that we can't make just right. On the day set aside to herald mothers, I was reminded that my powers are, indeed, limited.
Jameson and Baylor gifted to me their school-made asian-styled floral paintings, which their fab teacher (Ms. Stout) had worked with them to create, frame, and wrap (as well as design a creative flower-expands-as-you-unfold-it card). Hunter commented that he remembered doing that project in Ms. Stout's 2nd grade, and that his flowers had been purple. Anna then chimed in, "I'm the only one that not do that." Of course, I said a few things in response, but there was nothing I could say that wasn't a lame attempt to comfort her knowledge that she missed out on some things of childhood.
When we dialed up their birth mom, we heard the same error message recording (in French, I believe), all three times. We did get through to their older (adult) brother, and his laughing voice and cheerful (and improving) attempts at English made for a pleasant chat, as usual. He laughed approvingly (delighted) at my regular, breif attempt at speaking in Kreyol, and he said he'd tell their manman (mama) that we had tried to reach her and that the embassy would meet with her soon for a document for her to sign.
And I wonder to myself just how will she travel the long distance from her village to the city when it is time for her to appear before the judge, the consular official, the IBESR, and the parent representative. How many times she has signed forms and been interviewed by Haitian officials, Red Cross personnel, orphanage personnel, U.S. officials . . . As if making the decision to have her children live out of her physical reach wasn't difficult enough . . . to be questioned about her choice repeatedly . . . peace and comfort to you this eve, Manman Bonithe.
And rest your youthful head, Anna; you are now a child and shall have the freedom of such in this family home.
Jameson and Baylor gifted to me their school-made asian-styled floral paintings, which their fab teacher (Ms. Stout) had worked with them to create, frame, and wrap (as well as design a creative flower-expands-as-you-unfold-it card). Hunter commented that he remembered doing that project in Ms. Stout's 2nd grade, and that his flowers had been purple. Anna then chimed in, "I'm the only one that not do that." Of course, I said a few things in response, but there was nothing I could say that wasn't a lame attempt to comfort her knowledge that she missed out on some things of childhood.
When we dialed up their birth mom, we heard the same error message recording (in French, I believe), all three times. We did get through to their older (adult) brother, and his laughing voice and cheerful (and improving) attempts at English made for a pleasant chat, as usual. He laughed approvingly (delighted) at my regular, breif attempt at speaking in Kreyol, and he said he'd tell their manman (mama) that we had tried to reach her and that the embassy would meet with her soon for a document for her to sign.
And I wonder to myself just how will she travel the long distance from her village to the city when it is time for her to appear before the judge, the consular official, the IBESR, and the parent representative. How many times she has signed forms and been interviewed by Haitian officials, Red Cross personnel, orphanage personnel, U.S. officials . . . As if making the decision to have her children live out of her physical reach wasn't difficult enough . . . to be questioned about her choice repeatedly . . . peace and comfort to you this eve, Manman Bonithe.
And rest your youthful head, Anna; you are now a child and shall have the freedom of such in this family home.
Well said Sherry, and how sweet, it brought tears to my eyes. I love reading your blog and watching the kids grow through your eyes. I walked outside yesterday at work, I glanced over at the empty swings and playground and started to cry. Last year at this time we were planning a huge Haiti Flag Day celebration for all of the children. I miss them so! Thanks for sharing
ReplyDeletePlease tell the angels I said hello!
Eileen (Pittsburgh)