'Sasha of the Golden Hair'

Little Bean Sasha :)

This is Sasha, my 'granddaughter'. This ultrasound was taken when Anya was at 3 months, so Sasha is just a tiny little bean here. But if you look closely, you can see her little nose, her arm rising up, her foot. A new life. A glorious, miraculous, unexpected new life. And here she is, in the flesh, for real.

I saw my first ultrasound photo in 1982, when I was just 16 years old. My older cousin was pregnant and had made me godmother. She let me come to all her OB appointments, and I'll never forget that first glimpse of Heather Rose Cahill. I actually got light-headed and the doctor had to get me a chair and a glass of water. It wasn't fear, it was the stunning realness of this little life. I was seeing it, and I was amazed.

We asked Anya to share the photo a while ago, but she had no way of copying it to share it. She skypes with us via her friend Katya's phone, which has no camera, so we figured we'd just have to wait. But Anya got the doctor to email the image to her and so she shared it with us last night. Nastia and I made fools of ourselves, screeching with delight when it slowly emerged on our computer screen. Such a tiny little thing. Such a breath of fresh air in this hard life.

I dreamt of Sasha last week. I was watching Anya, almost lit up in a glow of light in some, unknown nebulous place. She was calm and look so content and peaceful. I could see Sasha right through her belly. A fleet of angels was behind me as I watched, and a male one leaned over my shoulder and whispered with great awe, 'Sasha of the Golden Hair.' Then I awoke.

I am still waiting patiently  for word of my Russian visa. As soon as it comes, we are on a plane to the other side of the world. I'm sleepless with excitement. I can't wait to be with Anya again, can't wait to watch these sisters reunite and laugh and even fight as only sisters can. And I cant wait to speak to Sasha through Anya's belly, tell her I love her, tell her she has someone in her corner for life.

I'm not sure if I mentioned earlier that Anya gave Nastia the gift of naming the baby. Nastia chose to name her after their Dad, Sasha. Her full name will be Aleksandra, but she'll be called Sasha, like their Dad. I'm sure the significance of this incredibly loving gesture is not lost on him, and I'm sure he's keeping a close eye on his 'three' girls, from the Other Side.

Anya and Nastia's 'Papa', Sasha.

Preparing for Death By Living A Good Life

I think about death alot. I always have. I learned early on that this wasn't normal, so I never shared that information with others very often, except my Dad. I don't think that makes me weird or morbid; I think it makes me realistic.

I remember being really young, maybe about six or seven, and wondering why everyone around me wasn't talking about death all the time. It seemed to me that all the adults I knew acted as if death would never happen. They lived their lives without any attention paid to the elephant in the room - their inevitable death. That stunned me. I guess if I'm honest, it still does. When I was a child I would often lie in my bed, or in the grass in the yard, and look up, eyes open, and repeat to myself over and over "I am alive right now, in this moment, but someday I'll be dead." It didn't scare me or upset me. It kind of fascinated and motivated me. I became hyper aware of being alive, and it made all my experiences very vivid.

I was never afraid of death until I became a mom. Once that happened, the terror set in. I wasn't afraid for myself, but for her. I lost sleep over my fear of leaving her alone on this earth. I still do sometimes. Just this morning, I lay in bed at 4:30am with the light just starting to come in the window. I watched her face, traced its familiar geography with my eyes and felt that inexplicable awareness that some day in the future I would not be here to bear witness to this beauty. It took my breath away for a moment.

I've experienced the death of many friends and family over the years. I've been present with people I love in the days before they died, watching them, praying over them, listening. There is a rare co-mingling of worlds in those days leading up to someone's death. It's as if that permanent sheath between that world and this lifts, delicately and carefully, for a time. And a sweet, momentary scent of eternity envelopes us. Then it is gone, as quickly and inconspicuously as it came.

When we acknowledge death - its certainty - we are really acknowledging now. This. Here. When we allow ourselves to feel the truth of that impermanence, it cradles us into the present moment . It holds a mirror up to us. here. now.

Someday we will die. There is no if about it. We will. We will cease to be in this form, on this earth. And what does that mean? it means, by God, we ought to live every minute with perfect love and forgiveness and joy and awareness. Every material thing will pass away. Why do we bother with all those trappings? They mean nothing. Why do we not value people and relationships above all else at all times? Its all that will endure, so why put our time and energy and focus on ANYTHING else? That is something I have never understood and never will.

I want to live the most honest and truthful life I can, every single day. I want to value connection with others over all else. And I wish others to do the same. I want the minutes of my life to be made up of gestures that speak to that want. I want my life to be a singular and unmissable witness to my daughter of what Love is. And when I fail at it, I want to forgive myself and start again immediately, with no time wasted on guilt or worry. We're human; we make mistakes. But we need to reach past them and grab hands with any of those further up the path, who can guide us.

I hope that death takes me a long time from now. I don't know when or how it will embrace me, but I hope I feel completely spent, exhausted and ready when it comes. And I hope my life speaks to my daughter then - speaks of the most important things death can teach us: to live every day with great love, to listen every day with great love, and to express as much real gratitude as our hearts can muster while we're here.

Patience and Faith, and the Current State of Things

I struggle to write these days, still. It seems so unimportant with all that is going on in the outer world, and in my own life. I struggle with feeling inadequate as a writer at these times; it feels like the writing serves no purpose, though I know on some level that is not true. 

I also struggle with whom I'm writing to. Sometimes I know I am writing to a specific group of people - fellow adoptive families, longtime readers. Other times I know I am just writing into the void, the quiet - hoping someone is listening. And then there are times like this when I am writing just to figure things out. We all know that writing is often therapeutic. And just like with therapy - sometimes just the act of writing brings clarity to situations that are confounding us.

Life has been so confusing for so long that I'm now functioning as if this state of being is just my 'normal.' I have had so many extreme ups and downs these last eight years - with Anya, Daniel, and even M - that I think something in me has simply acclimated to the chaos. Does that make sense?

Two weeks ago I had received the horrible news that my adoption of M was off. The story I was told was that a Latvian Family was adopting her. I wish I could share all the details, because it is a really tremendous story, but I can't. But I can tell you that after a week of deep grieving, I received yet another email stating that there had been a mistake and it was back on. I wondered in that moment if God wasn't trying to teach me about detachment. I struggle with knowing why these things happen over and over again. I really want to know the lesson behind it all, but I must be really naive, because I just can't figure it out.

The good news is that there is good news - my adoption is back on track, and I am doing my best to just put one foot in front of the other and keep the faith. It doesn't mitigate the pain and guilt I feel about Daniel's lost adoption, but it at least keeps my mind occupied with more positive things.  And Anya's pregnancy takes up a great deal of my thoughts and actions, too. And that is a good thing.

Nastia and I hope to go to Russia next week. I say 'hope' because we had planned to go this week, but the agency I always use to get my visa called to warn me that the Russian Consulate is being 'very stingy' with travel visas for Americans as of late. (Hmmm... I wonder why, Mr. Putin...) They advised me not to buy my airline tickets yet, because there was an actual possibility the consulate wouldn't grant me a visa at all. Can you believe that? I've been to Russia 9 times these past 8 years and I've never been told this before. I refuse to get rattled by it, because there is honestly nothing I can do. Once again, patience and faith is all I can rest on.

We are going because the trip is overdue -- Anya is not doing well, and is desperate to see us (and we, her). Yes, it would make more sense for me to go alone, but Nastia is beside herself with longing  for her sister and says she would rather risk failing school than miss out on seeing Anya. She is twenty now, so what is my recourse? We go and hope for the best.

So, Nastia and I are at least being as proactive as possible: all our bags are packed. Completely packed. We have one giant bag for Anya and the baby's things, another for orphanage kids and Daniel, and then our things are all going in backpacks. We've opted to bring just two changes of clothing for the whole trip so that all our baggage allotments can go to needed items for Anya and the orphanage. 

My plan for the trip is to cater to Anya as much as possible, find an apartment for her, pay her medical bills and get everything she needs for the baby. I'll also travel for two days to Prokopyevsk and see Daniel for the first time in two years, and meet with many of the kids from the orphanage. I'll likely make my 'home base' at the home of one of the caretakers that I trust, as the new Director at the orphanage has not proven to be very trustworthy. There is a caretaker whom I have known for 8 years and who loves Nastia and was her primary caretaker. She has been an amazing steward of any money I give her and puts the children first. I plan to arrange with her, and Nadezhda (the former director) to help me help the children. I may not be allowed to visit the orphanage itself, but Nastia can. But most importantly, Daniel can visit me at the caretaker's house, or Nadezhda's, if needed. And both women have offered to help me help him in any way they can. 

I will also be meeting with five of the girls I have kept in touch with who aged out of the orphanage last year.  A few friends have been faithful about sending them small funds of money each month, and that has made the difference between eating and not eating for three of them. I hope to meet with them, and others, to see how I can further help them.

Well, that's about it for now. I'll post more when I learn my travel dates. Hopefully by June 7th, so I can stay there for a full ten days. On June 27th, M comes back (God willing) for hosting, and my summer Shakespeare program begins.  Keep us in your prayers. God bless.

Anya's Pregnancy

Anya with her neighbor's baby.

There is much to update about Anya and her pregnancy, so I'm trying to discipline myself to write even though I'm still having significant 'procrastinational' tendencies with regards to blogging. 

I received a message from the girls' distance cousin, Oksana, whom Anya often stays with. She wrote to tell me that Anya has been told to be on bedrest for the time being, so she will be staying with Oksana for the foreseeable future. Oksana reports that she has taken Anya to the govt offices to try to secure her a permanent home. I don't know much about assistance for someone like Anya after age 21, but I have heard that - now that she is pregnant - the govt will work a little more diligently to get her a roof over her head. Oksana also asked if I could send funds to buy Anya a bed, as she cannot fit on the fold-out one I bought her a few years back; she's gained that much weight with this baby!

I'm anxious to get over there and see how she is doing for myself. Anya has never been very forthcoming about her needs, mostly due to pride, but I'm hopeful she'll accept more help than she usually does, for the baby's sake.

I hadn't thought of how difficult it is going to be for her caring for a baby on her own, until Nastia asked for help creating an online baby registry. Suddenly, the significance of this situation came into sharp focus, and I felt completely overwhelmed at what lies ahead. Anya is not emotionally equipped to care for a child, so let's hope she learns quickly and will listen to advice.

Anya went back to the doctor for an ultrasound after I begged and sent her money to do so. She found out she is having a girl and that she is due closer to the middle of August (about the 15th). If we were wealthy, I'd go rent an apartment there again for several months, to support Anya - but aside from money issues, there are others, and so I can only visit this month and hope I'll get back to meet the baby within a year. Nastia has already told me she plans to sell all her artwork when we get back in June so that she can go back and stay for a month or more. Although I am strongly opposed, she keeps reminding me that she is an adult now and that I can't really dictate what she does. I wish there were a sliding scale for the onset of adulthood - I'd push Nastia's up to 25, just to be safe!

I'll post the link to Nastia's online baby shower, in case any of you want to participate. Oksana gave me an address that items can be sent to for Anya in Kemerovo, but the address doesn't make sense and I have to have some Russian friends take a look at it before I share it.

If you are the praying kind like me, please take some time to pray for Anya - her wisdom and peace through this challenging time. Pray too for the baby who will be here far too soon, and for her resiliency and health. I'm cautiously optimistic that good things will come of this. I've seen God turn outrageously challenging situations into something incredibly beautiful. I'm trusting that this will be one of those!

RAD is Not a Life Sentence, Part 2

Yesterday I sat in my car and watched my daughter's tennis practice. She's on the tennis team for her high school; it's her second year on the team. Normally I just drop her off and pick her up two hours later, but this time I stayed. And what I saw amazed me.

Just a few years ago my daughter could not have handled something as seemingly normal as a sports practice. I know, because she tried. But love, real love, has a way of breaking down the walls around our hearts, however impenetrable they may seem. The slow, hard work of helping my daughter learn love has paid off. In many ways she seems whole in ways I never thought possible for her. Sure, there are setbacks, but, all in all, her heart is strong and brave and willing to be open now. Yes, it took a good eight loooong years, but there is no deadline set by Love. 

And so, I watched my daughter play yesterday. And laugh. And get cheered on by fellow players. I watched her miss a few lobs but not hang her head in shame. I watched her loudly support her teammates with words of encouragement. I watched her look to her coach for feedback. 

I watched her immersed in the present moment, working so hard. 

And smiling all the while. 

This is something I could not have envisioned for my daughter when she came home. And here I was, watching her sweet smile break into a laugh over and over again. I watched other girls enjoy her company. I watched her take losses gracefully and I watched her truly truly, deeply and completely enjoy herself. 

Don't let anyone tell you that healing from the worst of traumas is not possible. Don't let fear tell you it cant be done. It can. Be patient. And be vigilant about love - deep, deep 'active' love. Find ways to love that defy logic. Sometimes Love requires us to put aside ourselves for long periods of time, to completely and totally give all we have to another human being. Love doesn't promise 'it will all work out in the end' if we do. It just whispers: 

'Shhh.....watch.' 

A seed takes infinitely long to sprout and grow into a tree, especially if you are worried every minute about its growth. But if you love the seed and do everything you can to support its potential for growth, and wait, and wait......

Why then, one day there is a tree in your midst!

I watched my daughter's golden hair, buoyant in the air as she played the court. I watched her eyes focused. I watched her smile - oh that smile - light up two courts and a parking lot full of cars for two hours. I watched the gentle rain hit her face. I watched her heart singing - singing! - with each swing of her racket.

Score? Love.

And The World Spins Madly On...

Me with one of my dearest friends, Alex,
at Southwark Catherdral in London last week.

A Weepies song keeps playing in my head over and over today. The title of this post comes from that song. I think its stuck in my head because I've heard from a friend who also had a failed adoption from the Prokopyevsk area this past year, and her little boy is not faring well. I think of Daniel every day, but, if I'm honest, the pain of loss is sometimes so gut-wrenching, I actually push thoughts of him away more often than not. And for that I'm sad - my heart has certainly changed from all these losses.

And yet, in the midst of the sadness, there are always pockets of light. I think that's why I love Shakespeare so much; he knew that in the midst of deepest grief comes laughter, and in the whirl of maddening joy, comes tears. Always.

Always. 

And so, lately, despite my heartsickness, I keep experiencing these strange moments of euphoria and bliss that I cannot understand or articulate. 'This is what it must feel like to be insane...' I thought the other day. My mom says to see it as a gift from God, a well-earned reprieve from a life too often illuminated with pain - 'enjoy it',  she offers. But I don't think God goes around balancing things out for everyone. If He did, the world would seem a much fairer place. Rather, I think it is some strange neurological occurrence, maybe brought on by a hormonal imbalance or something. I've researched the hell out of it with no real answers. But, I'm trying to take my mom's advice anyway and just enjoy it for what it is and be grateful.

Life is overflowing with responsibilities, booked schedules, taxiing Nastia here and there to tennis and ortho appts and the like, getting ready for my very full summer schedule, hiring staff, editing scripts, retweaking curriculum.  Spare minutes are used up by walking dogs, feeding foster kitties, packing lunches, and folding clothes. It's never ending, isn't it? And yet there is a great beauty in the mundane. Some of my favorite moments come when I am washing a dish, cleaning a litterbox, watering a flowering lily on my windowsill. It's like our breath. Each near-silent breath in, and out, is fraught with significance. If we are present in each moment,  the curtain parts....God shows his face. 

I just got back from two weeks in England. To say it was life-changing sounds overly dramatic but, in fact, doesn't even come close to defining what we experienced. It was a gift emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Twelves whole days with twenty people I love and adore. To call them my students seems hardly accurate either. Twenty young kindred spirits. We had the time of our lives, and I'll be reliving the moments of this trip for years to come. Perhaps I'll come here and write about it soon, but no today.

I'm still wary to post anything about adoption goings-on here. It hasn't paid off in the past. I will say that, God-wiling, Daniela will be here for summer hosting in 8 weeks and my heart leaps out of my chest just thinking about it! I will say that Nastia and I will be heading to Siberia at the end of this month to see Anya and Daniel. Lots of planning to do for that.  And I will say that I still trust that Love will win in the end. Love wins, even when it looks like Love has been not only squashed and beaten, but bloody well murdered. Be comforted - He hasn't. Love wins, my friends. 

Love always, always wins!