A phone call I will never forget

Without Julian, I never would have known anyone told the kids we weren’t coming, after all. No one in Colombia ever told us, nor did they communicate any such information with our agency.

I didn’t know what to do. I normally called both of the kids on Wednesday evenings. My stomach tied itself in knots all day, while I tried to decide whether or not to still call.

Did I just drop them?

I couldn’t. What would that do to them?

I had to try.

I nervously dialed Juan David’s number that evening. I sensed hesitation in the normally kind female voice that answered the phone, but she still passed the phone to him.

The sadness in his voice broke my heart. I’d gotten so accustomed to him coming to the phone singing or cracking jokes. Not this time. He didn’t say much. I did a lot of prompting, but until somebody from Colombia (besides Julian) told me what the kids knew, I acted like I didn’t know anything changed.

“You sound sad. Is something wrong?” I desperately hoped he’d tell me what he knew, but he didn’t.

“It’s just something my brother said to me yesterday that bothered me.” I knew exactly what his brother told him, but I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t keep him on the phone long, just long enough to tell him I loved him. Except this time, he didn’t respond.

That phone call tore me apart.

I said I’d call him again two days later on his birthday. He promised me he didn't open his gift yet. I called Viviana that evening, as well, but she seemed oblivious. It was different with her.

Two days later, Juan David turned twelve. I woke up early that morning with him heavy on my heart. I imagined him opening that little gift he’d been so excited about only a week earlier. A gift I carefully picked to fill him with hope about his future life and family in Texas. Now, it served as the opposite, a reminder of a shattered dream. He hoped for an adoption before his birthday. I never imagined it could take that long or that it might never happen at all.

I still called both kids that evening. Viviana continued to show her giddy, curious little self over the phone. Her house parent didn't even hesitate to pass the phone to her to let her talk to me.

When I tried to call Juan David, the lady at his house said he went to the dentist. I called back later in the evening, and I did get to talk to him on his birthday. (I called the night before, but they said someone took him to get his hair cut.) The lady who answered the phone seemed different when I asked for him this time, a bit hesitant to pass the phone to him, but she did. It made me wonder how many more times she would let me call.

Thankfully, Juan David did not seem as heavy-hearted as two days prior. His normal, talkative self reappeared on the other end of the line.

“Happy birthday!”

“Thank you.” I could sense a smile on his end of the line.

“Did you open your present this morning?”

“Yes, thank you for the keychain. I clipped it onto my pants all day today.” 

He told me his brother planned to give him a gift the following day. That led into a conversation about opportunities the orphanage gives to the older kids so they can earn money to spend on personal things.

We only talked for about fifteen minutes. Mike and David got on the phone to tell him happy birthday, too.

“Goodbye, Sweetie. I love you, and I miss you.”

“Goodbye. I miss you and love you, too.” Little did I know it was our last time to say goodbye. I continued to call every week, but they never passed him the phone again.

All the hoping, dreaming, and believing things would be final by his birthday, final they were. Yet not the finality we hoped for.