Confluence

I sleep beneath a constant buzz of swarming mosquito bugs. I actually don't really sleep since they are so loud, like a distant hum of a mower or a cluster of cluster flies in an attic window, dying to escape the summer heat. I would like to say that I have been in Africa enough to realize when they are out of the net or inside it, but it isn't true, not at all. This morning when we woke up Ri to begin what has become a torture scene of taking a shower, we smashed four blood filled bugs inside the net.

The other night when I finally slept I dreamt of Ariah dying, a disturbing dream which fortunately I awoke from. Those of you who have lost your children know the hell I refer to that is so real in a dream, but when it actually becomes your life you awake only to find you are living hell and only your dreams actually serve as an escape at times. Now enough time has elapsed since Trace's death that I no longer have that sinking feeling when my eyes open upon waking and I take stock of the fact that unfortunately I am still alive and my life has become an unbearable nightmare. Now, even before Pacifique, I have found light in the days and gratitude for my life which I very nearly lost. I have circled back into a good life where my waking brings relief from the fears that manifest in my dreams, like Ariah dying. I awoke with her feet in my face (she was sleeping Pippi Longstocking style) but oh, how I didn't care... I just grabbed her red, Africa stained feet and embraced them, grateful to feel the warmth in her body.

The firsrt time our second son was put into my arms, I marveled silently at the warmth eminating from his body. His warm baby head was the frist thing I noticed, it felt so very different than holding Trace cold and stiff from the morgue. I did not expect to be comparing the two in that way, deep in my mother bones, my mother heart and my mother breast and my mother tears recalled the feeling of despair holding my cold son. And with Pacifique's warmth against me, milk breath in my ear, baby inhalations against my chest came a gift I was terrified I would never receive; the blessing of mothering another child.

As I lay under my mosquito net last night, having had to give the son I am loving by day back to the orphanage beds by night, listening to the swarming around me, I feel I am at the confluence of many many losses. Finally arriving to the place I have held steadfast to for two years now, searching the world and the ethers and our hearts over, I can finally rest. It was no easy feat to steer this tattered and weatherworn ship into harbor, but we are here. And now, while I could not afford to stop and look at her hull while the journey was underway, I can get off and take stock of all that happened along the way. I have lost a son, but never the dream of having a son to care for. I have lost my womb, but never the instinct to bring a child into this world, into our home. I have lost my best friend, dear Amy who passed over two years ago to the day that we received Pacifique as our son. But I have not lost her dream of raising children gently and wholly and of adopting herslef one day from a place like Africa. I have lost in many ways, or been estranged from, my cherished friend in my hometown, one who began the process of adoption in Rwanda with me, and did not finish her dream. I have not and will not lose my love and gratitude for her. And so as I lay under my net, I close my eyes and let myself breathe, perhaps really breathe, for the first time since Trace. And with the breath comes an enormous wave of overwhelming emotion. I can feel all these losses fully for the first time, and all at once. My confluence is here and it is where I move from loss to life and celebration. I don't know how long I iwll be in this harbour where I feel the losses of Trace and my womb and my friends so accutely, but soon I will be moving on in a new way toward home.

Blessed be.

Our son, Rukundo Pacifique, was found here on December 5th 2008, by two young boys. His mother dropped him here in the bushes. We haveall gained so much in finding him, and he has also lost a great amount. We feel his story pulsating through us. May his ship be at harbor as well.