonder at how things unfold and come together. All of us did. We had preliminary talks on when we would start, how it would look, etc. But then we never heard from her again. Now this was after a year of looking for surrogates and having them fall thru. I could have reacted in a variety of ways, one of which could be with anger and resentment. I could certainly have felt like "Poor me." I made a choice though to be grateful for the situation. I decided that if I was looking for open doors and being grateful for them, then I should likewise be grateful when I was shown a closed door. I sat still and allowed myself to feel surrounded with gratitude for the path that was being shown to me, and for what was being said no to. It was a different approach than I had had previously. I usually would be irate, feel rejected, inner turmoil would have set in. But this gratitude thing was amazing and left me feeling open to what was ahead, whatever that may have been. I just kept saying, "Thank You for all You are showing me. I am open to the path You set before me. And I am grateful You are showing me where not to go."
What blesses one blesses all my mother used to tell me. I got mad at that sentiment when I was five and wanted a popsicle that was prohibited. But now at 33 and after so much has gone "wrong" I can see what she meant. Sometimes in the moment we cannot see the plan thousands of miles ahead of us. But there is one and it takes gratitude and trust that we will get there.
So ya, I have fear-driven thoughts at times. I have edgy "Trace Days" where I worry I will forget him, or where I remember the loss of him and the pain flows in. I have days where I wonder what in the world I am doing... but I try not to dwell on those thoughts. They only derail me from gratitude. So I sit instead and pull light around me, a light of sheer gratitude for everything that has unfolded and and is to come. Trace was blessed and so am I. We all are. We just need to see it that way.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
It's Official!
Well, we are done with all we can do... besides cross our fingers and visualize this happening easily and quickly!
We sent our dossier off this morning... it goes to all sorts of crazy places in Washington, and then next Thursday it will be hand delivered to the Rwandan Embassy. From there it goes to Rwanda and then we wait till everything is approved and deemed in order, and we get a match for a child.
I am soooo ready for this to be done! I just want to start being a family.
We sent our dossier off this morning... it goes to all sorts of crazy places in Washington, and then next Thursday it will be hand delivered to the Rwandan Embassy. From there it goes to Rwanda and then we wait till everything is approved and deemed in order, and we get a match for a child.
I am soooo ready for this to be done! I just want to start being a family.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Mizero Fundraiser was Successful!
Two weeks prior to the holidays a small group of Middletown folks met to discuss and begin planning what was to be a phenomenal party for our adoption... of course one where we would make some of the money needed to fund this adoption. We decided on a date right after New Year's, the 6th of January and intended to have food, desserts, live music and silent auction. You can imagine trying to plan this while the holidays were rolling.
Betsy sent out press releases, and two local papers picked up the story. Read the one from the front page of the Herald here. Unfortunately, Scott was misquoted (he didn't ever say "unwanted children", he referred to children that didn't have their own families and needed homes.) Otherwise, it is a good article and we are happy it circulated to so many readers.
So the 6th approached and so many people were busy tying up all the necessary ends for the event. Betsy organized everything... from soup spoons to press releases, table cloths and crock pots, donations to drinking water. Janet (with the help of others) gathered up 50 or 60 silent auction and raffle items.. tons of great services like massage and acupuncture, carpentry and day sails, and beautiful hand-crafted items... even a gorgeous wood sculpture of a nude woman! Leslie and Diane gathered 30 or so exquisite food dishes, with many African entrees and a desert table I could have called "Death by Chocolate." Nick organized decorations, a crew of his made a gorgeous mural for the stage, hundred of flowers were carefully arranged and donated and individuals lent their African artifacts for display. Ri and I spent all week making granola for sale, but mostly we sat back and the party was planned for us!
So Sunday arrived and despite some minor jitters and snafu's (Ri was too sick to attend and the African dancer was too) 1:00 came. People rolled in, and by all reports everything went off smashingly and it was fun to boot! Maybe some readers who attended will comment here so we can hear what they thought (hint, hint).The food was great, the music varied, the people amazing. What a thing to be sitting amongst hundreds of people, speaking of our journey to this point and the one ahead. What a thing to open to the love present and receive all the blessings and prayers and gifts.
We did well. We estimate our expenses to be $15,000 for the adoption and necessary travels, and so far we have raised more than half of it! The silent auction alone brought in $4,200!
So this idea of "It takes a village" really is true... we absolutely would not be where we are without all of your prayers, good wishes, contributions and time. When this child comes home s/he will have flown here on all of our wings. Bless you all!
Betsy sent out press releases, and two local papers picked up the story. Read the one from the front page of the Herald here. Unfortunately, Scott was misquoted (he didn't ever say "unwanted children", he referred to children that didn't have their own families and needed homes.) Otherwise, it is a good article and we are happy it circulated to so many readers.
So the 6th approached and so many people were busy tying up all the necessary ends for the event. Betsy organized everything... from soup spoons to press releases, table cloths and crock pots, donations to drinking water. Janet (with the help of others) gathered up 50 or 60 silent auction and raffle items.. tons of great services like massage and acupuncture, carpentry and day sails, and beautiful hand-crafted items... even a gorgeous wood sculpture of a nude woman! Leslie and Diane gathered 30 or so exquisite food dishes, with many African entrees and a desert table I could have called "Death by Chocolate." Nick organized decorations, a crew of his made a gorgeous mural for the stage, hundred of flowers were carefully arranged and donated and individuals lent their African artifacts for display. Ri and I spent all week making granola for sale, but mostly we sat back and the party was planned for us!
So Sunday arrived and despite some minor jitters and snafu's (Ri was too sick to attend and the African dancer was too) 1:00 came. People rolled in, and by all reports everything went off smashingly and it was fun to boot! Maybe some readers who attended will comment here so we can hear what they thought (hint, hint).The food was great, the music varied, the people amazing. What a thing to be sitting amongst hundreds of people, speaking of our journey to this point and the one ahead. What a thing to open to the love present and receive all the blessings and prayers and gifts.
We did well. We estimate our expenses to be $15,000 for the adoption and necessary travels, and so far we have raised more than half of it! The silent auction alone brought in $4,200!
So this idea of "It takes a village" really is true... we absolutely would not be where we are without all of your prayers, good wishes, contributions and time. When this child comes home s/he will have flown here on all of our wings. Bless you all!
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Not For the Faint of Heart
Just like any good runner (or at least one that can run more than the one-twentieth of a mile that I can), I have hit "The Wall".
Yesterday I declared through part scream, part tears, "I can't do this anymore. Forget it. I'm done." I'm not sure what my beloved husband thought... the dear man is having to put up with so much right now, and fortunately he knows me enough to be able to harbor my storms quite gracefully after 15 years.
What you all can't see from the outside of this process is that for those of us on the inside, creating this thing is a full time job. I have determined that this beast grows exponentially. So if on Monday my to do list has two items on it, when I pick up the phone to complete item #1, it immediately turns into a 10 tiered project. Then each of those turns into the same. A whole day can explode in mere moments, and there in the background is Ariah and the dog both either pulling on my leg, pulling on each other or pulling everything down from the shelves and spreading it around the house as thoroughly and evenly as possible. At the end of a day the explosion is evident,the house looks like a land mine went off, it feels like a land mine went off, and the to-do list has turned into 20 items long for the next day (which will turn into another beastly number the following day when it all begins again). You can only imagine the shape I am in by then.
So, I threw in the towel. I'm done. I faced up to the fact that I am not superhuman, and can't possibly tow this line any longer. Ya... today I'm back at it. Up this morning by 2:45 getting going on what yesterday seemed impossible.
When Trace died, I had the feeling that every other bereaved mother or father has likely experienced... the desire to scour the earth for your child, to quite literally move land and mountains, traverse vast distances of ocean, turn over every stone, in search of your child. What hurts so darn much is sitting still, unable to do anything with the loss while your body is screaming to pour all its energy into finding your baby.
I remember during those months having discussions with Scott about our physical infertility and the choices we faced. It seemed hard, really hard to pursue another child. Not emotionally- we knew that could we conceive in a moment of lovemaking that we would do so without reservation. But physically and financially... how would we ever do it? It seemed we would have to move mountains.
We talked about just that, how if your child were lost you would indeed dedicate your life to finding him. I wanted to know if there was a difference between a child living in body and a child living in Spirit. If this child that is to come to us is our child already, even when not in human form, then would we not run to the corners of the Earth to find him?
A friend of mine, upon telling her I had decided to quit, responded with such grace. She said, "I can understand the feeling of needing to stop. It is really important sometimes to know you can say no. To try on the 'no' for a while, and then to spring up from that place into the yes, knowing you chose the path."
My mom said to me that even if I was sitting on a rock through this whole thing, it would feel overwhelming. Going through a gestation of any kind after an infant loss is tremendously emotional and stressful. I can't even manage to get out the diapers to see what I need. I did that last time, and it was futile. This time I'll believe it when I see it. Until then, I am willing to search the earth over.
So, the paperwork is filed with the INS. Now we wait. Our dossier will soon be hand delivered to the Rwandan Consulate in Washington, DC. Today's job (among twenty more, including 'vacuum dog hair out of car') is to get Leahy's attention. I want them to make concessions to keep me in Rwanda, issuing the child's visa at the US Embassy there. If you asked me if I actually wanted to visit Nairobi right now, the answer would be, "No Not so much."
Wish me luck.
Yesterday I declared through part scream, part tears, "I can't do this anymore. Forget it. I'm done." I'm not sure what my beloved husband thought... the dear man is having to put up with so much right now, and fortunately he knows me enough to be able to harbor my storms quite gracefully after 15 years.
What you all can't see from the outside of this process is that for those of us on the inside, creating this thing is a full time job. I have determined that this beast grows exponentially. So if on Monday my to do list has two items on it, when I pick up the phone to complete item #1, it immediately turns into a 10 tiered project. Then each of those turns into the same. A whole day can explode in mere moments, and there in the background is Ariah and the dog both either pulling on my leg, pulling on each other or pulling everything down from the shelves and spreading it around the house as thoroughly and evenly as possible. At the end of a day the explosion is evident,the house looks like a land mine went off, it feels like a land mine went off, and the to-do list has turned into 20 items long for the next day (which will turn into another beastly number the following day when it all begins again). You can only imagine the shape I am in by then.
So, I threw in the towel. I'm done. I faced up to the fact that I am not superhuman, and can't possibly tow this line any longer. Ya... today I'm back at it. Up this morning by 2:45 getting going on what yesterday seemed impossible.
When Trace died, I had the feeling that every other bereaved mother or father has likely experienced... the desire to scour the earth for your child, to quite literally move land and mountains, traverse vast distances of ocean, turn over every stone, in search of your child. What hurts so darn much is sitting still, unable to do anything with the loss while your body is screaming to pour all its energy into finding your baby.
I remember during those months having discussions with Scott about our physical infertility and the choices we faced. It seemed hard, really hard to pursue another child. Not emotionally- we knew that could we conceive in a moment of lovemaking that we would do so without reservation. But physically and financially... how would we ever do it? It seemed we would have to move mountains.
We talked about just that, how if your child were lost you would indeed dedicate your life to finding him. I wanted to know if there was a difference between a child living in body and a child living in Spirit. If this child that is to come to us is our child already, even when not in human form, then would we not run to the corners of the Earth to find him?
A friend of mine, upon telling her I had decided to quit, responded with such grace. She said, "I can understand the feeling of needing to stop. It is really important sometimes to know you can say no. To try on the 'no' for a while, and then to spring up from that place into the yes, knowing you chose the path."
My mom said to me that even if I was sitting on a rock through this whole thing, it would feel overwhelming. Going through a gestation of any kind after an infant loss is tremendously emotional and stressful. I can't even manage to get out the diapers to see what I need. I did that last time, and it was futile. This time I'll believe it when I see it. Until then, I am willing to search the earth over.
So, the paperwork is filed with the INS. Now we wait. Our dossier will soon be hand delivered to the Rwandan Consulate in Washington, DC. Today's job (among twenty more, including 'vacuum dog hair out of car') is to get Leahy's attention. I want them to make concessions to keep me in Rwanda, issuing the child's visa at the US Embassy there. If you asked me if I actually wanted to visit Nairobi right now, the answer would be, "No Not so much."
Wish me luck.
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