I positively hate that money can hold us back from being able to do what's important sometimes. I've gotten pretty good a living a very frugal life, and I like it that way...most of the time. But sometimes, I get really jealous of those with better means. I really do. Like right now -- Anya is sad and wanting me with her. I had told her we'd be there in February, and then March..and now it's April. She feels like once again, someone has promised something but not delivered. I hate that this time it's me, and that money so often holds me back these days. I told her I would send her $100 this coming Friday, but she doesn't even want me to. 'I just want you, Mama.' Could my heart possibly break anymore than it has? Yes, it seems it can.
|Katya and Anya, in the shed she often sleeps in.|
For the last two months she's been relatively stable and it's taken a mountain of guilt and worry off my shoulders. I was able to breathe again, and for the first time in six years, I was feeling like maybe she'd be ok. Maybe that three months of us living over there healed something in her. Maybe my failure to bring her home was not the biggest failure of my life...maybe she'd actually be ok. But it's just not so. And I feel like such a broken record when I write about Anya. I feel like I am turning people off, because, well, it has been six years of non-stop familial agony laid bare. But I have to unburden my heart tonight.
I'm so sad, so very very sad. I want to know why God hasn't answered my prayers. I want to know why six years of sacrifice, ceaseless prayers, endless pounding on political doors, non-stop letter-writing, weeping for hours on end, giving up countless personal dreams and dreams for my at-home daughter....why are these not enough? I believe in a God for whom nothing is impossible, so I wonder what I have done or failed to do that He hasn't brought Anya home to us? is it His will that she remain alone, homeless, poverty-stricken..separated from her sister and a mom that loves her?
I've had hundreds of people tell me over the years that I just 'need to trust', 'be faithful', or 'don't give up hope!'. I know these people mean nothing but good, but these things repeated over and over do nothing to comfort me or heal my or Anya's heart. Some days, like today, it becomes nearly unbearable.
|sisters belong together.|
The other night I had a rare night out with two of my favorite students. It was doubly wonderful because we were going to see my favorite play, and we were seeing it at my alma mater. It was a rare night out for me, and I enjoyed almost every minute of it. But not all of it.
In six years I have been unable to truly, completely and unbashedly enjoy anything, because I have Anya fixed in the center of my heart, and when I enjoy anything, I cannot help but remember that she isn't here. Then the guilt sets in. The other night, seeing The Winter's Tale, had me weeping in the dark of the theatre because the play is so hopeful, and I had a rush of joy infuse me, and I imagined that the statue of Hermione come to life was me, embracing Anya. For those few minutes of mother and daughter reunited on stage, I felt almost certain I would experience such a perfect and permanent reuniting with Anya. But no. Experience speaks otherwise.
Nastia has been missing her sister alot lately. She calls her nightly but doesnt always get through. This week she tried four nights in a row, and then curled up in my arms defeatedly at 4am that last night, and cried. 'She's just not answering, mom. but I need her to...'
So today, Nastia tried again and reached her, but the joy was short-lived. 'Mom, she sounds so sad.' Nastia whispered while holding the phone. And she was right, she did. We tried everything to coax out of her what was wrong, but I knew in my heart what it was anyway. The pain of separation doesn't go away.
At the orphanage, D is faring better because the Director is able to comfort him and reassure him. When he comes to her thinking I have changed my mind about adopting, she explains to him very carefully about the paperwork. But for Anya, there is no comforting presence to reassure her. She is still a child drifting from house to house, friend to friend, waiting for the ground to stop shaking beneath her. And here I am, thousands of miles away trying to fix things with my bootless prayers and band-aid phone calls. I want to give up, not on Anya, but on all the pain. I didnt sign up for this -- a story without a happy ending.
Stories are supposed to have happy endings, especially the ones about orphans with lifetimes of abuse and neglect. This story doesn't even have an ending at all. It's just one long whimpering cry to the universe that echos into infinity. No resolution. No comfort.