Arrival

Tues Oct 15

As I write this on Tuesday evening, there is a baby screaming down the hall crying with angry, fearful cries. I imagine the child has been recently adopted and maybe this is the first night with the new family, and they are bonding, I mean, surviving. Simultaneously, two cats are screaming right below my window, also working on survival. I can hear the Muslim call to prayer in the distance, dogs barking, roosters crowing and there's that familiar but not very pleasant smell that periodically comes from the drain in the bathroom. Maybe it's that I'm still getting used to time away from the volume and chaos of my own home, but these sounds and smells make me smile with nostalgia for my time here with my family. I'm glad I have ear plugs, headphones, and some good smelling essential oils too.

My flight landed at 6am, ET time. As I stood waiting for my visa, I hear women talking about adoption behind me. I was feeling too tired to contribute to the conversation until I heard one woman say, "actually, I am not here to adopt, I work for an agency out of Colorado." Our adoption agency we used for Wynray is Colorado based, so I whipped around and asked, "are you Tami?" and she replied, "are you the person taking medicine to the baby in Awassa?"…and there you have it, folks. Small world. Tami is relatively new to the adoption agency, and had actually taken over our family's casework after our adoption coordinator changed jobs and left the agency. Tami and I chatted as we waited to get through customs and baggage claim, and then I offered her a ride with Fekadu because we were both staying at the Addis View Hotel. 

And as small world stories go, as we are packing luggage into Fekadu's car, in the chaos of the Bole International Airport parking lot, Yared, the Ethiopian director of our adoption agency walks up recognizing me looking for Tami, the new employee he has never met in person. Within minutes of being off the plane I was surrounded by familiar faces, voices, and friends.

After unpacking a bit, Fekadu and I headed down to the outdoor Addis View cafe. It was like a reunion. Hugs from the manager, wait staff, drivers, front desk girls all asking about my family. I proudly showed photos on my phone. And then, it was time for my long awaited macchiato. The BEST. Tami joined us and I was able to ask lots of questions about the state of adoption in Ethiopia as well as the adoption agency in general. I was very grateful for the face time with Tami and after speaking with her I remain hopeful for the future of adoption in Ethiopia. I have certainly had my concerns.

After our time with Tami, Fekadu and I went to Lucy's for lunch. Today was a Muslim holiday and most everything was closed which meant no shopping. I had hoped shopping would keep me active through the afternoon to help get me on ET time, but I gave in to a nap around 2:00. Internet has been down here for several days so I had given up on talking with my family, but Fredrik surprised me with a call on the hotel phone, probably costing a fortune but giving us both peace of mind as I leave tomorrow for Gambella and opportunities for communication will be few. 

Soon, after I make some notes on questions I want to ask Wynray's birth family, I will take a little sleeping pill and go to bed. I have a terrible track record for insomnia in Ethiopia, so let's hope some good sleep is in my future. I think I'm going to need it.

Hootie and Tootsie

Tuesday 10/15

Hootsie and Tootsie are two owls named by Kysa. Hootsie is being worn on a necklace around her neck, Toostie around mine. We've vowed to wear them close to our hearts during our time apart, and if we're missing each other we'll just touch the owl and know we're thinking about each other. Fredrik sent me a text saying when Kysa woke Monday morning she immediately remembered I was gone, and her first words were, "I need to hold my owl, Papa." 

It took until I arrived at the departure gate for the lump in my throat to soften. Seeing all the beautiful Ethiopian families reminded me of the country I fell in love with months before, and I began to breathe a little easier, even though I was feeling oddly unbalanced minus the physical and mental weight of needing to constantly hold or track two small children. I couldn't shake the sensation I was leaving something or someone. Apparently, like a phantom limb, you can't just turn off your mommy senses when your kids aren't there to need them. 

I plopped down on the floor near the gate. It was a full flight and all the seats in the waiting area were taken. Several men jumped up to offer me their seats, which is so charmingly Ethiopian. I politely refused preferring to stretch a bit before the long flight. Before I had a chance to start missing my kids again, or obsessively start checking my bag one last time for my passport, chapstick, or whatever object I wanted to momentarily freak out about, a little Ethiopian girl about Kysa's age approached me with twinkling and curious eyes wanting to touch my owl necklace. Well played, Universe…well played.

The flight was graciously uneventful. I read parenting books and watched movies, still not processing the surreal fact I was headed to Ethiopia alone. It's not even the going to Ethiopia part that seems strange to me, but the alone part was taking some getting used to. I've spent the last three years aligning myself physically, mentally, and emotionally to my children for almost every moment of every day. To be only responsible for only me felt unsettling and unbalanced, especially knowing my husband's responsibility had doubled and he was most likely reeling too.

One of the movies I watched on the plane was Eat, Pray, Love. I usually don't like to watch movies more than once, and I'm not a big chick flick fan, so it was an odd choice for me. But Ketut's parting words to Liz were intended for my ears on that flight, I have no doubt:

(read it with an Indonesian accent, sounding a bit like Yoda for fullest effect) 

To loose balance for Love is part of living balance in Life. 

Here's to loosing balance for Love. 

The journey begins.

Two weeks from now

Two weeks from now, I will have already gotten up in the middle of the night, kissed my sleeping family goodbye and boarded a plane to Ethiopia. I am equal parts excited about going and anxious about leaving my family. I'll either be the passenger skipping up and down the aisle or crying in the bathroom, quite possibly both.

So, what am I doing and why am I going, you ask?

My reasons for going are complicated and deeply personal. I am going to Ethiopia for my family, both for my family in the Unites States, and my family in Ethiopia. The second part of that sentence is complicated, more complicated than I can express right now. I'm going to Ethiopia to seek clarity. Someday soon I hope to tell you a love story...

I'm also going to do research, to learn, to be present, to ask "how can I help?"instead of "I think you need this." I"m going to witness, listen, connect and love. I'm really not sure exactly what I"ll be doing, but I trust that if I'm really able to just go and BE, the doing will be revealed.

The first leg of the trip I'm traveling to Gambella to visit Wynray's birth family. When we made our two trips to Ethiopia for Wynray's adoption, we asked our agency several times about going to visit the region Wynray was born. We were told the region wasn't stable and so remote that they didn't want to take responsibility for us traveling there. We also asked Fekadu, our good friend and driver, if he would take us there and he said, "absolutely, no."

We were very disappointed we couldn't visit Gambella when we were in-country, but our adoption agency flew Wynray's birth dad to meet us in Addis Ababa, and it was enough to satisfy us for that trip. Once we got home, we couldn't stop thinking about his birth dad who asked us to pray for peace for his tribe. We knew many Anuak familes were being driven off their land by corporate land grabbing, and we were scared we might loose contact with them. So we hired our friend and driver, Fekadu, to go find and visit them, and to remain our contact with them.

With only a photo, a name and a random phone number to a phone no one ever answered, Fekadu found Wynray's birth dad walking on the side of the road. From this meeting we were able to see photos of Wynray's small extended family, the hut/home where he was born, we saw Wynray's birth mom's grave site, their not very clean water source, and we were introduced to Aguwa.

We sent Fekadu back to visit the family later this past spring with photos of our family. We learned Wynray's birth dad was away working in another part of the region and Aguwa was home alone. These are the photos we received from that trip:

These photos take my breath away every time I look at them.

I was so moved by the photos, I jokingly asked Fekdau if he was SURE he wouldn't take me. This time the answer changed. Fekadu had been spending lots of time in Gambella doing similar work for other adoptive families and his perception of the region had changed. We had spent several days and had experienced a wide variety of adventures with Fekadu in our travels to Ethiopia, so I trusted him completely and knew he wouldn't take me anywhere that isn't safe.

Note I said safe. Not comfortable.

While I am certainly hoping to see Wynray's birth dad, (Yes, I'm literally making a house call on the other side of the planet, to one of the most remote places in the world, and I'm not 100% sure they know I'm coming...) I'm making this pilgrimage to meet Wynray's great grandmother, Aguwa. We are told Aguwa is in her 90's, she was the midwife present for Wynray's birth, and she is the person responsible for the beaded bracelets and necklace he was wearing when we met him. Aguwa loves Wynray, and I need to meet her so I can personally tell Wynray about her someday.

There's a lot I want to explain about my trip to visit Wynray's birth family. There are many details about his tribe, the Ethiopian government, corporate greed, and my own personal hopes and intentions I'd like to share and bring to light. I promise I'll return to discuss these things soon.

Around the time we got the photos of Aguwa, a trip to Awassa and the Ajuuja orphanage was being organized by some precious friends through the group Project Hopeful Awassa. Like I said earlier, someday soon I hope to tell you a love story, but for now I can say there was no doubt in our minds that I NEEDED to go on the trip.

Remember when Fredrik and I visited our sponsored child in Awassa, and YOU gave us lots of money and we bought tons of supplies? Yep, that place. THAT's the place I'm going, and I'm so thrilled to return to Ajuuja and to people who have stayed so close to my heart all these months.

I can't wait to reveal more contents of my heart and details of my trip. I can't wait to share my experiences with you. The precious real estate of my luggage is already being taken up with cloth diapers, bumbos, gifts to birth families, and wedding dresses (what?!!) to help a friend set up a small business venture..

...but I would like to ask for your help.

That's right, YOU.

We understand the Ajuuja orphanage is even more crowded than it was when we visited in January. There are MANY precious little babies there, and if you remember from our previous posts and trip, *most of these children are STUCK because the region is not allowing adoptions right now.

The orphanage directors have specifically asked for more formula and I'd love to bless them with as much formula as possible. I'd love to stock those shelves FULL. Would you please consider donating money that will DIRECTLY go to buying formula to some babies in serious need of nutrition?

Formula in Ethiopia is unfortunately just as expensive as it is in the US, so please don't assume a little bit of money goes a long way. This is a serious expense for an orphanage, and babies are hungry. Please consider digging deeply into your pockets. I'll be happy to share with you as much as I can about the precious babies who will be receiving the life sustaining gift of formula you'll donate.

These are the big kiddos now, but there are MANY babies in this orphanage who NEED formula.

Simply click on the link below to donate.

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=ZQ3XQG7SFJLEA

Many thanks in advance, and I CAN'T WAIT to bring you along on my grand adventure.

With much gratitude, 

Allison

**There are a few children who have been referred and are awaiting adoption from this region since we visited last but there are many who cannot be adopted internationally for various reasons. We are hopeful more children are able to find their forever homes, but because many orphanages have closed in the region Ajuuja has accepted many more children. They need our support more than ever.

Remembering to Start

12 years ago today, I watched in confusion and then horror. I drove in my car on I-40 from Chapel Hill to Raleigh fearful of the skies. I arrived in the Meredith College dance studio, my church, my temple. And we prayed as dancers do...with our bodies, quietly, on our knees with foreheads pressed to the floor, connecting to our breath.

I think we all had a difficult time finding our way back to our work, back to finding purpose, didn't we? I was just days away from heading back to Charlottesville, VA to start a new dance project. It was to be my first evening length project with hired dancers, fund raising, produced, directed and choreographed by me.

It felt so trivial, so small.
I kept asking myself: Who cares?

And then, I just did what we all did. I showed up to work. And the dancers showed up to work. And we committed to our process, and we framed questions and then we questioned the frame. We sweated, and moved even when we didn't want to, even when we felt we couldn't. We didn't wait for a spark of inspiration to ignite us, we trudged ourselves into the scary dark woods of the creative process daring inspiration to keep up with us.

We decided to shine our own lights, the divine spark of our humanity, in the only way we knew how. We danced. We let our bodies process things our hearts and minds could not. Those days were raw and hard and beautiful.

Isn't it curious how life moves in spirals?

For the last few weeks, I've worked to carve out more time to write because that seems to be my creative process now. I have some ambitions goals, but I just can't seem to work up the courage to put the thoughts crowding my brain out into the world.

The last months have been raw and hard and beautiful.
Who cares?

I had no idea twelve years ago 9/11 was also the Ethiopian New Year. I had no way of knowing twelve years ago how my children would change my life and the way I see everything.

Today I'm remembering to start again. To show up, to do the work, MY WORK, to be courageous, and to put my work out into the world.  It is my job, it is what I do.

Today I am remembering to start my journey back into the scary dark woods of the creative process. Inspiration, I dare you to keep up with me, but I'll shine my light so you can try to find me.

Who cares? I do.
And for now, that is enough.

An act of kindness, please...

"A child born to another woman calls me mommy. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me." - Jody Landers

One year ago today a woman who loved her son so much she named him "Gift from God" passed away from this world. There is only one photograph that exists of her. Her grave is unmarked. I don't know if anyone in her family will think of her today and remember her, because life just doesn't move in specific dates and times like it does here.

Today is the one year anniversary of Wynray's birth mom's passing.

Today I have been grieving for Wynray's birth mother. It has been an emotional day to say the least. I've been thinking about her last few days in this world and what she endured. I imagine how terrified she must have been, leaving her precious boy behind. Of course, Wynray has no real understanding of today (that I'm aware of. just keep reading), but it doesn't lessen the importance of what today means for this family. A year ago today, life switched tracks for Wynray. Today I am aware that a family's tragic loss gave me the most precious gift imaginable. The conflict and confusion of that statement leaves me breathless.

I have been dreading this day for months. Perhaps it is because Wynray is unaware of today's significance that the last few months have been so hard for me. Yes, I can hear the selfishness in that statement. Today shouldn't be about me, but up until just a few hours ago it was. It was about my guilt, my helplessness, my sadness and it was immobilizing. We'll get back to that realization in a minute.

Today I started the day, bearing the burden of grief alone, cloaked in sadness for a woman I've never met. Despite having never met her, I see her smile everyday on the little boy who is our son. Today I have felt the unfairness of my white privilege. Today I have been aware of how much I take for granted having access to medical care, food, shelter and water. Today I have been aware of heartbreaking injustice, poverty, and loss.

Today I felt a desperate need to remember Wynray's precious birth mother and honor her until he is able. Until this morning, I felt I needed to be grieving for both of us. Today, like most days, I feel unworthy of the gift of mothering Wynray, and I feel the need to be extra present, extra patient, extra kind. On the days when I'm not extra present, extra patient and extra kind (most days) I feel extra guilty. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in guilt because let's be honest, most days there's not enough time and energy to be extra anything.

Speaking of mothers, Wynray has been holding out on calling me mama. The fact that he can say "more banana" but not "mama" has not been lost on me. To me it is a word of honor, and I knew he would call me Mama when he was ready. So this morning, my goofy-happy son came running down the hall yelling what I thought was "Mama! Mama!" and my heart began to soar, and then I remembered the significance of today and then my heart stopped. It just felt WRONG that he'd start calling me Mama today of all days. To my momentary relief he actually had been saying "more food, Dada."

Then later this morning he climbed into my lap, got uncharacteristically still, gave me a kiss and said the word I've been longing to hear since the day I met him.
Mama.
He called me Mama.
Holy inappropriateness, Wynray! Of course then I wept, but not for the reasons I had imagined. I wept with crippling guilt, unworthiness, and sadness. I felt myself slipping down a spiral of despair and it felt bottomless.

And then that smiling boy just kept calling me Mama. And smiling, and kissing me. And it's hard to be sad when Wynray smiles or gives you a slobbery kiss. It reminded me of what we know about his birth mother. His birth father revealed to us that she had a beautiful smile and a great sense of humor. He said he missed her smile most of all. Wynray's birth mother's humor and the light she gave others lives on in our son. Wynray's smile, her smile, started chipping away at my sadness, and that's when I realized perhaps I've been approaching this grief all wrong. While it IS my job to gather as much information as I can about his family and culture, and hold that information dear in my heart, it isn't my job to grieve for Wynray. I will help share the burden when the appropriate time comes, and I will walk with him through it, but it should be his privilege to grieve his birth mother as he chooses.


Maybe Wynray finally calling me Mama today was a gift from her. Maybe it was the signal I needed to know that it's okay to feel joy, and be joyful. From what I know about her, she would want that. While I will always try to be mindful of how Wynray became a part of our family, I need to let go of the crippling guilt. It's hard to parent from a place of sadness much less initiate positive change. And I want to initiate positive change.


So here is where your help comes in. I had originally planned to observe today in private and then Wynray had to go and call me Mama, and get up in my face with that dazzling smile of his, and it changed everything. Rather than feeling helpless, sad and guilty I realized the simple act of a smile changed everything for me. I accomplish nothing to honor his birth mother's memory by crying alone in my home, feeling guilty for the privilege of being Wynray's mom, but I CAN honor her memory by asking something very small of you all.

I would like to request one act of kindness from each and every one of you in honor of Wynray's birth mom. Hug someone, tell a joke, hold a door, give someone a dazzling and beautiful smile...no kind gesture is too small, because we all know kindness is infectious. It grows and expands and it changes the world. Just like Wynray sitting and smiling in my lap today changed my entire perception of how to honor his birth mother, your smile could change a life...even if just for a second. Wynray's smile has changed mine.

Help me remember the precious woman who gave Wynray life, and his beaming smile. Shine your light. Go be kind.

In her wildest dreams...

For the last two nights I slept sandwiched between my two kids in my childhood bed, in my old room, in my parents' home.

Surreal, I tell ya.

In the wee hours, when the little bed hogs kept me awake as they claimed more of the bed, I thought of the girl who grew up in that room and the hopes and dreams she cultivated in that space. I thought of how she could have never dreamed the perfect grandness of that exact moment; sleepless and grateful, snuggled between my Swedish-American daughter and my Ethiopian son. Never in her wildest dreams could she have dreamed up my reality.

Humbled and grateful.

I'm sorry. I lied.

Two posts ago I wrote one of the really wonderful things about being an adoptive parents is NOT projecting your gifts and expectations on your child, and allowing the child to reveal the person they are meant to be.

Last night I dreamed about Wynray as a young man. We were sitting at an outdoor cafe in New York City, sipping tea and still glowing, completely blissed out from the yoga class we'd just taken together. He was dressed like a hipster, with a knit hat framing his handsome and kind face. We were discussing important arty stuff. He was happy, interesting, and completely content spending time with me. I'm sure if I'd slept longer we would gone to a museum.

...and then he invited me to be his date to the Oscars. (Okay, I didn't dream that but that would be kind of awesome too.)

Yeah, about that not projecting nonsense...