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.

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.

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!

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.