Reality

I almost don't know how to put this into words.

Perhaps these will not be the right words, but I can't be silent any more than I could be silent when I first discovered the plight of orphans over a year ago.

Today I want to talk to you about something truly heartbreaking... something most of us in this country can't imagine.  

In this country, services are available to people with special needs.  Therapies.  Specialist doctors.  Adaptive equipment.  Public facilities are required to be accessible to people with every type of limitation.  Government assistance is available to aid families in obtaining the sometimes expensive treatment these children and adults require.  It is not always an easy system to access - playing phone tag, ferrying loved ones to and from appointments, arguing with officials... but it is something... though not perfect, the best system we've got.

In this country, if you receive a prenatal diagnosis that your child may have special needs, you have enough options to overwhelm you.  Sadly, most parents who receive a prenatal diagnosis like down syndrome choose abortion.  90%, in fact.  All those families that will never know the good that comes along with what at first seems like a bleak diagnosis.  For those parents who choose life for their child, or those parents who do not find out that their child has special needs until birth, there are yet more options.  Did you know that there is a waiting list of families who want to adopt a child with down syndrome?  And should you choose to parent your child, there are hospitals, special needs schools, equipment, therapies, all those things I referred to above, to help you and your child.

I know that it is still scary for most people to receive a prenatal diagnosis, or to find out after giving birth that their child has special needs.  You mourn the loss of the life you imagined for your child.  Regardless of what services and options are available, it is not what you expected... it is a great unknown, and we all fear the unknown.  I don't want to take away from the struggle families face in this country when they receive such news.  But I do want to open your eyes to another sort of struggle... one that we can't even imagine because the days of 'decisions' like this are, for the most part, long gone in this country.

Across the world in Eastern Europe, prenatal diagnoses are uncommon and many expectant mothers lack the resources to get proper prenatal care.  They spend nine months expecting and preparing for a baby... just like families in this country do... getting everything ready to bring their little one home.  They give birth, and sometimes, that is when their worlds fall apart.  That is when special needs, such as down syndrome or cerebral palsy or spina bifida are discovered.  That is when, in the face of mourning the life they expected for their child just as parents in this country do, they face an even more terrifying decision.

Because, in most of these countries, there is no social support system in place for families with children with special needs.  No therapies, no adaptive equipment, no government assistance, frequently not even physical accessibility!  Imagine giving birth to a child who may never walk when you live in a one bedroom, fifth floor apartment, accessible only by flight after flight of stairs, with no means to move elsewhere?  Imagine knowing that you must raise this child - do everything - on your own.  Imagine knowing that where you live, it is not a common thing to parent a child with special needs, and you would likely be shunned by society and even by your own friends and family.  Imagine knowing that if you struggle financially, which you will likely do without any social support systems to aid you in raising your child, you are on your own - left to ruin.

Doctors and nurses tell mothers of these special children that they cannot raise them, that the children will be better off in an institution with other children 'like that'.  They make families believe that the life their children will have in an institution will be better than any life they could possibly provide for their own child, when nothing could be further from the truth.  Parents in vulnerable emotional states are pushed to make life-altering decisions in the blink of an eye.  Often, they trust the doctors - they are doctors, after all... they must know what is best for a child 'like this'.  They give up their children.  They go home empty-handed, to a home prepared for a child who will never live there... and their children... they go to institutions which do little more than warehouse the mentally and physically disabled.

I could talk for hours on what conditions are like in these institutions, but I have done this before.  Right now I want to focus on those parents... the ones who had to make that heartwrenching decision... the ones who thought, who hoped they were doing the right thing for their child.  Most of them did not give up the child because they rejected him or her for having special needs... they are parents too, who love their children... parents who give them up in hopes of giving them a better life, or who are pressured and feel they have no option other than giving their children up.  It is the hardest thing most of them will ever do.  I place no blame upon the parent who chooses what she thinks, with the information she has, is the best option for her child and her family.  My heart aches for her... for her empty arms and her broken spirit.

Many of us ask, "If these parents love their children, why do they never visit them?"  Well, it is not simply that easy.  Often children are taken to institutions far from where their families live.  Travel is difficult and expensive, if not impossible.  Parents, who may have other children to provide for, have to work hard to make ends meet.  And even if we remove the logistical constraints, can you imagine going to visit the child that you gave up in hopes that he would have a better life... and seeing him like this?

...and not being able to do anything about it?

For many parents, it is just too painful.


They still want the best for their children.  Many of them hope that their children will be adopted internationally, taken to a place with greater resources where their needs will be met and they can grow up in a family.  In certain Eastern European countries, Reece's Rainbow is known by many birth parents, who, after making the heartbreaking decision to give up their child, beg for them to be listed on 'the rainbow' - so that a Canadian or American family might adopt them and give them the life that parent has always wanted for her child.  Some of them ask about their children after they are adopted.  Some of them even have contact with the families who adopt their children (this is generally at the discretion of the adoptive family, but I have seen it happen and I can only imagine how it must both soothe and wrench a mother's heart to see her child thriving in a family she could not provide).

Imagine going through the heartbreak of giving a child up, not knowing where she is or if she's being taken care of, and then finding out that she has, in fact, been adopted and is receiving not only the therapy and assistance she needs, but the love of a family.

My friends, adoption is redemption.  Of the child, this, we know.  We have seen children redeemed by adoption over and over.  But it is redemption for the broken-hearted families who give them up too.  It is the happy ending they dreamed of for their child... the one they couldn't provide... the one they were imagining when they made the devastating decision to give up their child.  It is a million times better than not knowing... or knowing the horrible truth.

Someday I hope and pray that there will be support in place for these families to keep their children.  I actively support organizations dedicated to this cause.  Until then though, we do the best we can with the system we have... and one thing is for sure.  Adoption is redemption.

For the video that inspired this blog post, please go here.  I know many of you will not watch it... because once you see, you can't un-see... but perhaps seeing is the push that we need to do something.

Please.  I'm begging you.  Do something.

Because this could so easily be the reality for people we all know and love.

Waiting

When my eyes were opened to the plight of special needs children around the world, I was 22 years old.  22 years and 8 months, precisely.  To be approved in the U.S. for international adoption, you must be at least 25, or married (I'm not).  Can you imagine how much that drove me crazy, having the will to go, but not being able to?  I pleaded for time to pass quickly... I counted the months... When I turned 23, I celebrated not because it was my birthday, but because I was just a little tangibly closer to that goal.

I'll be 24 in April.  14 months now, between me and 25.  I've come to realize that I may not be ready to adopt right at my 25th birthday - I'm still working on personal and financial stability and while I think I can come a  long way in the next year, perhaps not quite all the way... which is frustrating, but it's still my goal to adopt as soon as I can, and to meet that goal, I'm trying to get those things in order as quickly as I can.

I know what country I'd like to adopt from - it fits my needs perfectly.  I know I would like to adopt a child with down syndrome.  I know what I need to do to raise money.  I'm prepared to fill out the mounds of paperwork.  I just can't yet.

But days like today, it's hard to wait even another second.

Days when you see pictures like this:

Jocelyn

Jocelyn is six years old.  Look at her tiny wrists, the socks that barely stay on her feet... tiny girl.  Then look at her belly under her clothes... and for a minute... you might be deceived.  You might think, maybe she's not as desperately malnourished as you might think... but she is.  A certain type of malnutrition (kwashikor) causes a distended abdomen in its victims.  It's not because they have meat on their bones.  They don't.  It's because they are so terribly starved to have developed this dangerous condition.  This little girl needs a Mama, and a good doctor, ASAP.


What I wouldn't give to be able to go get her.  But I can't.

Can you?

And she's not the only one, either.  Look at them... all these children waiting, and only ONE obstacle that I can't overcome out of sheer will and determination, stands between me and them.

Micah

Marnie

Andrue

Madden

Kolya

Millie

And then there are all the ones I can't adopt... because the country requires a certain age difference between parent and child... like my sweet Brett...

But then I think - oh, this waiting is so hard for me...

...but imagine how hard it must be for them.

While I'm waiting, I'm sitting in a warm house, under an electric blanket, drinking Dr. Pepper, eating delicious pastries and listening to music.  Typing away at my laptop, the entire world at my fingertips.  While I'm waiting, I'm working at a job I love and that fulfills me.  I'm spending time with my family and friends.  I'm going outside, enjoying the sunshine, or staying inside and enjoying a bit of hibernation.  While I'm waiting, even when I get sick (like I did this past week), there are whole stores full of medicines I can buy to make me feel better - friends who are dictionaries of herbal remedies - a family who loves me and takes care of me - a warm bed to curl into until I feel better.

While they're waiting, they're lying in a cold crib, or bed, or wherever they've been plopped that day, or plopped themselves, if they can walk.  Lucky if they have a blanket at all.  Drinking thin soup or thick gray mush from a grated bottle.  Eating the same - maybe some bread soaked in water, if they're lucky.  Toys are scarce and it's survival of the fittest, so when you're small, or weak, or just not aggressive, there's not much to occupy your time.  They're rocking.  Biting their hands, grinding their teeth, pounding their heads against the bars of their cribs.  Staring at the same surroundings every single day, in and out... for years.  When they get sick, they are isolated, and the mind-numbing boredom combined with pain becomes absolutely excruciating.  "Feeling better" is not even a concept that applies to them... how can you feel better when hunger is gnawing at your stomach 24/7, every day of your life?

And I only have to wait 14 months.  The YOUNGEST of these children has been waiting nearly two years already - and the adoption process will likely take another year.  And dear Brett... who sadly, I can never adopt, unless his country's laws change (which is doubtful - and I don't want him to wait that long anyways)... he has been living that reality for ELEVEN LONG YEARS.  YEARS.  YEARS of what I just described to you.  No one to love on him.  No one to call Mama.

Just thinking about the waiting they face... makes my wait all the harder.  Because I'm a fixer, and I want to fix that for them.  But I can't right now... not even for one of them.  That breaks my heart.

What about you?  Are you waiting too?  Waiting on what?  Is it insurmountable... or is it... maybe, time to stop waiting and start fighting?

Did you see your child here today?

What about here?

Long and Winding Road

I think I was born with my goal in life already in my head.

I called those little guys "lumpies".  They were my version of baby dolls... my 'children'... there were 27 of them.  Can you say foreshadowing?

Before I was even conscious of it, my heart knew my goal.

Help children.

I never knew what shape this would take.  For a long time, I thought I'd just grow up and be a Mommy, like most little girls expect to.  I even went through a phase (starting at the ripe old age of ten) where I became convinced, regularly, that I had somehow immaculately conceived and was going to have a baby.  You know the plastic baby doll that cries project that everyone did in middle school?

Pardon the flash - it was in a photo album

Yeah.  Aced it.

In high school, after watching an episode of 7th Heaven (I know, I know) I started feeling called to children who had difficult pasts... abuse, neglect, foster care... I used to ride my bike around the neighborhood, praying, saying, "God, I know my child is out there somewhere... I know she is... and she needs me, and I need her... please bring her to me..."

Ironically, that was Fall 2003.  Indeed, my child was out there.

When I started taking care of M and A, it cemented in my mind that I wanted to do foster care someday... to help families and children who were in rough spots, to be there for them.  I held so tightly to this goal that I literally cleaned our house from top to bottom, just 'in case' God decided to send a child our way early.  At 18 I was diagnosed with endometriosis, and the dream of being a mother became a little more complicated - the way I'd originally intended to set about doing it may not work for me.

I went to college majoring in education.  I was particularly interested in being an intervention specialist.  Unfortunately, the red tape associated with our educational system today discouraged me and I changed my major... to health education, so I could work with families to keep their children safe in the car through public health, like I already did as a volunteer CPST.  Children - the one thing about the equation that never changed.

I graduated with a degree in public health and was interning at the health department, working in the injury prevention department with a variety of responsibilities, all of which involved children somehow.  I thought this was it - this was how I'd go about my life goal of helping children... keeping them safe... and I'd try to have a biological child and I'd do foster and adopt from foster care... I had it all planned out.

Then I lost my job, and a number of other things in my life came crashing down, I got more bad news about my endometriosis, and I sunk into a depression...

Until, as most of you probably know, I saw this picture:

9 year old Katie Musser on her way home from the hospital after escaping Pleven

And in nine days, God renewed my life's mission and lit a new fire inside me to pursue it.

At first, when I felt Him tap, tap, tapping on my shoulder, I fought it.

"No.  That's not for me.  I can't do that."

"I'll help some other way.  I'll adopt kids in the US.  International Adoption is not for me."

"I can't do this.  I want to, but I just can't and I know it."

"Okay God, if you want me to do this, you have to give me the tools to do it."

Then...

"Sigh... I'm adopting a child with special needs from Eastern Europe, aren't I?"

Then I didn't sleep for two months.  Constantly trying to find a way to help now, while I waited to be eligible for international adoption, while I was unemployed and broke.  That's when I started advocating.  That's when I found myself again.

Now, a year later, I can hardly believe the place it led me to.  I still have endometriosis.  I still don't know the future of my childbearing abilities.  I've been through a living nightmare with one of my dear borrowed kids.  It hasn't been easy.  But now I have a wonderful job working with children with special needs, which I love, and which is preparing me in some ways (not all obviously - things are always different when they're you're own children) for my own adoption journey.  Now I've continued advocating, been a part of raising money for two boys through Angel Tree this year, shared these kids' stories with everyone I could, met so many truly amazing people, and I know where I want to go from here.

That's not to say God couldn't redirect me in some way, as He has done so many times before, but if history serves as evidence (and I believe it does), the ultimate goal is not going to change...

Help children.

I never could have guessed, at ten, when I was dreaming of being a Mommy, that this is where my love for children would lead me.  I had grand expectations for my life.  But God had grander ones.  My favorite movie is A Walk To Remember - and there's this one quote that has always stuck with me... "Maybe God had a bigger plan for me than I had for myself..." - and indeed He did.  They say that when a door closes, sometimes we stare so long at that closed door that we miss the new one that opens.  I spent years of my life doing that... but I feel like I have finally turned around and seen the open door.  My diagnosis and possible fertility issues are no longer the downfall of my dreams... I have seen a greater purpose.

Now I trust.  I trust that when I look at that closed door, I know I'm just waiting for another one, filled with untold treasures, to open.  I have faith.

And that makes all the difference.