Grief through a pen

Only a few days remained before Thanksgiving. My parents visited us every year for the holiday, but I didn’t look forward to being around anyone. How could I celebrate this holiday season? I was a mess. I struggled to know my purpose, my place, my identity.

When you believe something for so long, your whole reality revolves around that belief. I believed those two children from Colombia were my children. That belief consumed me, along with everything involved to turn it into reality. Now, suddenly I had to backtrack and try to remember life without them, before them.

My faith a shattered mess, I tried to convince myself God purposed this all for a reason He had not yet revealed. I tried to keep my head up. We stayed busy and distracted so we wouldn’t have to face the ugly reality that we failed.

I didn’t know how to grieve. I didn’t know what it felt like, what we should do, or how we were supposed to act. I went through the motions of everyday life. I went to work each day, put on a brave (fake) smile, did my job and stayed as busy as I possibly could. I avoided eye contact with anyone because I couldn’t let people see the tears welled up in my eyes all day long, every day.

"Our Eyes Can’t Lie"

It couldn’t be more obvious

by the twinkle in my eye,

how dearly I loved them.

No, our eyes just cannot lie.

People said my eyes sparkled

whenever I spoke of them.

They'd become so precious to me,

as priceless as a gem.

I saw them as a gift,

given directly from God to me.

I cherished every moment

leading toward our forever family.

The day I heard the news,

I tried so hard to hide the pain.

I didn't want to face anyone

or answer questions I couldn't explain.

Yet one voice gently told me,

she'd seen through my disguise.

She suspected we didn't have good news

because of the sadness in my eyes.

Now I find myself avoiding

looking anyone in the eye.

I still don't have any answers

or explanations to the why's.

I'm trying hard to keep walking,

(though I feel like running away),

but the hurt cuts so deep,

the directions seem so gray.

I don't know where I'm going,

Nor where I am to turn.

I don't know what to make of this,

nor what I am supposed to learn.

If by chance you're a lucky one

To get a glimpse into my eye,

you'll have no need to ask

because my eyes just cannot lie.

            The tears streamed down my face as soon as got in my car after a long day at work. I cried the whole way home nearly every single day. Nothing in the world made sense to me.

I probably should have talked to someone, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to articulate the conflicting feelings raging inside. In fact, I didn’t even know what really went on inside me.

I should have taken advantage of my mom visiting, ready and willing to give me a shoulder to cry on, but I didn’t. I should have joined a grief support group, but a failed adoption lies in a category of its own. You’re grieving a death, even though no one ever died. I should have talked with a counselor, but I didn’t. I should have opened up to someone, but I didn’t.

I did build a huge wall around myself. I pushed everyone away, and I didn’t let anyone in.

My husband and I should have talked and comforted one another more, but we didn’t. We each grieved in our own way. I expressed my pain and confusion in the only way I knew how, with pen and paper. I drafted poems on any scrap of paper I found lying around. I scribbled prayers. I wrote letters to God in my journals.  

Writing brought me comfort and kept me sane, so I wrote as often as possible. 

So deeply sorry

My Sincerest Apologies

My heart is once again in pieces,

and there's no sense to all this mess.

How could loving two abandoned children

turn into such a hopeless quest?

We gave it all we had to give,

faithful to the call.

We made every preparation,

yet ran straight into a wall.

This time they say it's final,

the decision has been made.

Much to all of our surprise,

Their first decision stayed.

My little ones, can I tell you

How deeply sorry I am?

How I wish to turn the hands of time

back to where this all began.

All the hope we intended to give you

actually took your hope away.

Now I can hardly believe

you aren't coming home someday.

If we had never met you,

you'd surely have a family by now.

I'm sorry we held you back,

that your home has not been found.

Deep down in my heart,

I know God still has a plan.

But why you had to lose a family twice,

I don't think I'll ever understand.

https://magnifythelord.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/psalm63_1text.jpg

All hope gone

I continued to call Viviana, and they always let her talk to me. Her house coordinators treated me with such kindness. She lived in a loud environment, so I did a lot of listening. I no longer understood my purpose in her life, but I loved her still the same. God built that relationship for a reason.

“Tía, is your son there? Please tell him I love him.” She felt connected to all of us.

The next time I called, she said, “Tell your husband I miss him.” I wanted nothing more than to give that little girl the biggest hug ever.

“Okay, Sweetheart. I will tell him. Please tell your brothers I love them.” I couldn’t stop thinking about Julian’s sudden involvement in the story. I didn’t know him that well yet, but I loved him, too.

When I called Juan David’s home, I got a different answer every time.  On Wednesday night, they said, “Oh, I’m sorry. He’s at the doctor this evening.” On Friday, “He stayed at school to celebrate an end of year school function.”

“Oh. Can I call him later?” I asked.

“I don’t think so tonight. I really don’t know when he will get home.” I’d called many times throughout the year on evenings he wasn’t there, but it rarely happened twice in one week. I suspected they didn’t want me to talk to him anymore, but the kindness in the lady’s voice always threw me off. I didn’t know what to think.

Mike kept his hope alive, believing God still held a miracle. Our agency seemed to do more to fight for us than ever before. Looking back now, I should have demanded direct contact with the agency’s lawyer. So many aspects of our case could have and should have been handled differently. But out of pure naivety, we didn’t know any better.

I already gave up the fight in my heart. Deep down inside, I couldn’t keep holding on. I had to let myself grieve, and I needed to help my son grieve this loss, as well.

 David couldn’t even begin to understand what happened. “Mommy, it all made sense. Juan David loves what I love. I love what he loves . . . their decision doesn’t connect.”

He suddenly felt lonely. Thinking about the fact that Juan David and Viviana weren’t coming home, after all, made him aware for the first time of how much he looked forward to their coming. My heart broke for him.

I had to release myself from the process to offer my full presence to David. He needed me to hang out with him, play games with him, and enjoy our days together, the way we always spent our summers, just the two of us. Only now, we both carried a huge void inside us everywhere we went. 

Somehow we all put on a brave smile to enthusiastically celebrate David’s birthday the next week. We spent more money than normal this time, knowing he needed the extra attention and focus. We told him we couldn’t afford things due to the adoption expenses far too many times. We didn’t dare use that excuse for his birthday now. We bought him the Wii he’d wanted for so long, went out for pizza and celebrated with our close friends. God blessed us with good memories of his birthday, preparing us for the hard days that quickly followed.

Four days later, on November 20^th, we reached the end of the road regarding the adoption. The committee in Colombia told the agency’s representative we couldn’t do anything more. Their final decision held firm. Despite all of our prayers, Juan David and Viviana would not be coming home.

I had no words. I couldn’t make sense of anything we went through over the last year and a half or why God even let our paths cross with those two precious children. I went numb. The hurt cut deeper than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. I felt like the biggest failure. My heart couldn’t handle all the emotions it held. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Devastation. Guilt. Depression. Overwhelming grief. Confusion.

I felt so lost.

My phone rang while we ate dinner out that evening, but I didn’t answer it. I put my phone up to my ear to listen to the message my mom left on my voicemail.

“Honey, I just wanted to say how so very sorry I am.” She cried through the message, as did I. Tears streamed down my cheeks the entire evening. So numb, I couldn’t talk to anyone. I never even called back. I may have already given up fighting nearly three weeks before, but hearing the absolute finality of our case still tore me apart. Not a shred of hope remained.

What in the world was it all for?

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.

Helpless

I had to keep holding on. As long as my agency didn’t give up, I wouldn’t either. I couldn’t let go until every remaining chance disappeared. I fell to my knees and begged anyone and everyone to do the same, to pray for a miracle to bring my children home to me, where they belonged.

Perhaps we could see a Colombian psychologist. Maybe the committee could arrange a phone call with our own psychologist via translators. Maybe, just maybe, God would still intervene.

He got us this far, right? He wouldn’t keep communication with the kids open this long, allowing us to grow closer every day, only to let it all fall apart. He wouldn’t do that. Would He?

Until someone broke the news to the kids, I held firmly to that faith. My God was big enough to move this huge mountain standing in front of us.

http://www.clipartpanda.com/categories/mountain-clip-art-free-download

Despite my faith, my whole world crashed down only a few days later when I received a third e-mail from Julian.

“Thank you so much for everything you did to try to adopt my siblings.  Even though it didn’t work out, my brother and sister will never forget you. We are all very sad after watching their dreams to join your family crumble. I hope God will fill your lives with many blessings. Juan David and Viviana will always love you.”

No!!!! This can’t be happening. Not yet! It’s only been three days! My eyes filled with tears right there in the computer lab at school, still fairly early in the morning.  I don’t know how in the world I hid them from my students for the remainder of the day.

My agency said they wouldn’t give up yet, but now that I knew someone told the kids, everything inside me hurt. A heaviness fell upon my spirit and refused to lift. I felt so helpless. We did everything in our power to keep them from ever hearing those heart-wrenching words, yet we couldn’t stop it from happening.

We failed them. The guilt I carried with me from that day forward nearly sucked the breath out of me.

Mike still waited for a miracle. He’s the optimist in our family. Our agency continued to fight for another chance, or at least that’s what they said. I, personally, gave up the fight.

Racked with guilt, I imagined how the kids struggled on their side of the equation. Viviana lost the “tía” who planned to visit and bring her presents. She would be sad, but she would survive. Julian lost his dream of seeing his siblings adopted together so they could have a brighter future, but now they stayed with him for longer than he expected, so he would be okay, too.

But Juan David lost the family he already assumed himself a part of. He lost the one person he convinced himself was his mom, the man he claimed as a dad and the little boy he already considered his younger brother. He couldn’t wait for his adoption. He’d watched many of his friends in the orphanage come and go, either to reunite with their biological families or join a new family through adoption. His turn finally looked so close … and now further away than ever. My heart ached for him. Helpless, I couldn’t do a thing. 

What once looked so clear

Messing with their Hearts

How do I pick up the pieces?

Where do I go from here?

Was this really Your plan all along?

I thought it looked so clear.

So many pieces to this puzzle,

yet they all don’t seem to fit.

Is there another puzzle out there

with a different picture set?

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Did we do something wrong?

Is there more we still don’t know?

Is this the final answer?

I don’t know how to take this blow.

Do I keep looking for a miracle,

or do I allow my heart to grieve?

Have we exhausted every outlet,

or is there still hope left to retrieve?

What is going on here?

God, there are children’s hearts at stake!

Did our love only give false hope

That now will have to break?

We failed them

October 30^th. The day before Halloween and Mike’s birthday, I received a message on my phone from our agency’s director.

“Call me back as soon as you can.”

 I didn’t get a single chance to call her until two o’clock in the afternoon on my conference time.

“Are you sitting down, Rachelle?”

Colombia responded finally. The committee over our case decided not to give us a date to appeal in person because they refused to reconsider our adoption petition. After fourteen months of living on the edge with our lives turned upside down, pouring every bit of our hearts and lives into two orphaned children, the door closed.

No reason.

No explanation.

Case closed.

Is it really over, just like that? Do we have any thread of hope left? My heart crashed to the floor, scattering emotions all over the place. Her words sucked everything out of me. I could barely breathe.

 “We’re not giving up yet. We’ll send our representative back one more time to see if they will give you a chance to let one of their own psychologists do a new psychological evaluation.” She hinted at a small ray of hope.

I felt completely defeated. I put my head down on my desk and let the tears fall. Devastated.

Hundreds of prayers went up on our behalf and on the kids’ behalf for God to change the adoption committee’s heart toward us. I even prayed for the two men in particular by name. For reasons I couldn’t begin to understand, God didn’t soften their hearts at all. They still believed us incapable of parenting an adopted child.

We failed those children.

Halloween didn’t hold the fun we’d anticipated. Rather than celebrate Mike’s birthday, we spent the weekend in shock with no hope of climbing out of our misery.

Only two days before, Juan David came to the phone giddy with excitement over receiving the package he’d requested for so long.  A package that contained the costume connecting him to David that night and the gift for the birthday he longed to spend at home with us.

Now I could only wonder what the picture looked like on his side. Did anyone tell him? If not yet, who would break the news to him? What would they say? When?

What about Viviana? Could I still visit her like I promised? Could I send her the suitcase full of goodies she’d requested over the last six months?

What about Julian? I didn’t even know where he fit into the picture, yet I felt so confident he played a key role in this adoption. Did I have any hope to hold on to? Would I ever talk to them again? A million questions and thoughts ran through my head, but those kids held my utmost concern, along with David’s fragile heart.

Had we been fools all along, and sadly, at the expense of these children? How could I ever forgive myself for leading them on for so long?