Trying to fill the void

For a while, it helped to stay busy. We kept the calendar full of activity to keep some excitement alive in our life. Mike and I have always loved being involved in missions, as a pre-engaged, engaged, and married couple, so we eagerly signed up as a family to serve on the next church mission trip in California. We used the money we’d poured into savings for our adoption travels as a way to self-fund our endeavor.

Less than four weeks after coming home from the East coast, we found ourselves flying out to San Francisco on the West coast. Not only did we help a new church expand its ministry, but we made new friends from our own church and tasted a little bit of California culture. Exactly what we needed.

With our travels wrapped up and no new trips on the horizon, we knew we could use a big change at home. David lacked a companion now more than ever since his “siblings” didn’t come home. Being an only child never bothered him before, but this new reality offered a screaming reminder that we had no sibling to offer our son. So, the search for a dog began.

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            An ad for a black lab caught our eye, reminding us of our two black labs in Indiana years earlier. David loved thinking about names for our new puppy.

“Maybe we could name him Rocky.” David imagined his pup growing into a big, tough dog.

“Rocky sounds like a good name, but what about Mickey, since he’s black?” I went for the fun names.

David and I went back and forth between the two names, finally deciding on Mickey. We drove out to pick Mickey up, and somehow I caved again. We came home not only with little Mickey, but with little Minnie, as well, the runt of the pack.

Those little pups added a lot of work and needed constant attention. Yet they filled part of the huge holes in our hearts and lives. We needed two of them, one of each gender, to help fill those voids the kids left behind. Now we had both a little girl dog and a little boy dog to take care of, nurture, and love--our valentines, home right in time for Valentine’s Day.

The void in my heart

The time away did wonders for us, almost a therapeutic experience, constantly distracting us from our reality. Years had passed since I’d spent Christmas with my eldest brother, so I enjoyed the time to bond again with him and his family. I cherish the memories we made together.

Right before the New Year, we packed up again to head toward our last destination. We reserved a hotel room right outside of New York City, giving us the chance to spend New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day exploring the Big Apple. The 9/11 Memorial site, as well as the beginning stages of the new Memorial Park, left David in awe and also filled him with great sadness. He still grew in my womb when the twin towers crumbled, so I didn’t realize we’d never taken the time to tell him about that tragic day in America.

We felt lured into the festivities surrounding the infamous “ball drop” at midnight, though the weather and some unforeseen circumstances led us straight back to the comfort of our hotel and a television that evening.

We did nothing but explore more of the city on New Year’s Day covering as much as we could on foot in a day. A long line already formed for the ferry ride to Ellis Island, so we decided to snap pictures of the Statue of Liberty from a distance rather than spend our time waiting in line. Instead, we hung out in Central Park for a few hours, taking in all the sights, and then inside the Museum of Natural History. The adventure of the city led us from place to place, hour by hour.

By the second day in January, we packed our things one final time to head back home to Texas. Mike drove twenty-two hours straight through, the entire way from New York City to Dallas. With only a day left to catch our breath and reorient ourselves, school and work called us back to reality quickly. Such a needed vacation, and I can’t say I even wanted any extra time to rest or recuperate. It felt good to enjoy our family of three again, to build positive memories together after facing such negative ones recently.

Coming home at the beginning of a new year meant closing this last chapter of life to start a new one. Hard can only begin to describe that process. Part of me still so bewildered by the chain of events over the last two years, I wanted to put the entire experience in a box, put the box on the shelf, and pretend as if it never existed or never happened, despite the reminders scattered everywhere. I didn’t know how to interpret the contents of the box. If I put them away, maybe they’d make sense at a later time when I could emotionally handle bringing the box back down.

 That, however, left me with a new problem. How did I go back to living life the way we did before them?

Those two kids changed me. They changed us. Our family before them no longer existed. We used to be whole, and now, we were broken. Once content with an only child, now something felt missing. We couldn’t just go back in time.

They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Part of me wished I’d never met them, both for our sakes and theirs. But the other part of me knew how amazing it felt to love them and be loved by them. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. But now what did I do with the huge void they left in my heart?

"Running away" in order to cope

I never dreaded Christmas as much as I did that year. The sadness in my heart stole any joy in celebrating the season. I purchased two beautiful blue Christmas stockings in the summertime to fill for my “newest” family members. Now they remained empty. I had no desire to dig out the other decorations, to transform our little house with the magic of Christmas. I didn’t want a tree, a wreath, a star, lights … nothing. I hung our stockings and set out a few nativity scenes. My heart couldn’t handle much more than that.

David, on the other hand, wanted and needed every decoration up. We dug out at least a few bins for him to go through, and he decorated his entire bedroom with several little trees, nativity sets, reindeer, lights, and musical decorations. He filled his room to the brim with the Christmas magic the rest of our home lacked.

Viviana clung to her dream of our visit, but we didn’t have the opportunity to travel to Colombia see her. I kept my promise to her by sending a Christmas package, filled with as many of the clothes and little goodies we bought for her that fit into the box--a special purple quilt, red sunglasses, a purple watch, Scooby-Doo movies, and a few other things she asked for.

We also filled the box as tightly as possible with the clothing we picked out for her at various yard sales throughout the year. I filled all the extra space with small dolls and toys, squeezed in a little white stuffed puppy, and even added a few Spanish books. On top of the box’s contents, I placed a letter reminding her I would love her forever and would pray for her every day. A Christmas ornament with my picture on one side and David’s picture on the other tucked itself inside the letter. The overflowing box represented my final goodbye.

Another box filled with clothes, books, and two backpacks also made its way toward Colombia for Juan David and Julian. I didn’t know Juan David’s size, so I suggested he and Julian split the contents based on what they needed, wanted, and could wear. It both broke and thrilled my heart to include the special blanket he’d asked for, the one we draped over “his” bed. My final letter to him stated my sorrow over not spending Christmas with him, reminding him God still had a great plan. I never wrote the word “goodbye,” but I knew he could read between the lines to know why I sent the box.

Mailing those two packages cost us a near fortune. One of us could have flown all the way to Colombia with them for a similar cost! But the money didn’t matter. We knew those packages would light up their world for Christmas, as well as bring comfort to Juan David especially. Nothing mattered to me more.

School got out for the holiday, we mailed the boxes to Colombia, and then we headed out of town the same day. I don’t know that any of us could have handled the holiday at home, even David, despite his room bursting at the seams with Christmas décor. Too many reminders of our shattered dreams would have made for a miserable vacation. David needed us fully present with him, and we needed to find a way to somehow enjoy ourselves.

After driving over twelve hours straight through the night to Indiana, it felt good to distract ourselves with an early Christmas celebration with Mike’s family for a few days. God even sent a special treat for David as soon as we arrived. Snow! Only an inch or two of accumulation was enough for David to blissfully throw snowballs and make snow angels.

A few days later, we continued our drive eastward all the way to Pennsylvania. A winter snowstorm hit right before we got there, so you can imagine the surprise that greeted David as we pulled up to nineteen inches of snow at my brother’s house! Our little Texan never saw or played in so much snow in his entire life!

What an amazing ten days lay in front of our little boy. We showed him some of his mommy’s old stomping grounds in Lancaster County. We also spent a day in Philadelphia, saw the Liberty Bell and visited Hershey’s Chocolate World. Yet the experiences in the snow, sledding and building a huge snow man truly topped them all for David. 

Levels of grief

Grief traveled more levels than I knew. We mourned the loss of the kids’ presence in our lives, along with the loss of an assumed reality. We also grieved for them, knowing only a fraction of their loss. They lost a set of parents, a new brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. They ultimately lost the security of a forever family, now for the second time.

 We grieved the loss of a dream, as well as our ability to fulfill a promise to the kids and to our son. We grieved losing our joy and purpose, along with our confidence and faith. We even grieved the loss of finances we gave up so willingly for what seemed to now be “nothing.”

Grief took over our lives for several months. I thank God for numbing us to different levels of pain so we didn’t have to experience them all at once. He let us grieve one stage at a time, strengthening us to endure the next one. Still faithful, God carried us through it all. He never left us alone or abandoned us.

After continuing to call Juan David once a week for a solid month only to hear excuses each time as to why he wasn’t there, I finally got the point. They no longer allowed him to talk with me, so I stopped calling. I could only hope he knew I tried. I always wondered who finally told him why the phone calls stopped. How did he react? Who comforted him in his grief? What exactly did they tell him? Maybe Julian could share those things with me someday if we stayed in contact, or maybe I’d never know the answers to those questions on this side of Heaven.

To my surprise, my contact stayed alive and intact with Viviana throughout my grieving period as I continued to call her faithfully every week.

“Tía, will you please come to see me for Christmas?”

“I don’t know if I can get permission to see you at Christmas, but I will send you a special package if I don’t make it to visit you.” I felt awkward still calling her, especially since I no longer understood God’s purpose for these conversations. He obviously still wanted me in her life for some reason.

My phone calls must have meant the world to her. I adored her and loved hearing the sound of her sweet voice. Until she had a mother of her own, I counted her as a daughter in my heart.

One evening in early December, she asked me to pass the phone to David and Mike. Mike took the phone and heard her say, “Te quiero (I love you).”

He naturally responded in his limited Spanish, saying he loved her, too. Then he quickly handed the phone back to me.

 “He said he loves me!!!!” She nearly cried into the phone, repeating herself several times.

Priceless. Hearing Mike say he loved her touched her deeply. She never had a father in her life to show her such affection.

I will never forget that conversation with her. Sadly, I never heard her sweet voice again. A week later when I called, a female voice told me Viviana no longer had permission to receive phone calls. Words can’t even begin to describe how much I would miss talking with that little girl.

Guilt

Up until this point in my life, my relationship with God grew more intimate every day. I cherished my morning time of prayer more than any other time of the day. I longed to spend time with my Creator, pouring my heart out to Him while interceding often for others. As I grew closer to Christ every year, I found nothing else could even compare. I felt like a miserable, unsatisfied mess when I missed that hour in the mornings. My Savior’s love filled me and refreshed me every morning.

Now, for the first time in my entire life, I felt so unloved. I didn’t understand why my faith wasn’t enough. My mornings no longer felt “romantic and peaceful.” The intimate conversation stopped.

Daily screaming matches in my car became my only conversations with God. Me screaming about my anger, humiliation, hurt, confusion and devastation. I felt offended and insulted. He, on the other hand, took it all, carried me through it and gave me enough strength to keep moving each day. He gently whispered in my ear that, yes, despite it all, I could still trust Him.

He did love me, and He actually hurt, too, knowing the extent of the pain in my heart. It hurt Him to see me hurting. He missed me, and even if I wouldn’t admit to it, I really missed Him, too.

http://www.goodsalt.com/search/jesus_crying.html

Truly, my anger mostly directed itself inward. We all fought through anger toward ourselves for not being “good enough” for the committee to approve us in the first place, forcing us to let the kids down. The guilt overwhelmed us at times, like a heavy weight crushing us beneath it. So great a heaviness, I could barely even breathe.

I let them down. I didn’t fight hard enough or stand firm enough. I must not have spoken or written to express our case clearly. I didn’t do everything I could have done.

What doors had we not opened or gone through that could have made a difference? Did we open and go through doors we shouldn’t have? Those precious siblings counted on us, and we let them down. Where exactly did it all go wrong? Did one specific thing trigger their whole chain reaction against us? Could we have done something differently to avoid this whole mess? Did we ever even stand a chance or did doom follow our case from the beginning?

Not only did we fail the kids, we failed everyone involved. We could compile a running list of everyone we let down:

·         The summer hosting program

·          Our adoption agency.

·         The kids’ host family

·          The families not chosen to pursue this adoption

·          Everyone who donated money

·         The organizations that awarded us grant money

·         Our church’s Adoption Ministry

Basically we failed everyone who supported our entire journey.

In addition to bearing the weight of failing so many, we also knew we failed each other, and we failed our son. 

Not a pretty picture

With nowhere to run and no place to hide, I could not escape the pain of our new reality. I saw reminders of those kids everywhere I went. Just walking down the toy aisle at my favorite store felt like someone stabbed a knife through my heart. The sight of all those sweet, little girl toys and princess clothes killed me inside because I knew I no longer had a chance to buy them for my own little girl.

Passing any random garage sale felt like a slap in the face, reminding me how much time and effort we invested into three yard sales to raise money for the adoption. Dolls, clothes, and all of Viviana’s color preferences occupied our spare bedroom at home. David’s bunk beds held Juan David’s special blanket, while the empty bunk screamed of his absence. Clothing filled the closets in both rooms, clothes we’d either purchased or that someone donated for the kids. Their pictures covered wall after wall in our house, pictures I couldn’t ever imagine taking down. They felt so permanent the day I placed them on the walls.

I hurt deeply for David. We put life on hold for the last year and a half. No vacations. No extra spending money. Nearly every penny went towards adoption expenses in some way. He didn’t deserve to live like this. He sacrificed so much of himself, his family, and his life.

Now that the kids didn’t come home, enough was enough. He wanted to forget about everything and move on. He hated watching me cry every single day with no end in sight. He detested the sadness we now carried with us as a family. He couldn’t stand the emptiness inside.

He struggled with intense anger. He resented Colombia for not letting us appeal in person and for misinterpreting our parenting abilities by saying we didn’t have a strong bond with him. He wanted to tell them how wrong they were about his mommy and daddy. He harbored anger toward our agency for not advocating for us enough or communicating with us like they should have. He dealt with more anger yet toward the summer hosting program for bringing the kids to the States, allowing them to cross our path and change our lives forever.

He dealt with even more anger toward God. His now eight-year-old mind couldn’t process this turn of events. How could God let us proceed, so convinced of something that would never happen? David’s faith stood so strong through it all, and now it fell into a million pieces.

Mike stayed pretty quiet, actually keeping us from completely falling apart. He kept David and I from going over the edge or completely exploding from everything built up inside. His hurt showed differently. His eyes and voice expressed a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

We lost that joy of knowing our purpose. We all wanted someone to blame, but, as much as we hated to admit it, we could only point our fingers up toward Heaven. It didn’t matter who made the mistakes. God’s arm could have reached down and placed those children with us. His sovereignty could have changed everything.

If He meant for them to be with us, they would be here. A faulty agency, a poorly translated word, or a misinterpreted personality assessment couldn’t trump God’s will. He let this happen. We each wrestled on our own with God and our faith.

If I looked back now and admitted we read the signs all wrong and followed a road never meant for us to travel, then I’d have to accept as pure coincidence every little “glimpse” of God we saw along the way. How could we explain the miracles we’d witnessed with our finances or all the furniture and travel provisions? What about the heart changes, unexpected opportunities, necessary relationships, and timely friendships?

If I didn’t hear God’s voice clearly, then how would I ever know how to listen for His voice again? Our clear picture now seemed like a puzzle with pieces scattered all over the place. The pieces didn’t match or fit together anymore. Some looked destroyed or disfigured, and others went completely missing, leaving the puzzle impossible to complete.

Either I accepted God never led us down this path and therefore disregard my entire faith along the way, or I accepted that God did lead us down this very road, straight into the heartache we now lived. Neither one made a pretty picture. Neither one made sense.

So many questions

How did we get here?

So much on my heart,

thoughts racing through my mind,

so many questions without answers

as I turn and look behind.

I’d never been so sure of anything

than the fact that they were mine.

So fully convinced

God chose me as their mom.

They were meant to be the siblings

of my one and only son.

God meant for me to raise them,

to pick up where their mother left off.

They made a perfect match for us,

we made the perfect match for them.

http://www.washingtoncountywisdems.org/2015/07/12/needed-puzzle-pieces/

Our puzzle pieces fit right together.

The picture looked so clear.

We earned favor in all the right eyes,

so how did that get us here?