The day we walked into Orphanage 39 in January of this year,
it was freezing cold. We were bundled up
and snow was all over us. I remember
walking down the hallway, wondering how long it would be before we saw our
daughter. In fact, I didn’t see any
kids.
We met with the Director, the attorney, the social worker,
and everyone else. Finally, we could go
meet our daughter.
Down the long hallway, our footsteps echoing on the cold
tile floor.
Turn right into the groupa door. Make our way through the playroom, down the
hall with the beautiful mural, past two bedrooms with 10 or so beds each, past
a bathroom, into another little room, with a tv, and a table.
A table where four little girls were sitting around in
wheelchairs, coloring and cutting with scissors and doing schoolwork.
One of those was turned around- it was our daughter. A beautiful, incredible, perfect little girl
who is now in our home, laughing and talking in English and learning to crawl
and do everything little six year old girls do.
But one of those other little
girls at the table- she’s the one that I’m here to talk about today.
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Hi, I’m Renee. I blog over at
http://butbygraceitcouldbeme.blogspot.com Back in January and February of this year,
we were in EE to adopt our amazing daughter, Emma Grace. In the process of our adoption, God opened
doors for us to meet around seventy other children, many of whom asked us to
find them a family.
Alexis was one of them.
Except she didn’t just ask us to find her a family, she pleaded. She cried.
She sobbed and begged and did everything she could to get us to promise
that someone would come back for her.
But I digress…..
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That day, in the groupa, meeting our Emma for the first
time, I almost didn’t recognize her. Our
daughter looked really different than her picture that we had seen.
But I immediately recognized Alexis. How could I not? She has eyes that are as expressive as any
supermodel’s ever dreamed of being. They
were nearly always lit with this spark of enjoyment, of happiness, of joy. Her expression that day was of
curiosity. She was subtle, watching us
discreetly, trying not to stare, but clearly eager to observe this new
phenomenon- strangers coming from America to adopt kids that Eastern Europe
didn’t want- kids who couldn’t walk, kids whose arms and legs were twisted and
frail, kids who society said were worthless.
Alexis watched our whole first meeting. She saw me kneel down before Emma’s
wheelchair. She saw us give Emma
gifts. She saw our tears and laughter
and smiles that split our faces in half and left our jaw muscles aching and our
cheeks quivering. She saw the first
moment when we lifted Emma from the wheelchair and sat her in our laps. She watched as we caressed Emma’s hair,
kissed her forehead, gently rubbed her tiny fingers. She heard the facilitator ask if we were sure
we wanted to adopt Emma, and as the facilitator translated to Emma that yes, we
wanted her. She heard the facilitator
ask Emma if she wanted to be adopted by us, and Emma’s immediate “Da, a America
a Mama ee Papa!!!”
And through my joyful tears, I saw Alexis’ face.
In that second, those beautiful expressive dark eyes were
filled with longing. Deep, to the soul,
longing. Her mouth was slightly open as
though she wanted to call out “me too, please, me too, I want a mama and a
papa!” She was leaning forward, hanging
on every word.
And I caught her eyes.
She blinked and I saw all that hope, that longing, disappear, replaced
by a look of resignation. She looked to
the girl on her right, one I call “Cassie” on my blog, also another older girl
in a wheelchair, and shrugged. Cassie
shook her head side to side a bit, as though saying “you knew they wouldn’t
come for you, we’re too old, too broken”.
I vaguely remember the psychologist encouraging us to come
to her office to finish our meeting. I
know I caught her eyes as the facilitator was translating, and knew she had
seen Alexis and Cassie’s nonverbal exchange.
Sure enough, the facilitator translated to us that the psychologist was
worried about the other girls, the ones NOT chosen.
Like Alexis.
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I didn’t understand it then.
Over the next couple of weeks, we got to know Alexis really well. She would come in and play with us during the
breaks between classes. She’s hilarious-
a real fun loving, entertaining young lady.
She’s a jokester, and often participated with the other kids in the
wheelchair races and games in the hallways.
She has arthrogryposis, and it may impair her ability to walk, but it
sure doesn’t impair her ability to have fun and enjoy life.
She would hook her hands, twisted at the wrists, over the
back of Tyler’s wheelchair, and Tyler would get their chairs going super fast
down the hallway. He would pull her all
over and they would laugh and have the best time. Sometimes, she and another little girl, who I
called “Lindsey” on my blog, would hang on to the back of the boys’ wheelchairs
while they went very fast in the hallways.
The boys would stop and sling the girls in their chairs to slide down
the hall. They were just everyday,
normal kids, having a good time.
Alexis always had us laughing-
she could be counted on to mimic our English greetings with a huge smile. She was definitely the comedienne of the
bunch! When she wanted to get our
attention, she would sing loudly, even rapping, eager to make eye contact and
get her usual hug from us. She
positively radiated joy, happy for the attention. She was tender with little Patti, who looked
up to her for guidance and care. Alexis
is well loved by the staff and other kids, but she craved the love of parents
and family.
________________________________________________________
One day, when we had been there several weeks, we found out
something that literally sent us home in tears.
The closer it came for time for us to go to court, the more
anxious everyone seemed to get. Finally,
the big day came, and we were pronounced the forever mama and papa of Emma
Grace. We carried a cake and lots of
sweets and fruit and new DVDs to the groupa, eager to share our celebration.
But Alexis, like some of the others, seemed only somewhat
excited about the treats. Instead, she
looked anxious. Quickly, in her
machine-gun style rapid speech, she interrogated our facilitator, who shook her
head side to side and responded. We
questioned what was said, and our facilitator responded that the kids and staff
wanted to know how much longer it would be before we left and took Emma with
us.
They wanted a countdown of how
much time they had left with their friend, and with the resident “Mama and
Papa”- us.
________________________________________________________
I still didn’t get it, not really. Then came the day we were set to leave. We brought in tons of gifts, individual gift
bags for each girl with all kinds of special things- jewelry and toys and books
and candy and personal items and socks and hair clips and purses. Dollhouse furniture and more movies and
puzzles and games and cakes and treats galore.
And the girls were happy, but also, they were sad. Somber almost. Anxious.
Some of the kids were calmer than others. The ones who were there as “boarders,” who
had families that lived nearby that came to visit, they were relaxed. A bit sad to see Emma go of course, but not
overly emotional.
But a few of the girls, not all of whom were available for
international adoption, they were upset.
Alexis was one of those girls.
See, a year ago, our facilitator had appeared to do an
adoption there at Orphanage 39. There
had only been four adoptions before ours in the past fifteen years at this
orphanage. It was a rare, rare
thing. No one in that EE country wanted
to adopt an orphan with severe physical special needs. They knew what their lives would consist of
from the moment they were old enough to understand that they were special needs
orphans- a life in an orphanage, and if they never learned to walk well,
followed by transfer to an adult mental institution. Because in Eastern Europe, crippled or
twisted or missing limbs is seen as proof that your brain is defective and that
you will never be able to live a normal life.
It just is what it is.
There’s just no hope.
But then, last year, in the spring, a family came to EE to
adopt a little boy. And when they got
there, they found out he had an older brother, who just happened to have been
transferred to Orphanage 39. So he left,
but before he did, the facilitator was able to meet with the Director and find
out which children were available for international adoption. The Director went around and asked those
children which ones wanted a family, and wanted to be adopted.
Emma was the first one to raise her hand. Alexis was seconds behind her. Patti and Erin did as well.
So one year ago, the facilitator took the pictures of more
than a half dozen of the waiting orphans at Orphanage 39, all older children
with spina bifida, cerebral palsy, or arthrogryposis. She knew the likelihood wasn’t high that
potential families would jump to adopt older kids. Most adoptive families want young, cuddly,
cute babies and toddlers. But she
followed her heart and listed them, knowing she was literally the only hope
that they would have to find families.
Alexis saw us come in, and like some of the others who had
their pictures made the year before, suddenly saw that their perception of the
world was wrong. Suddenly, when we came
through the door, when we chose and accepted a child who could not walk, there
was hope for ALL of the orphans waiting in Orphanage 39.
As long as we were there, there was hope. As long as Alexis could see us, she could
believe that maybe, just maybe, someone would look beyond her twisted and
shriveled feet and hands, her stiff elbows and knees, to see her precious
heart, her intelligent mind, her witty sense of humor, her never-ending ability
to love. While we were there, I believe
she could dream that someday, a Mama and Papa would want her.
No wonder she panicked when she
realized we were soon to leave forever, taking Emma, and leaving all the other
kids behind.
________________________________________________________
The last day at Orphanage 39 was one of the hardest days of
my life. Alexis clung closely to
Emma. She was gentle and encouraging and
funny and sweet, as always. We met with
the whole groupa, took some pictures, shared our gifts, laughed and
talked. The girls all gave Emma instructions
to be nice and work hard and obey us and cheered her on about going to America
on the plane with her new Mama and Papa.
Then one girl started crying.
And Alexis fell apart.
We were leaving, walking out to the hallway, and Alexis was
sobbing, heartwrenching, from the gut sobs.
Her face was soaked, she was clutching desperately at the hands of our
facilitator, grasping at her dress, pleading in the fastest Russian I’ve ever
heard, her face broken and full of despair and longing and hopelessness. They went back and forth for what seemed like
forever, before Alexis let go with a sob, and buried her head in her arms
sobbing.
Our facilitator was shaken- she was crying as we walked out
the door. We begged her to tell us what
Alexis said, and she couldn’t get it out at first. When she did, we sobbed too.
Alexis was begging her for a family. Begging us and her to find her mama and papa,
to send them back. Pleading to
understand why Emma was chosen and she was not, did they not both have their pictures
taken the same day? Has she not been
waiting too? Where was her family? Where was her happy future?
The facilitator could make no promises. She could not say “sure, your family will
come” because she knew the hard cold truth- Alexis had been listed for a solid
year and no one had any interest in her.
The likelihood of her getting a family was very very low.
I guess Alexis saw it in the facilitator’s face, that
hopelessness- their eyes glued to each other’s, how could she not?
And that last moment, when Alexis let go and flung her head
into her arms, she told the facilitator she knew that she wouldn’t be
back. She knew no one would ever come
for her, she was too broken, too old, no one would want her. She accepted the fate that she believed life
had dealt her- a broken body, and a lifetime of rejection and pain, both
physical and emotional. Rejected by her
birth family, warehoused in an orphanage out of sight by the government, she
truly believed no one would ever want her.
________________________________________________________
Twelve years old, and believes she’s worthless.
Twelve years old, and believes her twisted hands and feet
make her deserving of rejection and abandonment.
Twelve years old, and she didn’t have anyone to call her
own.
It’s just wrong.
________________________________________________________
So we hit the blog.
From our tiny, dark seventh floor apartment in EE, we begged someone to
hear Alexis’ story, to look in her pictures and see if they recognized their
daughter.
And a family, one I knew quite well, stepped forward, almost
immediately. They were in progress when
we were. In fact, they’re in the middle
of their adoption of their son from the same EE country right now, finishing up
their first adoption for this year. And within just the next few weeks, their
paperwork will be going over to reserve their spot to claim Alexis.
They’re trying to hurry.
Why? Well, it’s not because they
have tons of money to fling around and just love flying around the world twenty
times a year, that’s for sure.
No, they’re trying to get there as quickly as possible, for
Alexis.
Because they know the three older teens that were listed,
all three photographed by the facilitator for the first time THIS year (not
last year when Alexis was listed) will have families arrive this summer to
claim them.
And they don’t want their sweet girl, precious Alexis, to
sit any longer than absolutely necessary, wondering if someone is coming for
her.
Because, see, Alexis won’t be told she has a family until
the family arrives in the country. They
can’t tell her someone is coming, that they love her already, that they want
her to be their own daughter, forever.
So right now, Alexis is waiting, still believing there’s no
hope.
________________________________________________________
I don’t know a lot about arthrogryposis. I was asked to come here and blog today
because I do know about Alexis. I
couldn’t tell you what medical treatments Alexis has had or will have. I can’t tell you anything about that.
I can tell you I love her.
And that God loves her. And that
I believe every child, every baby, every adult, is fearfully and wonderfully
made by our Creator, and every one of us desires and needs to be loved and
cherished.
Alexis needs her family, as soon as possible. No child should have to go through life
believing they aren’t wanted or needed.
No child should look at their hands and feet and think “I’m broken, no
one can love me.”
________________________________________________________
It’s been a little over two months since I saw Alexis, that
last glimpse of her tear-soaked face buried in her sleeve, the sounds of her
heartbroken, helpless and hopeless sobs echoing behind me as I walked out the
door.
Two months, suffering, believing she has been passed over
for love.
________________________________________________________
I want Alexis to have hope again- that spark of joy and hope
that I saw that day that she realized that we had come for Emma, a child who
may never walk.
I remember the hope I felt when I realized that God wanted me
as His own child- me, broken, sinful, a mess.
That feeling of being claimed, despite recognizing my own weaknesses and
issues, knowing that Someone loved me beyond my limitations and my perceived
flaws, that Someone thought I was exactly what I was meant to be, wonderful
enough to be His own, oh my goodness, the hope that I felt.
I want Alexis to feel that hope.
And she will, when she feels her mama and papa hold her
tightly, whispering “I love you” in her ear.
________________________________________________________
Their paperwork is nearly done.
The only obstacle in their path is one that should be easy
for us to overcome- money.
$8500- the cost of the airfare, the document fees, the
immigration fees
$8500 stands between Alexis and her family
$8500 stands between Alexis and
hope and joy
________________________________________________________
This picture was taken the last day we were
there. See her eyes glistening? This was just a few minutes before the tears
started flowing. The smile you see is a
mixture of happiness for our daughter and grief of her own.
I can’t wait to see the pictures taken by the Duvals on
the day they meet their daughter, can you?
