As with all good stories, eventually they must come to an end.
And only today did I notice something strange about our summer calendar. Each night we would mark a square with a black X, signaling that day's finality. There are no X's this week. It's as if no one cared for the visual reminder of our imminent separation. Maybe if we didn't mark it on the calendar, the day would never come.
But August 14 came and went. As I stood in the Dallas airport that early Wednesday morning, surrounded by the chaos, time and sound seemed to halt. My mind played a film, seemingly in fast forward, of the past six weeks. So many memories to absorb.
In the end, things just worked out. When you are too close to it, it is hard to see. Kind of like trying to pinpoint the precise moment the sun enters the sky, night giving way to day. It just happens. And by noon, nobody can deny that it did.
Alina told us she desperately wants to be a part of our family. She and Macie buried the hatchet. She became more gentle and she seemed more comfortable with her place. She followed directions and tried to help with chores. She said thank you for most everything she was given and she looked for ways to serve the other kids.
Ilona agreed to get her teeth fixed. Out of the three kids, she worked the hardest on her English. She continued to draw pictures and write love letters. She cooked and did dishes without being asked. She showed gratitude. She developed a crush on one of Jaxon's friends. She pouted less when she had to share the front seat. And she told me she was sorry.
Sasha learned to drive a car and how to use a credit card. He asked permission anytime he left on his bike, and he always returned home when he said he would. He attended a church he liked, most likely because it was only an hour and he didn't have to wear a tie. He became very conscious of how much things cost and he got upset with me when he read the McDonald's receipt that said $35.00. "Ma! Three - five??" "Yes, Sasha. Three five." And he tried to have real conversations with me without using google translate.
Tuesday afternoon the kids bid their American "dome" goodbye. Squeezed to the max with bodies and luggage, we blasted the radio and cruised along the Mopac expressway towards Aaron's office, just as we did the first week they were here. Again, tears found their way from my bloodshot eyes, down my cheeks and out from behind the cover of my oversized sunglasses. From the seat opposite mine and one row back, Ilona noticed. She told Sasha to ask me to remove my glasses. "No thank you," I said. They both just stared at me and I drove on, pretending not to notice.
Once at the office, Aaron joined us outside and shared a tearful goodbye with the children. His schedule the next morning would not allow him to make the trip with us. He held each of the girls tightly in his arms and then whispered to me, "I've gotta find a way to go. I can't say goodbye to them yet." He is such a knight in shining armor. The girls screamed with delight and ran to his truck to wait for him. The other kids scattered to various friend's cars, and we dutifully pointed our cars northward to do something none of us were sure we wanted.
Once at the hotel, my dream of one last special night together was quickly crushed as Sasha announced he was going to swim with his friends. Aaron told him no, but that didn't seem to matter. He took off. I spent the next half hour consoling the other 6 kids who didn't think it was fair they couldn't swim. Tensions were high and I barked at all of them to get in bed. The next we saw of Sasha was around 11pm when the pool closed. I was standing in the hall outside our room when he came to tell me he planned to stay up all night. "Sasha no sleep."
"Yes, Sasha sleep."
"NO! Sasha no sleep." And with that, he turned to walk down the hall and he was gone (visualize with me here, this is about 18 Cokes and Mountain Dews later).
Wandering in the hall, I came upon one of Sasha's friends who confided in me. "Sasha is very sad. He is not coming back to your room because he is afraid you will see him cry."But I waited, and he came and we shared a few last conversations together through that sleepless night.
The airport farewell was excruciating. We were surrounded by nearly 30 other families, tearfully trying to accept the reality of their own separation. We brought these children here, loved them as our own, now it was time to send them back to a life that resembled nothing they had here. The concourse was so overcome with sadness, even the employees had difficulty holding back the tears.
Waiting in line took an eternity. We hugged, laughed a little, and cried a lot. Aaron had to rush to work, so this was his final goodbye. The girls looked so precious and sweet. Innocent. Desperate. Sad. Sasha played it cool. He dressed in his favorite pants from home, the "mad pants" that spoke to me many times during our summer, shiny new high tops - 2 sizes too big, laces undone, and a blue sleeveless shirt that showed his boyish arms, perhaps a bit bigger than when he arrived. Most important, he wore his prized sunglasses. With arms folded, he moved through the line, unwilling to look or speak in our direction. He was going home and he needed to be strong.
When it came time for the last goodbye, we hugged the girls over and over and expressed our love in the best way we knew how. As I scooped Sasha into my arms, the smell of smoke permeated the embrace. Through my tears I laughed as I said, "Sasha. You smoked!"
"Just one, Ma. Just one."
Yes, Sasha was going home. And this was the first step in returning to his old life.
The children lined up to go through security and although we were separated by a rope and a staircase, we could still hold them with our eyes. One by one, passports were checked and children disappeared behind the wall. Ilona and Alina smiled, waved, and finally, they were gone. Sasha positioned himself near the end of the line so he was one of the last ones to go. But before he did, something unexpected happened.
He broke down. Sadness overtook him and we watched him suddenly hug Yana, the chaperone and our friend, who was standing by him in line. His shoulders rhythmically moved up and down, up and down as he held her. And then I saw it. From behind the glasses, a tear escaped, trailing down his cheek to his chin, followed by another one and another one after that. I was desperate to comfort him; this sad, sad boy who never knew until now how it felt to have a family who loved him. With Macoy in my arms and the other children at my side, we stood there and let our tears escape too.
If this was the end of the story, it would be sad enough. But Sasha wasn't quite done.
After his desperate hug with Yana he looked our way, put down his backpack, ran through the security line, ducked under the rope, and came back to us. He hugged us again and I told him he was family to us. He nodded his head. Then I told him I loved him.
"I love you too." And again, he was gone.
Back in line, he picked up his backpack and looked our way. Only this time, he removed the sunglasses he so often hid behind. Tears continued coming down and he stood there watching us, undeterred. Unlocked. Vulnerable. Trusting.
As I watched him approach the security officer, something pulled my attention for the moment, and when I turned back around he was gone. I missed the final moment. I turned to his friend and told her I was sad to have missed it.
"You didn't miss him. He will come back." And then she yelled, "SASHA!"
From behind the wall he appeared again. The kids and I waved goodbye. And I mouthed the words, "I love you."
And he was gone.
It's been almost 4 months since we said goodbye. The warm summer days we spent together have given way to cold. And the landscape is as barren as my heart. This post has been written for months, nudging me from it's draft folder, beckoning to be finished but I haven't wanted to put the events of August 14 into words. I'm proud to finally say I'm finished.
However, I don't think I will ever be finished learning lessons from this summer. Nearly every day I am pointed to an insight that has context only through my experiences. But I expected to learn. I expected to grow. What I didn't expect was the grief that has followed our separation. I love those three children like they were my own. I wanted their home to be our home. I thought that is how the story would end.
For now, I pray.
God loves those children too. He brought us together, of that I have no doubt. We wait as His perfect plan unfolds and we thank him for our part.
Do svidaniya for now.
And only today did I notice something strange about our summer calendar. Each night we would mark a square with a black X, signaling that day's finality. There are no X's this week. It's as if no one cared for the visual reminder of our imminent separation. Maybe if we didn't mark it on the calendar, the day would never come.
But August 14 came and went. As I stood in the Dallas airport that early Wednesday morning, surrounded by the chaos, time and sound seemed to halt. My mind played a film, seemingly in fast forward, of the past six weeks. So many memories to absorb.
In the end, things just worked out. When you are too close to it, it is hard to see. Kind of like trying to pinpoint the precise moment the sun enters the sky, night giving way to day. It just happens. And by noon, nobody can deny that it did.
Alina told us she desperately wants to be a part of our family. She and Macie buried the hatchet. She became more gentle and she seemed more comfortable with her place. She followed directions and tried to help with chores. She said thank you for most everything she was given and she looked for ways to serve the other kids.
Ilona agreed to get her teeth fixed. Out of the three kids, she worked the hardest on her English. She continued to draw pictures and write love letters. She cooked and did dishes without being asked. She showed gratitude. She developed a crush on one of Jaxon's friends. She pouted less when she had to share the front seat. And she told me she was sorry.
Sasha learned to drive a car and how to use a credit card. He asked permission anytime he left on his bike, and he always returned home when he said he would. He attended a church he liked, most likely because it was only an hour and he didn't have to wear a tie. He became very conscious of how much things cost and he got upset with me when he read the McDonald's receipt that said $35.00. "Ma! Three - five??" "Yes, Sasha. Three five." And he tried to have real conversations with me without using google translate.
Tuesday afternoon the kids bid their American "dome" goodbye. Squeezed to the max with bodies and luggage, we blasted the radio and cruised along the Mopac expressway towards Aaron's office, just as we did the first week they were here. Again, tears found their way from my bloodshot eyes, down my cheeks and out from behind the cover of my oversized sunglasses. From the seat opposite mine and one row back, Ilona noticed. She told Sasha to ask me to remove my glasses. "No thank you," I said. They both just stared at me and I drove on, pretending not to notice.
Once at the office, Aaron joined us outside and shared a tearful goodbye with the children. His schedule the next morning would not allow him to make the trip with us. He held each of the girls tightly in his arms and then whispered to me, "I've gotta find a way to go. I can't say goodbye to them yet." He is such a knight in shining armor. The girls screamed with delight and ran to his truck to wait for him. The other kids scattered to various friend's cars, and we dutifully pointed our cars northward to do something none of us were sure we wanted.
Once at the hotel, my dream of one last special night together was quickly crushed as Sasha announced he was going to swim with his friends. Aaron told him no, but that didn't seem to matter. He took off. I spent the next half hour consoling the other 6 kids who didn't think it was fair they couldn't swim. Tensions were high and I barked at all of them to get in bed. The next we saw of Sasha was around 11pm when the pool closed. I was standing in the hall outside our room when he came to tell me he planned to stay up all night. "Sasha no sleep."
"Yes, Sasha sleep."
"NO! Sasha no sleep." And with that, he turned to walk down the hall and he was gone (visualize with me here, this is about 18 Cokes and Mountain Dews later).
Wandering in the hall, I came upon one of Sasha's friends who confided in me. "Sasha is very sad. He is not coming back to your room because he is afraid you will see him cry."But I waited, and he came and we shared a few last conversations together through that sleepless night.
The airport farewell was excruciating. We were surrounded by nearly 30 other families, tearfully trying to accept the reality of their own separation. We brought these children here, loved them as our own, now it was time to send them back to a life that resembled nothing they had here. The concourse was so overcome with sadness, even the employees had difficulty holding back the tears.
Waiting in line took an eternity. We hugged, laughed a little, and cried a lot. Aaron had to rush to work, so this was his final goodbye. The girls looked so precious and sweet. Innocent. Desperate. Sad. Sasha played it cool. He dressed in his favorite pants from home, the "mad pants" that spoke to me many times during our summer, shiny new high tops - 2 sizes too big, laces undone, and a blue sleeveless shirt that showed his boyish arms, perhaps a bit bigger than when he arrived. Most important, he wore his prized sunglasses. With arms folded, he moved through the line, unwilling to look or speak in our direction. He was going home and he needed to be strong.
When it came time for the last goodbye, we hugged the girls over and over and expressed our love in the best way we knew how. As I scooped Sasha into my arms, the smell of smoke permeated the embrace. Through my tears I laughed as I said, "Sasha. You smoked!"
"Just one, Ma. Just one."
Yes, Sasha was going home. And this was the first step in returning to his old life.
The children lined up to go through security and although we were separated by a rope and a staircase, we could still hold them with our eyes. One by one, passports were checked and children disappeared behind the wall. Ilona and Alina smiled, waved, and finally, they were gone. Sasha positioned himself near the end of the line so he was one of the last ones to go. But before he did, something unexpected happened.
He broke down. Sadness overtook him and we watched him suddenly hug Yana, the chaperone and our friend, who was standing by him in line. His shoulders rhythmically moved up and down, up and down as he held her. And then I saw it. From behind the glasses, a tear escaped, trailing down his cheek to his chin, followed by another one and another one after that. I was desperate to comfort him; this sad, sad boy who never knew until now how it felt to have a family who loved him. With Macoy in my arms and the other children at my side, we stood there and let our tears escape too.
If this was the end of the story, it would be sad enough. But Sasha wasn't quite done.
After his desperate hug with Yana he looked our way, put down his backpack, ran through the security line, ducked under the rope, and came back to us. He hugged us again and I told him he was family to us. He nodded his head. Then I told him I loved him.
"I love you too." And again, he was gone.
Back in line, he picked up his backpack and looked our way. Only this time, he removed the sunglasses he so often hid behind. Tears continued coming down and he stood there watching us, undeterred. Unlocked. Vulnerable. Trusting.
As I watched him approach the security officer, something pulled my attention for the moment, and when I turned back around he was gone. I missed the final moment. I turned to his friend and told her I was sad to have missed it.
"You didn't miss him. He will come back." And then she yelled, "SASHA!"
From behind the wall he appeared again. The kids and I waved goodbye. And I mouthed the words, "I love you."
And he was gone.
It's been almost 4 months since we said goodbye. The warm summer days we spent together have given way to cold. And the landscape is as barren as my heart. This post has been written for months, nudging me from it's draft folder, beckoning to be finished but I haven't wanted to put the events of August 14 into words. I'm proud to finally say I'm finished.
However, I don't think I will ever be finished learning lessons from this summer. Nearly every day I am pointed to an insight that has context only through my experiences. But I expected to learn. I expected to grow. What I didn't expect was the grief that has followed our separation. I love those three children like they were my own. I wanted their home to be our home. I thought that is how the story would end.
For now, I pray.
God loves those children too. He brought us together, of that I have no doubt. We wait as His perfect plan unfolds and we thank him for our part.
Do svidaniya for now.
 |
| Alina, Faith, Ilona, Macie |
 |
| Macoy, Sasha, Jaxon |
 |
| Ilona |
 |
| Alina |
 |
| Sasha |
 |
| Faith |
 |
| Macie |
 |
| Jaxon |
 |
| Macoy |
 |
| Pa and Ma |
No comments:
Post a Comment