Sisters Reunited!

Greetings Friends and Family! Nastia, my brother and I have just returned to Moscow from Siberia after an entire week with my soon-to-be daughter #2 (and Nastia's sister!)...Anya.

Anya is the sweetest thing. She and her sister were inseperable - literally - the entire time. The first few days in Moscow & Siberia were stressful, because of the tv crew following them everywhere. The girls hated it and did their best to wreak havoc on the cameramen & tv journalists, including blowing into the microphones they had to wear. One poor cameraman was constantly in agony because the the feedback into his earphones!

Nast & Anya also played 'hide & seek' from the camera crew, trying to get a few moments of alone time. That finally came on Tuesday morning when the crew left and we had Anya all to ourselves for four whole days. With Uncle Dan's influence (and open wallet) she had a swift introduction into the world of consumerism. Like Nastia during her first time out of the orphanage, Anya ate anything she could get her hands on. The first day she devoured $20 worth of sausages in one sitting and then wanted to go out for ice cream! (and $20 goes a looong way in Siberia!)

She was very shy at first, but did warm up to us after a few days and was calling me 'Mama Keri' after only a few hours. She is VERY small for 14, and looks more like a younger sister to Nastia when you see her in person. It is hard for her to make eye contact, but we worked on that. She loves her sister fiercely, and they two of them kept Dan and I very busy with their wild antics around the hotel. It will be quite a while before Kemerovo forgets our visit! (For those who have been to Russia, you KNOW how many baboushkas yelled at us for their behavior!) Because of all the media coverage, the girls were 'famous' for awhile, and people would stare, or stop us in the street to say they had watched us on the news. THe girls both found this more iritating than welcoming.

Aside from visiting Anya's orphanage, I was fortunate enough to be invited to visit one of the local baby orphanages in the city. Nothing could prepare you for such an experience. I was able to sneak off from my 'guide' at one point, and wander through some rooms on my own. I was speechless to see rows of cribs with babies rocking themselves, in silence. Children with down syndome, CP, cleft palate, and other special needs were all hidden away in here. I had heard about these 'lying' rooms, but couldnt imagine that they really were as silent as those documentaries has reported.

This is one of 22 orphanages in Kemerovo City alone, and it was home to over 100 children ages 0- 4 years. The doctor who runs the home was very kind & I could see that they were trying to do their best with what they have. But to leave dozens of children alone, tied to their cribs, because of their 'special needs'? I nearly vomited when I stepped into that room.

Later, I was able to spend time with several children in the general population and it really was a blessing even just to be able to make them laugh or smile. One little boy, Cyril, grabbed my finger and would not let go. He just held on and stared at me with huge brown eyes. I have some great photos of him.I was able to bring LOTS of brand new socks & toys for the children here & hope to find a way to send more when I get home.

We also made the 3 1/2 hour trip to Nastia's former orphanage. I am so glad we did. The welcome we received was remarkable. The entire staff swarmed Nastia, tears in their eyes, hugging her and telling her how healthy she looked. They didnt get back to work for at least 45 minutes, while they prodded her with questions about her new life. It was a very good experience for Nastia to return there. She left with an understanding that although they had nothing materially speaking while living there, they were truly loved by these people. The director said over & over that she was 'shocked' we came back.

'No one ever comes back.' she said in Russian.

She said she could not express how grateful she was to see one of her children again. We stayed for the day and visited Nastia's friends, walked up into the village, and even had tea with her favorite caretaker in her tiny cottage. Katya Ivanovna, the caretaker, wept the entire time, until we had her laughing about the flood she was likely to cause in her room. Leaving was difficult, and several kids, once again, begged us to find parents for them.

'There have been no more adoptions here since you and the other three families left.' the director told us. As we drove away, we watched a huddle of teenage girls sobbing behind us, yelling in English 'No forget us.'

There is so much more to tell, but I only have a few more minutes left on this computer. Please forgive any spelling errors...the keyboard is in cyrillic so it is VERY confusing to type. Hope all is well with all of you. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers!

PS: For those of you who donated socks & gifts, here is where they ended up: 60 pairs of socks,and dozens of beanie babies to the Kemerovo Baby Home #1, 400 prs of socks & about 2 dozen beanie babies to Kemerovo Orphanage #2 (Anya's orphanage), which houses 450 kids. About 50 pr of socks went to Prokopyevsk Children's Home #5 (Nastia's former orphanage), the remainder went to a special rehabilitative orphanage for unadoptable children, many of whom have severe physical or mental disabilities. So, there are literally hundreds of children across Siberia enjoying the fruits of your labour. Thank you!

Shhh...Can You Hear Them?

Sometimes life is so bittersweet, you wonder if you are strong enough to let it in.This morning I feel like that.

I awoke at four in the morning, restless, and whirling the previous day around over and over in my head. I turn to see my sweet little girl sleeping, a needed break from the pain of yesterday. It had been such a dark and unforgiving day for her, and she had spent hours, heartsick, crying in my lap, her little body wound up like a ball of string, as tightly as she could.

And so, at four in the morning, I watched her inbreath and outbreath and thought of all the thousands of times she was sad before she came home to me, and how there was no one, all these years, to wrap her in their arms and hold her. There was no one to kiss her forehead and pretty cheeks. There was no one to breathe in the sweet smell of her breath while she wept inconsolably. This is a pain I cannot articulate for you -- this thinking of my daughter all alone. I can't even go there very often in my thoughts, because I think it will break me.

Why do we live in a world where children, so many children, have no comforters, no solace-bringers, no loving fingers to wipe the tears, no mamas and papas or aunts or grandmas to gather them up in their comforting arms and tell them everything is ok? I wish I had a hundred thousand arms, I wish my lap could hold a hundred million little souls, I wish my voice could sooth the ones who sleep in the sewers beneath Moscow, or in the brothels of Cambodia, or the languid street corners of Haiti, Africa, India.

Every night I send out a message to these children. Every night I tell them someone is thinking of them and loves them. I sing it as sweetly as I can, hoping their hearts will catch it on the wind. I sing until my throat is hoarse. I sing when I want to weep. I hope they hear.

We need to do more. We need to not only wish to do more and hope to do more, but we need to shake off our complacency or fear or indifference or whatever it is that keeps us from actually doing something, and we need to do it.

It's morning now. My girl awakes and there is a mother there, taking her in and loving her every move, her every freckle. Each breath.

My dream is for every child of the world to wake this way. Loved. Delighted in.

Known.

Blini, Pelemeni, and Borscht...Oh My!

blini

Nast has an exhibition at her school tomorrow evening. She goes to a charter school, and part of the grading process is to participate in a school-wide exhibition. It's more like organized chaos, but still fun. Nastia is so darn excited about this, it's simply adorable. For the past few months everyone in her class has been studying a particular country and its culture. She chose Russia, of course. So tomorrow she gets to share all she's learned with parents& friends. One of the requirements is to make food item that represents the country you are studying. She has been struggling with what to make. I think it feels like a bigger deal to her because she is Russian and she wants to give her classmates a good impression of her homeland.

borscht

So for weeks she has been talking about blini,pelmeni and borscht. We've had cabbage blini and potato pelmini for dinner about ten times this month. Fine with me, I love the stuff. She thought of making borscht or even blini, but she finally settled on making cookies, since that is what most of her classmates are doing.

So, tonight we are baking 'pechenye domachni' which translates into something like 'home crackers'. Lol...sounds soooo appetizing.Lots of sugar, eggs, vanilla. We'll fatten up those 6th graders yet. Here is what they look like:

Today we also received something very special in the mail -- a dvd of her sister in Siberia. It was footage of her being interviewed by the searcher that found her for us. Nast watched the whole thing absolutely transfixed.

'Mama, she have my hair...' she murmured as she watched it.

And then 'Ooh, mama, me think she have my eyes, too!'

Imagining seeing your sister after a decade? Imagine hearing her voice for the first time? It was like God dropped an answer to prayer in her lap. I was as transfixed watching her watch the video, as she was watching her sister.

You could tell alot more about her sister from this dvd than from all the photos we received back in December. First, she is utterly adorable. She has dimples, those signature Siberian eyes (they turn up at the outside corners) and the sweetest most gentle voice. And she plays piano!

We head over to Siberia in late April to meet her for the first time. I don't know how I'll keep it together til then...waiting to see them embrace for the first time in ten years. I just cant wait to see them walking side by side. They have missed so much, being apart. Time to make up for that. Hoping against hope I can adopt her. Please pray.

Grief

I am writing this stream-of-consciousness. It is two weeks since my dad died. I'm just trying to work out my grief. Please be understanding.

In the realm of dreams I am dreaming of you, a place, a kind of vain exercise, if you ask me.

I am dying inside, I know it and there is nothing really I can do except sit and wait. The weight of these sad times we must obey. Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. There is a silence so pure it thrills the life right out of my bones, but I do not know where to find it. There is a peck peck pecking going on at the door of my soul. Who to let in? Who to push out?

My father died last night. Well, actually days, weeks ago, but it feels perpetually like last night. I wonder where he is and what he is doing and it feels so wrong and so final that he is gone. I wonder if he watches me here typing away. I wish to be like him, but I am not in the ways I would wish. What happened to my writing passion, what happened to my burning desire to speak to this world? It is like I am dumb and blind; it is like I don't care, and part of me doesn't. I want to scream and tear myself into two parts and be eaten by birds, and have them fly up to heaven to see my father. How the hell does God expect us to accept death? Mine, I'm fine with…but my father? How could you? 'How could you, God?' That's what I really want to say everyday for the past two weeks….how could you?

I wish I were half as alive as my dad was on his worst days. He was always exploding with life, a light permanently on, and here I struggle to even wake up mornings. Why is that? What is my legacy? What heritage? I am leaden inside, and grieving pools of black liquid flow behind me as I walk.