Monday, November 26, 2012

The Coming of Light

I haven't been sleeping well.  

Three baby boys have been keeping me awake.  The first, my own son in a care center in Addis Ababa, the second, a dear friend's baby boy who was recently in an induced coma very far away, the third, a tiny baby boy named Zemene (we are his FIG, family in the gap) stuck for political reasons in an orphanage in Awassa, Ethiopia. 

Please give us a court date....
Please let him live...
Please change policy, please give him a family...

If you could open my heart, and read my desires the way you chop a tree and tell it's age by counting the rings, these would be the mantras/prayers/thoughts/pleas encrypted deeply in the chambers. 

We decorated our home early for Christmas this year because we're hopeful we'll be in Ethiopia over the holidays, and we want Kysa to experience Christmas.  The twinkle lights, the candles, the box of nostalgic decorations and the busy-ness of it all served as a respite.  

I framed a photo of Zemene on my desk, and I placed a little African angel on Baby W's photo on our mantle. St Lucia, the Swedish saint who wears candles in her hair bringing light to the darkest night of winter, sits next to Baby W's photo.  These small symbolic gestures seem so anemic when my arms ache for my son. Yet, the embodied images of saints and angels and tiny lights in our home, casting their glow against the darkness, gives me hope.

I am acutely aware of the surreal state my family is in right now. A beautiful and horrific limbo of seeing and knowing our son's face but not being able to hold him or know him. The ache in my heart is palpable, but what a privilege to feel and experience such love and pain. It is a beautiful and horrific process feeling our hearts being broken wide open, only to be repaired with more space, more capacity, more love and light. 


There is something poetically beautiful and equally horrid about being with your little child at 3 in the morning in a hospital room, listening to his little breath, and watching numbers shift on a monitor. 

....from darkness to light. 


After tossing and turning last night, when I couldn't stand another minute of my loud pleading thoughts, I finally flipped open my laptop and checked my email at 4am.  Against the darkness of my bedroom, with my family sleeping soundly next to me, the glow of my laptop offered up a photo of my friend's son sitting up in his hospital bed, with a big grin and the sock monkey I gave him last year at the beach. 

...from darkness to light. 

There was so much relief in seeing that precious boy's face, and the sweet reward was sleep. 

So much gratitude, so much relief. 
And today I'll celebrate that light.

But, Zemene is still stuck in an orphanage, unable to be matched to a forever family.
And I really miss my son.  

...the light is coming. even this late it happens.

The Coming of Light

By Mark Strand

Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light. 
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves, 
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows, 
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine 
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.




Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Thankfully unexpected...

After the last few emotionally draining days, it's time for a bit of hope and celebration. Our family is looking forward to a week of giving thanks. We have so much to be thankful for.

We're also obsessively checking our email for a court date...

The night we received Baby W's referral we decided to celebrate, and we went to the Abyssinia Restaurant here in Raleigh for dinner. It's a traditional Ethiopian restaurant and we were excited to eat food we love and celebrate the end of our long wait for a referral. Because we had decided to keep the referral from friends and family until we had officially accepted Baby W's referral, I was dying to show his picture to someone! I was so in love with his little face already, so I showed his photo to our Ethiopian waitress...

her surprised response: "He's from Ethiopia?" (strange look)
me: Yes, Gambella (with proud, puffed up mama pride)
waitress: I see. Beautiful boy, but he doesn't look Ethiopian. (strange look)

I mention this only to give you an idea of our interesting adoption situation.  We've spent the last two years celebrating/learning/absorbing all things Ethiopian and then we find out we're matched with a beautiful baby boy who belongs to an ethnic group persecuted by many Ethiopians. Um, hello mind flip.

Baby W, based on his name and where he is from, is believed to be from the Anuak tribe. We look forward to confirming this when we meet his birth father. The Anuak are river people whose villages lie along the banks of southeastern South Sudan and western Ethiopia, in the Gambela region. The tribesmen are primarily farmers and herdsmen. When you research Anuak history, basically all you'll find are recent reports of genocide and persecution from the other ethnicities in Ethiopia and the Ethiopian government. Genocide Watch placed the Anuak tribe on the emergency list of ongoing genocides in the world.  There are only 300,000 to 350,000 Anuak in the world, making the Anuak an endangered people. Sadly, the Anuak people are also looked down on by other Ethiopians because of the dark color of their skin.

I wish I could post a picture of Baby W's face and skin...he's gorgeous. I mean, he's stunning. Seriously.

Are you hearing the conflict rattle around in my head? That grinding sound is the recalibrating of two years of waiting for an Ethiopian baby and finding out we're going to be the parents of a child whose family and tribe has RECENTLY been persecuted by Ethiopians. 

I had imagined raising my son listening to Ethiopian music in the kitchen while we cook dinner from any of the Marcus Samuelsson cookbooks blending our Swedish/American/Ethiopian heritage, celebrating Ethiopian holidays with our Ethiopian adoption community, I plan on buying him Ethiopian soccer jerseys for every stage of his young life, birthday cakes with green, yellow and red frosting with tiny Ethiopian flags, baby pictures in traditional Ethiopian garb, the space over our mantle is reserved for a piece of Ethiopian art I plan on buying on our upcoming travels...AND we plan on frequenting that local Ethiopian restaurant, the one where the Ethiopian waitress said he didn't look ETHIOPIAN!! 

But he IS Ethiopian, damn it. And quite honestly, we're still going to do these things, but they are certainly going to feel strangely inauthentic until we can figure out a way to embody them respectfully for Baby W and his birth family and tribe. And while I'm making this personal about my family and Baby W, let's also not loose sight of digesting the horrific facts of genocide, and why haven't we heard about it, and why aren't we doing something to stop it. Whether or not to decorate my home with Ethiopian art is not the big question here, though it is the way I'm shamefully processing it.

Suddenly our adoption doesn't feel so Ethiopian anymore. I feel like we've stepped even further off the beaten trail than we anticipated. But please don't get me wrong, this is not a bad thing at all.  Baby W is truly a rare treasure who we plan to celebrate every day. We hold the responsibility of understanding, cherishing and preserving his culture to be a great one, even greater than before. And while our job just got more difficult, it excites and ignites us. It also makes me chuckle at the reminder that Fredrik and I always seem to find ourselves as fringe dwellers, often by our own choosing, but certainly a consistent place for both of us since we were kids. Honestly, we'd have it no other way.  Fredrik and I both grew up feeling like outsiders, but over the years we found each other and have built a loving community of radical truth seekers, community organizers, global entrepreneurs, adventurers, and artists who we consider chosen family and who will embrace Baby W. 

Currently, we anticipate being able to meet Baby W's birth father when we travel to Addis Ababa in (HOPEFULLY!!) a few weeks. We have seriously looked into traveling to Gambella because we really want to see where Baby W is from and try to get a better understanding of his tribe.  Unfortunately, the local Ethiopian staff in Addis don't recommend travel to that region. I'm super disappointed about that, but respect the opinions of the IAN local staff.  But if their opinion should change we'll be heading to Gambella.

So Baby W...are you ready for us? You are not only going to be celebrated for the handsome and rare gem you are as an Anuak, but we're going to celebrate Ethiopia, the country where you were born, and we're going to celebrate Sweden where your dad was born, and where you will have family and dual Swedish and American citizenship, AND somehow we'll find a way to wave your American flag too. We speak English and Swedish in this house and sing in sanskrit. We celebrate many religions, but One Love. We love animals, but don't eat them. We dance in the kitchen, act out stories in bed, and write silly songs about arugula on long car trips. We are a family who celebrates uniqueness and flying your freak flag high (not that you are a freak, son...just speaking for the rest of us). If the four of us need to have our own Anuak/Ethiopian/Swedish/American pride parade through our neighborhood we'll do just that!! If ever there was a community ready to embrace you and us in all our uniqueness and complexity, it's the one we're cultivating here in the purple house on Elm St, and our community around the world at large.  

I look forward to this challenge of digging deeply to help Baby W honor, love, preserve and understand his heritage. Thanks Universe. You know I usually take the path less traveled, and that has made all the difference. 



Monday, November 19, 2012

One step closer

Baby W's father showed up for court this morning and relinquished him.
We're one step closer, but I feel like I've been hit by a Mack Truck. 
It really looks like that little boy with the mega-wat smile will be our son. For that news I'm thankful, but in the meantime my heart is breaking for his birth family.

This is so hard, so unbelievably hard.

Shanti, Shanti, Shanti-hi
May there be peace, peace, and perfect peace

Friday, November 16, 2012

If it be your will...

Today Baby W's birth father travels to Addis Ababa from his home in Gambela. He is scheduled to attend court on Monday and give up rights to his son.

I really know nothing about Baby W's birth father other than his name, where he is from, and the fact his beautiful boy with a brilliant mega-wat smile may soon be our son.  I can't begin to describe what it feels like to have such a connection to a person you've never met.

I know what Baby W's name means, I know the beautiful jewelry he wears, and I know without a doubt how much he is loved by his birth family.  I know if he is relinquished, it is an act of selfless love  beyond what my heart can understand.

I doubt Baby W's father has ever been on an airplane, or stayed in a hotel, or even been to a large city. I imagine him traveling alone, completely overwhelmed, walking the streets of Addis Ababa with the burden of the world on his shoulders.

I don't really have words to describe my thoughts, they are beyond complicated. My heart is in my throat and my prayer is not what I would have expected when we began this process over two years ago.

If it be your will. If it be your will. If it be your will...

I simply cannot pray for Baby W's father to give him up, but I will pray for his father's safety and comfort, and for his heart to find peace with whatever decision he makes. I pray if he does choose to relinquish Baby W that he can sense our presence in Baby W's life and the great love we have for both of them.

this is what will be playing on repeat this weekend:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MDlMdu2gjw

*right before publishing this post, we learned Baby W's birth father missed his flight. There is another flight out on Sunday.  Baby W's court appointment is Monday morning in Addis Ababa which will be sometime in the middle of the night for us.  Before you go to sleep on Sunday night, or if you're awake in the wee hours Monday morning, perhaps you can join us in sending Baby W's birth father peace, love and light.

If it be your will...