Every night lately I lie in bed next to T as he’s falling asleep and I think of my friend who is in the middle of a Russian adoption right now. Just recently I got an email from her in which she sent a picture of her little girl and told me that she was with her family in Russia and that they were having a wild week, crossing frozen rivers by car, flying in forty-year old propeller planes and finally meeting their beautiful new addition, who they hoped would be home with them within a few months.
Many people are coming to me to discuss the story of the little boy who was sent back to Russia alone on an airplane by his adoptive mother, who claimed he had severe psychological problems about which she was misled. I never know quite how to respond to adoption horror stories like this, because I hate feeling obligated to defend my love for my child in the face of the monstrous actions of people who have nothing at all to do with me or my family.
And yet I feel that obligation now, as I mourn for my friend and the fact that her adoption has been interrupted and may even be stopped completely. If not for international adoption, my family would not exist. We are sometimes a happy family and sometimes an exhausted, cranky family. We are sometimes a family screaming with laughter at the beach and sometimes a family miserable at home with the flu. But we are always a family who is blessed with a love that I never knew existed before we got on that plane to Africa.
Adopting an older child or a child who has been institutionalized has its own set of challenges. For specific advice about adoption-oriented attachment issues, I follow Courtney’s blog, “Storing Up Treasures.” She. Has. Ten. Kids. Enough said.
When people come to me talking about this recent fiasco, I’d like to just flyer them with this post: Choosing Love.