oh the heartache
In the fall of 2006 we brought home from Russia two confused and neglected children, ages 5 and 6. Here are two snapshots of the grief that our little ones carry:
December 2006: our son had been with us for nearly three months before this conversation occurred, during an alphabet lesson:
We did the letter "B" last week:
"Ball. Banana. Bunnies. Bread. Breakfast. Baby." I said.
"Mama doesn't like babies," Dandy replied.
"Yes I do! Why do you think that?"
"Why did you give me to the detskydom (orphanage)?"
Whoops! All this time he has thought I parked him there for six years because I didn't like babies. All this time, he had thought I was his tummy-mommy. When I met him at the orphanage, he thought I was returning after being away. The amazing thing is that he 'welcomed me back' with open arms and heart, in spite of being abandoned.
After I explained that I was a new Mama on the scene he said it was very sad that we had had to wait so long. "I needed you," he said. "I was a sad baby. I needed you no bolshoy padashdi (big wait)."
And a few months later, in February of 2007 our daughter, who sings all the time, was singing over her breakfast.
I love my mama.
Yes I do.
I love my mama.
Yes I do.
My Ruskie mama.
No I eat.
My Ruskie mama.
No I eat.
I love my mama.
Eat. Eat. Eat.
I love my mama.
Eat. Eat. Eat.
My mama loves me.
Eat. Eat. Eat.
My mama loves me.
Eat. Eat. Eat.
My Ruskie mama . . .
The song stops.
A small voice asks, "Mama, did Ruskie Mama love me?"
"Yes."
"Why no I eat?"
We read all the books, the blogs, the list-serves. We had buckets of knowledge about the circumstances that children come from and the struggles of adapting to the new lives. We knew a lot. But how could we possibly anticipate moments like these? Moments when we that show us the confusion, the questions, the sad wonderings with which they live
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