April’s Fool

So I have been trying to figure out what is going on with me…what’s going on in my head.

I feel disconnected – happy to be home, upset to not be in Uganda.  I wanted to leave Uganda.  I wanted to be home.  I wanted this whole process to finally be over.

I feel guilty that I am happy, guilty that I am upset.  I want to cry, but feel like a traitor to my kiddos and husband.  I feel like a traitor to myself – isn’t crying and being upset a lack of faith in God’s will for my life?  Shouldn’t I be rejoicing in what God has in store for me?  I do recognize that His will is better for me than my own desires, but can I mourn what I lost?  Can I mourn what is taking so long, and is so painful to bear?

I feel like I have no direction, as though I am in a holding pattern, or rather, locked in a cage and I am pacing.  Except, I am home, with my beautiful children, and I am not caged.  Finally, I am in a place where I can do whatever I want, eat and drink anything I want.  My bed is immaculate.  I can go out the front door and drive my own car wherever I need, and  go back in the house and I turn on the AC and the lights and I can take a shower and let it pour all over my face and not worry about what I might get or swallow on contract in the process.  My clothes smell amazing and are so soft and I am wearing my own wedding ring again, and I can brush my hair because it is not a nasty unconditioned, swamp water mess (although the sun did bleach it out quite a bit).

So I am thankful.  And I am so lost.

I was supposed to be spending all of this time with Benny – teaching him about cars, and animals, and light switches, and grocery stores, and closets and dressers because he has so many outfits that he needs a dresser.  And toilets in America flush, and showers can be warm and hot and cold, and the pretty lights hanging in the air tell drivers when to go and stop – there are no military police directing traffic, and if someone bumps your car, we call the cops, and motorcycles are not taxis, and they obey traffic laws also (or are supposed to).

So I sit here and discern God’s Will.  What does He want from me?  What is expected of me?  What is my new normal?!?  What the heck am I supposed to be doing?  My focus is gone.  For the past 3 years, my focus has been on a few set things, and now that I am home, I have none of them.  My husband told me to do something that I really enjoy, but I am not sure what that would be.  I fold laundry like a champ.  I can organize files like a pro.  I hate to sweep, and love to clean out the attic….but I did the attic before I left.  I folded 6 loads of laundry yesterday and it is not ready to be folded yet today.  I could get the car washed and detailed, but it is supposed to rain on Thursday and we have a soccer tournament this weekend, so detailing is pointless.  I could plan the kids summer sports camps, but have no idea about Benny so I would hate to put someone throughout normal summer routine of 6 AM swim team, 8 AM Mass, 8-whatever camp, night time summer outdoor soccer schedules.

I look around and see so much that has to be done.  I managed to unpack suitcases yesterday and get them put away, but I kept one packed with what I might need for going back to Uganda.  It is Lent.  I am supposed to be focused on change, and spiritual awakening and reform.  My heart should be focused on eternity, not triviality.  Everything around me will turn to dust – so I should be focused on my children, on souls, because that is what matters.  But I can’t seem to focus on anything. 

I wake up every few hours.  I feel exhausted.  I want to fake smile at the whole world, but people keep hugging me.  Grace was the first hug I got at school.  I wanted to cry because the hug was so random and so perfect.  I was standing outside of the school, feeling like a complete outsider – I had been gone from here for the past 7 weeks, and life goes on without you.   I was not excited about my 6^th grader going to camp, I just wanted to go home with all of my children, and hang out, and have fun and pretend that there are no outside obligations and commitments to attend to.  But off he went with his friends, and there I was, nobody really knowing what to say to me, so not saying anything, and there was dear sweet Grace – marching straight towards me, with a huge hug, and then she marched back to her car before I could cry.  It was perfect.

It was kind of God’s way of saying, “Hey kid, the hurt is there.  It is real.  Your suffering and waiting is real.  You must be in two places at once.  I still have more to teach you, and you still have so much more to learn and grow.  You MUST trust me, or you will go mad – angry, bitter, disenchanted, joyless.”

Yeah, I hear Him.  And I am trying.  Focus would be a nice reprieve – a to do list would be a blessing.  A nap might help the situation, because getting up at 4 AM after tossing and turning all night leaves me feeling yucky all day long.

To make matter’s worse, I got an email from the US embassy in Uganda that says they finally shipped the file, and it should be in Nairobi by next week.  I feel ill.  I was so mad when I was reading the email.  Their definition of why they send files to Nairobi floored me.  I want to call them and scream at them – “What part of my file is suspicious?  Is it because the man who found him was a Catholic priest?  Because Daughters of Mary took care of him?  Because police chiefs and heads of the child protection units were my witnesses?  Is it because he is chronically ill or maybe because advertisements ran in local churches and newspapers for weeks every year with his updated pictures asking if this child looks like anyone they know, or if they knew of someone who was pregnant 3 years ago, but who has no child?  Is it because even after all of this, and all of the paperwork, and all of the due diligence and police investigating, and everything else, nobody has come forward yet, and so white Americans with 5 kids, who certainly do not need another child, especially one with multiple medical conditions, came forward to accept responsibility for this child?  Is that what is suspicious – some crazy, white, scripture quoting, American woman shows up, after spending 3 years and $55,000 fighting her way through red tape and time,  and wants to take home the child that she fought to obtain legal guardianship over?!?  OMG. 

Praise God that I have stopped talking to people right now, because I am not thinking good “Christian” thoughts.  My thoughts are that of an angry mother tiger, ready to rip someone’s throat open.  I take a deep breath in, and breathe out a fake smile, my head cocked to the side, whispering silent prayers to calm my anxious soul.  

I imagine this will have to come on out sooner or later – I have to purge all of this out of me in order to have a clean slate.  I was thinking about maybe doing it tomorrow.  Tomorrow sounds great – kids at school, husband at work, come home and scream bloody murder for 5 minutes?!?  Maybe it will come out as a gut wrenching sob that hurts your soul because you cannot breath or move or talk.  I think I need to do this to get it over with.  As long as I can pick myself up again, and find focus, then maybe losing my image of control might be worth it.  I say 'image' because control is never something attainable, just the thought of it makes us feel good.

Wednesday, the 26th

So there is nothing left to do.  I am just sitting here with Benny on the bed waiting for Fr. Michael to come and get him.

I had wanted to pay Arthur to take care of Benny Michael for me.  I wanted him with someone young and vibrant and firm and creative.  I wanted him in school with other children.  I wanted him with someone I knew, who could access the internet and facebook and post pictures, and message me problems and concerns, and information.  I wanted to have some semblance of control and access to information.  I even considered asking Linda to foster him, but I know that this is her busy time, and a child would not work well into her schedule - especially because she literally just moved a weekend ago.

Father Michael says that he does not need school, that he needs a grandmother to nurture him.  So Father Michael decided that his very own mother should take care of him.  I dread not having any idea what is going on with him, about not having a routine, him not learning or having constant stimulation or socialization.  I packed a huge suitcase of items – everything that I could think of is in Benny’s suitcase – his toys and books, his favorite picture of Jesus, his snacks, towels, bedding, lotions, soaps, a clothing line, toilet paper, diapers, medicines, nebulizer (although she has no idea how to use it – making it completely useless).  It is out of my hands.

When Father arrived, I went over his plans, but what is there to say really?  I grabbed all of his items from the now empty room.  I loaded down Father's trunk with gifts for people in Masaka and Kitovu.  I carefully strapped Benny into the back seat, and handed him his backpack.  He hit the seat next to him, for me to sit down, but I just tried to smile at him.  I squeezed his tiny little cheeks, kissed his forehead and his cheek and whispered good bye in his ear.  “Momma loves you sweet boy.”  I asked Father if he needed anything else from me, and I walked inside.

As a side note, Benny has no idea how to kiss.  My kids always give kisses.  From day one, I would kiss them – their faces, necks, bellies, toes, soles of their feet.  Benny has no idea.  I have a silver and gold 4x4 metal icon that he would always steal from me – Our Lady of Perpetual Help.  I would kiss it at night, and he would put it to his mouth and make a “tsch” noise with his tongue.  He had never been kissed really, no idea how to put his lips, where to put them.  Me kissing him good night was a completely new idea to him, and he would laugh and laugh and laugh.  The same goes for blowing raspberries on his belly.  He thought I was nuts the first time I did it.  It makes me sad just thinking about it.

Once Father got to his mom’s, he decided that Benny should be in school, and there is a school near by that he will take a car or boda boda to.  I gave money to Linda to cover the school for a term, and I will have to wire money for a car.  He had better not go on a boda boda – he is 3 years old.  I saw too many boda boda accidents to ever be happy about that happening – especially at the mental level that Benny is at now. 

I asked Linda to check on him for me.  (She reported this weekend when she dropped off the cash for his school term that he was very quiet, not his normal playful self.  Once she started using my nicknames for him though, he started laughing, and rolling around on the ground.  I am broken.  She also reported that there are 2 other children there as well, a younger one, and one that is maybe 8’ish.  I pray a prayer of protection over him – that he feels safe and secure, that he knows he is loved, that he knows this is temporary.)  Linda will check on him and send me pictures and updates every few weeks, just to help keep me sane.

Even as I do this though, I wonder if it is temporary.  What if the US embassy in Nairobi does not see the case, ignores it, refuses to take it, blows it off, disagrees with the Ugandan government?  The Ugandan government said, “This child was left to die in the grass.  Parents refuse to come forward or be definitively identified as deceased.  Nobody wants this child.  The police released the care to Fr. Michael after 18 months of searching for parents.  Paul and Allison want to adopt him.  They are suitable parents.  They can afford him, will love him, and provide for him.  Therefore Paul and Allison have guardianship over him.  They can adopt him upon returning to the US.”  So what happens if the US government says that I cannot bring a child that I have guardianship of to the US?

Nobody can answer that question for me.  People keep saying it won’t happen.   However, on Sunday night, before my paper filing appointment, I wrote out a worst scenario and best scenario.  And I was rolling through the day 100% in the best case scenario.  And when it suddenly flipped to “horrible”?  Well, let’s just say that this possibility was not even on my radar.  I had no idea that adjudication was a possibility.  I had no idea how to even spell the word to google the meaning.

People asked why I did not stay longer.  Fair question, “because my embassy told me to go home, because there is nothing I can do in Uganda to make this go faster, because I could stay for months longer, and it all still be denied, and then I have to break a 6 month bond with a 4 year old instead of a 1.5 month bond with a 3 year old.” 

I will be headed back to the States in a little bit.  I wanted to shower, and change into clean clothes before sitting on a plane for 24 hours.  It can take 2 hours in traffic to even get to the airport from the capital so I will leave the hotel about 6 PM.  I will land in Atlanta at 3:30 pm on Thursday and be at the baggage claim by 5’ish or even before if all goes well.  I pray that I do not cry the whole way home.  I pray that I can disconnect myself from the reality of not bringing him home.  I pray that the weight of this does not crush me.  I guess we will see.

Accept whatever befalls you.  In crushing misfortune, be patient.

-Sirach 2

Tuesday the 25th

March 25^th

Today was supposed to be my Consecration day. 

I imagine that it still is.  Normally I consecrate in December.  But I decided to do it again to keep me focused on God’s sovereignty, keep my spirit focused on trust and faith and peace this Lent.  It is so great to have to have daily readings, written my one of the most knowledgeable saints, to remind you where your weaknesses are, where your spirit should be, and how to lead a life that glorifies Christ.

Last night, I did what needed to be done.  I talked to lawyers, I talked to my adoption counselor, I talked to Paul.  I prayed. I sat numb.  I stared at the ceiling.  I watched Benny with his sweet smile, sleeping like an angel.  I packed all of his things, and anything that I thought could make his or Jane’s life easier – laundry detergent, shampoos, soaps, school supplies, clothes of mine that would fit her.  I budgeted out money from what I have left to get her through a month or two.  I packed his breathing machine and rote out instructions for Jane on how to give him breathing treatments when he needs them – children’s Tylenol and advil to keep his fever down so that he does not seize.  I put the pictures of the kids that had been on the wall, in the front pocket of his suitcase.

As I started to pack his toys, he started to whimper in his sleep.  I stared at the book in my hand – the Dr. Seuss one that Paul bought, “Are you my mother?”  I scoffed at the irony.  I am your mother here in Uganda, but apparently not in the United States.  I packed his drum and his football. 

I know better than to get angry.  Angry means that I am rebelling against the Will of God.  A person who trusts in the Lord is accepting – not without emotion, but not rebelling which is the action based on distrust – the root of anger.  I want to hate the embassy woman. But I know all too well who plants that seed.

This is Lent, and the cross that has been given to me is getting heavier and heavier.  I know He will sustain me but I have faith in Him, not in myself.  How do I go home?  What do I do?  For almost 3 years, this adoption has been my whole focus – hours of researching, grant writing, paperwork, book reading, mentally preparing for another child, physically preparing for another child, preparing the children, the car, shopping for his needs, worrying about his conditions.

And now I will go home and wait for Lord.  My favorite Lenten song plays in the head, “Wait for the Lord, the end is near.”  I do not see an end.  Tomorrow was supposed to be my end.  I was supposed to boarding a plane tomorrow with him and an exit visa.  My end was HERE.  But really, my end is just beginning.

Paul held a family conference around the table, and told the kids.  They were upset, worried for Benny, wondering about the next steps.  Matt was mad because I promised not to leave him again for awhile.  Now I could be leaving any time after around 2 months.  I felt so much pain for them and their worry and confusion.  They worried that maybe they prayed too much for me to come home, and now I am but without Benny.

I have considered staying here, but my embassy told me to go home, that it would take a long time, and there is nothing for me to do here but sit and wait.  If I stayed and Nairobi said no, then I spent another two months bonding with a child that I leave forever.  Right now, at The Terrace we have hit a bonding “wall” because the waiters are young men who have fun playing with him, that let him goof off, wander around the kitchen and do stuff that would never happen in the US.  Which is more damaging? Coming and going and coming back, or him bonding with the wrong people, or me staying with him, going to the village and bonding more and then abandoning him when Nairobi says no? 

And to make matters worse, I spend almost $100US dollars every day that I am here, more when Paul was here, and it has been 6 weeks.  I make up the cost of the flight home in 18 days.  So then I can start focusing on saving that money for this new lawyer we will have to pay who deals with Nairobi cases.  Apparently she is skilled and she can guide us and the paperwork through.

Nobody has the answers, nobody can decide for me or tell me the road with the least guilt, damage, pain, peril or cost.  I accept that as well.  How heavy would a cross be if you could see the road that you were on, the twists and turns and wicked hard speed bumps?  Had God told me, when He said that I would be leaving the week of the 25^th that I would leave without Michael, would I have gone at all?  No, because I lacked trust and faith.  So He showed me what He knew I needed, and led me on my way.

Now I begin another day, completely blind, and forced by faith to trust that when Nairobi tells me their decisions or gives me a list of demands, that I can fulfill them, that I will have the right resources in place to fly back, that I will be able to handle whatever comes.  And the fact of the matter is, I will not be able to handle tomorrow, but God will handle it for me. 

Tomorrow, Father Michael will come with Jane in the Land Cruiser to get Michael and all of his stuff and the gifts for the other people that are dear to my heart.  I will kiss this sweet angel, and put him back into the hands, from which he came to me, and I will put all of my trust in the Lord because my new reality requires nothing but that.

My new reality……when the IOM doctor told me that children here who have asthma die in the village, he was preparing me for a reality.  And when the old man sitting next to me yesterday told me that his son got malaria and had a high fever, and had a seizure, and it “cooked his brain” and he is now 48 and barely there, he was preparing me for a reality.  And when I stumbled across the blog of a mom who has been waiting for 9 months in the US for her child’s visa, she was preparing me for a reality. 

This reality is something that Michael must have realized too, on some level.  He whined all night long, wanted me to hold him, fussed every time I moved, whined when I put him down.  He was the same way this morning until I bribed him with waffles and syrup.  He threw his fruit bowl across the table, crawled into my lap and did a fake whine cry thing.  He sat on the bed holding his bear saying, “Mom mom mom mom,” almost like a song.  Kids sense their parents emotions and stresses, and although my stress level is very low, my heart ache is not, my guilt is not.  He normally takes his nap on the bed, and he demands that my hand and arm rest on his stomach.  I normally pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet, and he holds the cross on the beads while my fingers slide the beads around.  He has broken 3 rosaries this way, so I have resorted to the Byzantine Jesus beads that I bought from my dad’s church in Sacramento – apparently unbreakable.  Today he fussed the whole way through the DMC but was asleep halfway through the rosary – tired of fighting the weariness that rests in the air around us.  My resignation to this new reality is complete.

He spent the afternoon, with the rain outside, sitting on the bed next to me watching Tarzan, his feet on my leg, his arm wrapped around me. He keeps grabbing my hand, trying to hold it while I type. Every few minutes he whines, and grabs my arm back.  I could sit like this forever, just the way that I sit on the couch with Anna and Matt – baby loving is awesome.  I had never paid attention to Tarzan, but out of my daze I heard Phil Collins singing away, the refrain, “No matter what may come…. this day…forever, You’ll be in my heart, now and forever….”  I choked. Prophetic.  He has been watching this all week, and I just realized that it was probably God preparing me for leaving, giving me a song to hum on the plane, sweet words to whisper in his ear when I say good bye to him.  Nothing is an accident, nothing is devoid of meaning.  I watch for signs, looks for symbols, the Holy Spirit is alive everywhere.

Our room now consists of a pile of clothes, a garbage can, and 4 packed suitcases.  It feels more like a morgue, or like sitting on death row-waiting for my sentence to be carried out. 

I try not to imagine being dropped off at the airport – an experience that I have prayed for over the past few weeks.  I imagined us waving to Linda, holding hands, marching to the ticket counter, itineraries in hand, Benny with his brand new Thomas train backpack on.  The backpack that I filled with crayons, color book, cars, dinosaurs, all new toys to play with was for our 24 hour trek home.  Now it will serve as entertainment for him during the long weeks ahead. 

Meanwhile, the last few weeks at home have been getting harder and easier at the same time.  The child that I figured would be the most upset and the most affected, Kolbe, because of his sweet sensitive soul, brought home two really bad grades last week – in spelling and vocab, which is completely unfounded. I can hear it is in his voice when he talks to me – he is sad and frustrated.  He is the one that writes letters to God and he addresses them and puts a stamp on the envelopes and drops them in the mailbox.  He is still a snuggy bear.  I try to encourage him, but he gets mad when I call and it is so late my time – “Mom, maybe you should not call us, I want to talk to you, but I worry about you not sleeping,” even though I did not say a word about it.

The rest of my kids talk less and less.  “I am tired of you always telling me to pray mommy, I pray so much and you are still not coming home,” says Anna.  “Mom, I pray a chaplet every day, I am not sure that I can pray any more than that.  Surely God has made up His mind about what He wants to have happen,” says Gabe.  I try to be an example of strength, but I always fail.  They sense my weakness, even without my crying or whining or complaining.  No matter how much I reassure them, they are getting tired of me being gone.

Every time I stop focusing on God, I can hear the little voices in the background.  “This will never work.  You will never leave, your children do not miss you, the planes will be booked, you will be separated and have to bribe people to relinquish seats, your husband hates you for leaving him with all of these children, something will happen and you will be delayed after you get your plane tickets…”  I try to put on this strong face, smile at all the people who stay for a day or two here at the Terrace but I am jealous when they get to leave. The little voices provide a constant chant of everything that could go wrong, the voices threaten to throw me into despair.  And even at the worst of times, I never imagined leaving without him.  But leave I will...tomorrow.  I will will sing in his ear, and kiss his head, and make promises to be back.  Only the Lord knows what is in store, and it is my job to thank Him, and sing His praises, and glorify Him in the joys and in the sorrows.  Sing I will.

mother's heartache

So my Monday started so great - I got word that Henderson beat Rua in the UFC fight!  Somehow an American demolishing a Brazilian in Brazil made me happy.

I woke up all of the way, and woke Benny up for the Embassy appointment.  My driver was right on time, and he got us to the Embassy almost an hour early.  I got through security, got up the hill, waited diligently and prayed and prayed and prayed.  All through my filing appointment, the woman was so kind.  She liked my paperwork, was complimentary of my organization, appreciated how I filled out everything correctly and was such a dear.  She ended the meeting by saying that woman who does the interviews had a dental appointment, but might be able to squeeze me in.  She said she would call me later, and I told her that I would be praying for good news.  She was so sure of my paperwork, she even had me pay the Embassy for the visa.

I went home and laid Benny down for a quick nap - and I joined soon behind him, falling asleep with a rosary in my hand, and an icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help on my heart.  I woke up about half an hour later, to my phone ringing.  A sweet sweet voice on the other end said, "Allison, your prayers have been answered, your appointment is at 2:30."  I cried I was so happy - tears of pure joy.  I will be coming home on Wednesday.

It never crossed my mind that something could go horribly wrong.  I mean, last night, I blogged about the two options in my mind, an interview appointment on this Wednesday, or an interview appointment net Wednesday.  My worry was never about the case or the file.  The judge had remarked how clean it was, cut and dry.  My whole process has been long, but easy.  My records were remarkable, the story is water tight, the paperwork filled out perfectly.

So I get to my 2:30 appointment about half an hour early, but it takes awhile to be seen.  When I go in, the woman introduces herself as the vice consulate.  She immediately starts grilling me on questions about dates.

When was he abandon?  
          The police officer guessed and said that he looked around 4 months of age because the size of his head.
So why was his birth certificate given a date 1 month before he was reported and not 4?  
          I am not sure, something to do with how small he was and the fact that he was not growing.
So who said that Father was the guardian?
          The police and the child office told the judge that their offices are over run, they have no resources, so they told Father to care for the child while they look for his family.  Meanwhile Michael was sick, needed to be bottle fed, needed medical care, so Father went to the Sisters that run the hospital and asked them to care for him, and help him with his may medical issues.  He has asthma, seizures, has had malaria 4 times, the last time he was in a coma.  He was small, sickly looking, frail thin legs, a very over-sized cranium.
So really, Father abandon him with some nuns, and the nuns should have been granted a guardianship order?
          Father did what he felt was right.  And he wanted the child with him, but he is a priest, not a doctor.
Yes, but Father was told to care for him, and he did not.  The hospital cared for him.
          Yes, but Father paid the hospital what he could, and got him out of the hospital when he was healthy.
So why did Father wait to so long to seek an official guardianship order?
          He had no idea that he needed an official order.  He had a letter from the police saying to care for him.  Any person with no experience in the adoption field would not know to do otherwise.  I am a sure part of it was because the police were actively looking for family and hoping family would come forth.  Part of it had to do with ow sickly and small and under developed he was, and that he kept getting sick, over and over.  It was not until he started the adoption process for Michael that he found out that a police letter was not good enough.
Why did he decide to put Michael up for adoption?
          He started considering the process when he realized that Michael had many serious health concerns, ones that he could not address as a priest.  Michael will need some very serious speech therapy, he will need eegs and ekgs to check his seizures and check the heart to make sure that what appears to be a breathing issue is not a heart issue, make sure his speech issue is not more of a hearing issue even though he seems to hear ok.  Asthma attacks can kill a child in the village.  He is a priest, and cannot be a father or meet the physical needs he has.  He is moved all over the place and knew that Michael deserves a family, a mom and dad who will love him and take of care him.
OK.  My problem is this.  Michael Ssenfuma did not have authority to place him in a hospital.  He did not immediately get a court order (which most orphanages don't even get until Americans pay for one because they are expensive and time consuming).  I did not like the police letter, because it was a stamped and sealed letter, not an actual court document (even though the courts accepted it as a valid appointment of guardianship).  These are my red flags, and there are too many for me to accept your case.  I am sending it to Nairobi.
          Is there anything I can do, bring in, people you could talk to, the police or child office in Masaka?
Everything I wanted should have been in the file, but it was not.  You will not be receiving an additional appointment at the embassy until much later, so you will have no chance to drop anything off to me.  The only thing that you can do is leave.
          What do you mean, when do I come back?
The file will be sent in almost two weeks to Nairobi.  It takes a week to get there.  Then they review it.  It could take 30 days to review.  Then they say, "Yes, no or maybe."  If there is a maybe, you would fly from the US to Nairobi to meet with them and answer their questions and give whatever evidence they ask for.  Then they will say yes or no.  The process is a  minimum of 2 months.  
           And then I come back here?
You go home, and  you do not speak to us until the Embassy in Nairobi forwards us your file with their decision.
          (Totally in shock) So what do I do now?
She gives me this look like I am a total moron, rolls her eyes and says, "You leave my office and go home and wait."
          What am I supposed to do with my child?
Well, my job is to approve your file if I believe that you are his parent, and you received guardianship legally without question.  I do not believe that Michael Ssenfuma did what he was supposed to do 3 years ago to even have the authority to seek medical treatment, and it took two years ago to receive guardianship legally, which means in the US, we would question the validity of your legal guardianship.  He might have eventually received guardianship and the judge in Uganda might have accept that, but I question it.  So yes you are his mother, but you cannot bring him home until the heads in Nairobi say so.  So you do whatever necessary.

I took Michael's handed and led him out of the building and to the van in quite a daze.  I call the Ugandan lawyer who says he will send a letter to go with the file.  The problem is that some US citizen who has never been through the process or lived in a village, or seen the way that Ugandan paperwork is done is making decisions for American processes based on US standards.  This is a huge problem.

I called Father to explain.  We both were upset that this was my own government ruining this for me.  There are cheaper easier ways to get a child in the United States.  Kids disappear all of the time.  Had I wanted a child and was desperate and a psycho, I could have gotten one.  But it is when you try and be good, and responsible and moral, that you get put through the ringer by your own government.  Father says that the battle belongs to God and that no weapon formed against us shall prosper. Amen.

I called the lawyer, who said that it could take several months.  I looked up online, and read cases that were between 2 and 8 months.

I called my agency back home and they began calling lawyers who deal with Nairobi to ask for pointers and time expectations, and more.

It wasn't until I talked to Paul, that reality struck.  I will be leaving my child in Uganda, and I will go home with a broken heart and empty hands, and I will wait.  What will I tell my children - that Uganda gave us a child, and their very own government is screwing us over because some bureaucratic red tape signed off on by a woman that knows nothing about the Ugandan process/procedure/and more?

I called my mom who sobbed along with me.

The funny thing is that I have been correct for 6 months.  6 months ago, I had told my adoption counselor in Birmingham that I would leave the week of March 25th, the week of my consecration.  She laughed.  I told her again about a month before I left.  I told her that God told me that I would leave Uganda the week of the 25th.  "Well, I hope you are prepared for not leaving the week of the 25th."  I laughed.  I was confident.  I just knew she was wrong.

I never knew though, that it being Lent, and the week of me devoting my whole being yet again to Our Lady, casting myself at her feet, meant that I would suffer and that I would in fact leave - but without my child.  I would leave as a mom who abandon her child, for God knows how long.  I know that Blessed Mother does not wish me to suffer this pain, but that she is using this suffering to do great things.

I will spend the next day or two somehow preparing Benny for my absence.  I will need to find a caregiver for him, train them on how to use his nebulizer, explain his ring worm creams, buy enough clothes and diapers to last him a good while.  I will wire money over to pay her for his care, and food, and supplies and for her transportation and more.  This poor little man has been through so much, and now at my hand he will be caused more pain and confusion and sadness.

I accept God's will.  I thank him for the suffering and the cross.  I put all of this into the hands of my beautiful Mother, and I have complete faith and confidence that she will guide my heart, and protect Benny and guide my family and until this situation is redeemed, I will try and shine with the Light of Christ.  I will bow humbly at His feet and beg for mercy for my family and the poor impressionable soul.  I will beg that Benny does not fall further behind, that his soul and his health and his development are not broken even more by these problems.  I have faith that God is in control, and that He will provide the protection over Benny and the strength I need to go home and care for my other children.

That will not keep me from sobbing, and my heart from breaking, and my mind from spinning.  I wish I had someone here, to talk me through it, comfort me, guide me in all of my irrationality.  But I don't, another gift from my loving Father - the lesson of mortification and independence - on Him alone I shall depend.

Sunday

Sunday, the 23rd

I started my morning off wrong, kind of.  I went into the kitchen to put a bottle away (they recycle all of the coke bottles and the bottling company literally just reuses the same bottle.  I have had ones with dates from 2001 to 2013 already this trip.)  And upon entering the kitchen, I was shocked by the bugs, the smell of old frying oil, and the multiple bottles of mayonnaise, and various other spreads, open, and obviously old, just sitting on the counter.  I did a mental check of what I have been eating.  They warned me to eat only things that were boiled, fried or very very, very, steamed.  Don’t eat it if it was fresh and not peel-able (so no lettuce, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, etc).  They wash it in the same water that is in the tanks.  Ack. 

I lost my appetite for the day, maybe the rest of my time here.  I studied over the menu in my head – I am left with spring rolls and french fries maybe – nothing with cheese or creams or spreads.  I know that the refrigeration here is poor.  When the power goes out, it is out – for 10 minutes to 20 hours+ hours to days even, but it always shocks me when I see people eating meats and things without question.  I was most disgusted about the mayo, I hate mayo anyway, but maybe they make it without eggs here?  And I have seen eggs, sitting out for hours and hours and hours here, and people do not seem to die…right?

I sit on my bed and spin my fake wedding ring around on my finger.  I was told ‘no expensive jewelry’, and most married Ugandans do not even wear a simple band.  So I shopped around on Amazon.com and found a silver band with woven Celtic designs.  I then found a silver band that had the phrase, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” on the inside. For $20, I bought both, and settled on the plain one when they arrived.

I am not sure why I chose the one with the saying in it – I had kind of thought it enduring.  I had imagined Paul saying those words to me.  The inside of his textured gold band when we got married said “I heart you.” Which is what we always had said to each other.  I am not sure the last time I used that phrase, but it seemed fun and playful in college and it stuck for awhile.  I had considered that I would need a little inspiration while I was in Uganda, and that maybe when I was all alone, I would sit and stare at the ring, and know, by its very presence that I was not alone.  This was obviously a fallacy on my part.  Now I sit and think that this ring would be perfect for a woman who took her vows and wanted a ring that serves as a reminder that she is married the Christ forever.

Paul’s wedding band with his saying has come and gone, and then made an appearance again, but I am not sure where it is now.  Anna and Matt went through a phase of taking Paul’s wedding rings off of the bathroom counter when he was in the shower.  I would just buy him another one, different kinds of silver, white gold, tungsten, whatever.  And sure enough, they would disappear after a week or so.  At one point, I had re-found 3 of them in different rooms of the house.  And soon as the rings disappearing started, it stopped again. He keeps the spare rings in the center drawer in our bathroom, just in case one disappears again.  Maybe I will put this band in that drawer when I get home.

I had woken up to a splitting headache and the room was spinning on a tilt.  I imagine now, that if I am over my virus, then it must have something to do with my 4 bulging disks in my very lower back, and the 4” thick mattress that is probably 15 years old.  You can feel every wood slat beneath it, so you try to position the tip of your hip bone accordingly in the gaps when you are on your side.  And if you are on your back, you wedge your shoulder blades in between slats to remove as many pressure points as possible.  I have it down to a science, but when I am really tired, I am all over the place, and then I wake up a bit and shift until the pressure points are gone.

The same thing goes when I am typing.  Or really any time we are in the room.  There is a tiny desk, no wider than my laptop and it is not sturdy, not made for real work to be done at it – it holds an alarm clock and a water bottle and that is about it.  The only place to fold laundry, sit, work, read, play, whatever, is on the bed.  I start writing the blog sitting up, with my back pressed against the back board, and then flat on my back with the lap top on my knees, and then on my side propped on my elbow, and then on my stomach while doing my back stretches.  The bed is very short, and only comes up to halfway between my knee and ankle, which really creeps me out at night with a rat that comes in and out whenever it wants, and mosquitoes and everything else, but during the day when you do not want to take your shoes off, it is perfect.  See, there is a plus side to everything. 

As an added bonus, to let the breeze in through during the day, I will leave the door open.  If the breeze blows too hard, it opens the door all of the way, and then it bounces off of my feet and shuts again.  The room might be fine without the doors open for breeze, because there is a 4 inch gap at the bottom, and there are openings in between the slats on the door itself – you can literally see strips of light, right through the door.  But I do like a nice breeze to blow in once in awhile – it clears my mind.

 

I think about going home and wonder how my back will survive carrying a 3 year old all around the airport, but I know that God provides.  I dream about going to my PT but I would hate to see that disappointed look on his face when he sees how my back is.  He tried to warn me to do my stretches and stuff, but the sleeping was a big thing for and obviously the situation is not ideal. I dream of being in traction and having my spinal column stretched.  There are few things that make me as excited as that.  Maybe while Benny is at Baptist’s speech therapy center, I can sneak over and get stretched and have an ultrasound treatment and that deep tissue shock thing!?!?  OMG.  Whoever came up with that was a genius.  I beg him to turn it up the electricity as high as possible knowing how great it will feel when it is done.  My PT is the absolute best.  How weird are you when you start dreaming of where you get to go when you get home?!?

Last week when I was trying to wash my hair, I imagined my hair dresser’s face when she saw how messed up my hair was.  Rachel at Garbo’s is the best, I have followed her for 4 years, and she does the best Brazilian Keratin treatments. Before I left, she told me of some new one that is getting certified in, and I can’t wait to go home and have straight hair again.  Between swamp water and the heat and sweat – my hair has been a fro of waves for weeks and it smells.  I use ‘It’s a 10’ which helps with the smell a little, but the shampoo is yucky that I bought here, but it was the cheapest one, and was almost $15 for a tiny bottle, so I am stuck using it. 

My hair sticks out everywhere, like a loose spiral perm.  I try to keep it in braids, especially at night to keep it from getting really tangled, but it does not help much.  Ugandans response to my hair is amusing.  They ask to touch it, they pulls the braids, play with the bristly ends of the braid, grab handfuls of my hair when it is not in braids.  Benny likes it when I flip it over my face, or toss it over my head, sometimes he tries to hide in it.  They comment on how it matches my eyebrows and the hair on my arms.  They tell me that I could weave it and use it as fishing line. 

So Sunday started slow as I sat and pondered all of these things while Benny played cars on the floor.  Benny did not pull any crazy bathroom stunts, but he did pour his water bottle all over his chair when I would not let him get out of his seat, and he refused to each his breakfast.  I brought him back to the room and put him in the corner with his bowl of breakfast and a water bottle and told him that we would play soccer when he was done eating.  He has demolished the water bottle and crumbled and smashed his food to pieces, but there he sits, happy as a clam.

The rest of the day was more of the same….me praying to go home, Benny praying that I let him out of the room.  I really do not want to let him play outside because of all of the rain last night, and the mud in the grass, but I have little choice – even I would rather go insane outside rather than in.  I am nervous about tomorrow and I know that God’s Will will be done, and I am trying to not think about it, but it is crazy to maintain focus and balance and keep the emotions of a very fallen creature aligned to the acceptance of God’s Will.

Notes from my prayer journal:  I pray that I do not lose hope tomorrow. I pray that I can be focused on trusting in His Will, and align my emotions to that accordingly.

“Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you, 

who walk in the light of your presence,

O Lord.”

-Psalm 89:15

Soundtrack song of the day – No Ones Gonna Love You – Band of Horses

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Blessed Pope John Paul II, Day 32

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 6

Saturday, the 22nd

I started my morning by wondering if they make 2-day sleeping pills that I could give Benny and I to get us through the weekends…I debated in my mind the efficacy of such an invention, knowing that I would want to use the same invention with Benny whenever it was time to fly home – 9 hours to Amsterdam, 3 hours waiting, 9 hours to Atlanta, 1.5 hours in customs, 3 hours home.  Moms all over the world would sing my praises when traveling long distances.

I got Benny changed, and sent him into the bathroom – and at some point in the middle of the process, he decided to get off of the toilet, use the floor, and then get back on to finish his business.  I spent the next 2 hours sanitizing the bathroom.  For the love of God, I wish I was home, where I could show him how a real toilet work.  Of course, if he pulled a stunt like that at home, I would not have the luxury of a huge drain in the corner of the bathroom to wash everything towards, but somehow the idea of doing this at home was somewhat comforting – at least Paul would be there to laugh at me, and the kids would make mad faces at Benny and tell him how to do it correctly.  Of course I had to take a shower after that, wearing my shoes because the Good Lord knows what might be on me or the floor.  I promptly cover myself in hand sanitizer, and get re-dressed for the day.

It takes about two hours to access blogspot, and upload 1 blog without pictures.  I was determined to sit and get Thursday and Friday up, so Benny and I sat in the living room area and got to work.  However, Benny was not so pleased with my decision to be inside, but the closer you are to the wireless router, the fast and better your connection was.  He started to creep towards the door, and when one of the workers, Harriett, went outside, he made his escape.  I ran to put my tablet away in his absence, and then went outside to get him.  He heard me and turned around and turned to Harriett and started crying and put his hands up, like maybe she would rescue him.  She completely ignored him, thank God.  But this is the problem with living in one place for too long that is not permanent, where people let him get away with whatever he wants.

All of this just makes me upset and frustrated.  I dream about what he will be like at home, with boundaries, and no interference from well meaning Ugandans ruining my parenting efforts.  The bonding books say to keep him close, be his only source of food, blah blah blah.  But when you have three places that you are confined to – the bedroom, the dining room, and the backyard, you are kind of stuck to the people in those places.  Obviously, in our bedroom, that is fine – but these are tiny quarters not suitable for a 3 year old.  The other 2 harbor threats to the bonding process, and he is very used to people coming in going out of his life and making do with whatever constants remain longer than the others. 

I have really had to start cracking down on their interfering.  For instance, if we are eating dinner, and he does not want to eat something, he gets down and tries to wander around r he whines and falls to the floor and starts rolling around laughing, and everyone else laughs at him, which just encourages him.  I tell him to sit, and he whines, and the waiters talk to him.  I put him in his seat, and they come over and goof off with him, and when they walk away, he tries to follow.  I feel like I am constantly saying, “Do this, do that, yes, no, eat, sit,” and that everyone else is like “play, goof off, you are so cute, so funny, ha haha.”  Maybe they should be the ones cleaning up his mess all over the bathroom floor almost every single day for the past week.  Maybe if I showed them pictures of his mess, he would be less cute and playful.

To make matters worse, we are sure that he has giardia.  We spent all of that time and money getting him dewormed, but first chance he gets, he is drinking the shower water.  Hello?!?  The shower water is from a huge black tank in the back yard, from rain that came off of the roof.  You CANNOT drink it.  PERIOD.  Shower water smells, sink water smells, my hair smells.  I am bathing in glorified swamp water.  Since one of his long showers about two weeks ago, he has had diarrhea every day at least once.  He won’t eat stuff he used to.  You couple his intestines, with his desire to only eat pineapple and watermelon and mango and you can see why his stomach is so messed up. 

You can give someone antibiotics for giardia but it only shortens the lifespan of the parasites.  You cannot spread giardia if you are washing your hands after changing him. You will not catch it either.  So truly, there is no point in giving him anything now, if he will continue to drink water when he is in the shower.  And I have yelled at him for it, but what am I supposed to do, spank him?  As soon as I leave and wait outside the door so that I do not get soaked, he will do it anyway.  Even when I get out of the shower, I still cover myself in hand sanitizer.  I wash my face with face wipes, I brush my teeth with a bottle of water, I use Clorox wipes on the sinks and toilet every time he is done. 

I did get a chance to talk to my sister Sarah and both of my parents today which was nice – and I talked to all of the kids as well.  It is really hard to make this happen – conversations with the kids are hard to manage.  If I want to call them at 6 AM, I fight get three of four minutes per kid, and I set my alarm on my tablet to tell me when it is 2 PM, because I am liable to miss it.  If I want to talk to them at the end of their day, when they are home after baseball and streaks, then I have to stay up until 3 or 4 AM – which is not hard when I am having nightmares, but normally around 4, I have an easier time falling asleep.  I have found that Saturdays at 5 PM my time, when it is 9 AM their time, is a decent time to call them….unless they have soccer, which is every weekend except the weekends that start and stop Spring Break.  Yay me.

I fell asleep easily, in the middle of a rosary, but woke up 3 different times for torrential downpours and thunder that rolled for minutes at a time with no break.  I got up and moved my suitcases out from under the window.  Our windows have iron bars, but no screens, and the glass window parts are all open and swung out. You have to be outside to shut the windows or have a big long stick to pull them shut with.  The way that the wind was blowing, I was afraid of water being blown in and soaking the bags.  For the rest of the night, I did what I normally do - lay there and read emails, or check facebook and see if my husband is online or watch faithit.com videos or pray, or read my consecration books.  I order more digital books from Sophia Press so I have reading material for the next few weeks that I might be in country.

I cannot even begin to explain how upset I will be in the Embassy says that I will not get a Wednesday appointment.  I would probably start sobbing, right then and there.  I would lose it, I know I will.  It will crush me, no matter how much faith I have that this is God’s will, my faith and acceptance cannot suddenly make me happy that I am here by myself.  Just saying.

Notes from my prayer journal:  I am being tempted to distraction from things back home.  I am being tempted to hate the people that are causing these disruptions back home.  Every second I spend caring or being angry are seconds that I am taking away from Benny, and bonding and focusing on why God sent me here. I keep begging God to focus my heart and mind, when every part of me wants to call down the thunder to put an end to false accusations.  But He always said that persecutions will come, and we will suffer, and that we should not bother with fighting or defending, to pay the price they request and be done with them.  I am not ready to do that, I want to defend myself.  But what can I do?  I am in Africa, with little internet connection.  I can get facebook on a large glorified phone in my room, but have no keyboard, cannot sign in to important accounts because there is no firewall protection here, and more.  What is done is done, but it breaks my Will, which is exactly what God requires of His people to be true followers of Christ.  I am learning.  Baby Steps.

“Those who know your name will trust in you, for you Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.” 

-Psalm 9:10

Soundtrack song of the day – Broken Bells – the High Road

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Blessed Mother Teresa, Day 31

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 5

Friday

Friday the 21st

I keep thinking, maybe I can leave next Friday, maybe I can leave next Friday.  In fact, I was so anxious about not hearing from the Embassy on Wednesday that I must have prayed to keep me focused, for hours.  When the Thursday hours started to tick by, I thought for sure that we would have to deal with Benny’s kind-of-positive TB test before we got out appointment.  At 4 PM, I gave up, and right when I went to email Paul and get upset, there was an email from the Embassy with a Monday morning appointment.  I had told the embassy people before that I almost cry every time I see an email from them, and this time was no different – Monday at 9 AM. Woot-woot.  One step closer.

Being one step closer, made my Friday quite a bit better.  I have been looking forward to Friday all week.  Linda had promised me that we would go to the market so that I can get gifts for the people back home, and for people that have supported us along the way. I was trying to find things that really link Africa to people in Alabama. I also really wanted to find a well-priced drum for Benny Michael, because he drums on everything – tables, chairs, garbage cans, and more.  So this trip was going to be important, and I had it all planned out on paper – 15 Auburn colored necklaces, a drum, a basket, a nativity, headbands, purses, soccer jerseys.

However once we got to the Friday Market, I was so overwhelmed.  There were sooo many people selling, in a tiny crowded area, with tarps were spread out all over the rocky uneven ground.  And they had a pre-cut path around everything, made from salvaged broken brick, probably from a nearby building, so you had to be really careful where you stepped.  Twice I stepped wrong and a piece of brick jabbed through the side of my sandals and caught the side of my foot – not fun.

I had been doing a pretty good job keeping track of what was for whom, and trying to write it all down, when suddenly I came across a wood carver that had the greatest statues of St. Joseph, St. Francis, crucifixes, Our Lady of Africa, Our Lady of the Rosary, and a ton of wooden nativity sets.  They were primitive, stained a deep dark mahogany color, and were really precious, oh, I wanted them all.  In fact, as soon as I was back at the Terrace I started kicking myself for not getting more.  I should have bought more beads and more statues, and if I am not doing anything again this Friday, I will go back and buy more.  (Let me know if you want me to get something in particular for you.)

I think I made it out of there pretty well, but when I got back to the hotel, I could not find my list, or remember what I was thinking when I started laying everything out on the bed.  I got so frustrated with the whole process that I gave up and packed it all up in the empty suitcase.  I pray that nothing gets broken….maybe if I bought a few more dozen things, it would fill the suitcase better?!?

I try so hard not to hate Fridays, but it is impossible.  I know what the weekend entails, absolutely nothing, and I hate this.  If something is not productive – either in leisure, fun, accomplishing something, finishing something, learning something, I consider it a waste.  Our Lord would say to sit in the silence, is the only time I can find Him, but then I am still accomplishing something.  However, nothing gets accomplished here on the weekend.  Linda’s drivers take advantage of me because I am Catholic and have a baby.  The only places to go are the mall or to a food place, and I did not come with excess money to spend – just enough to get me through and besides, taking Benny out in public is a type of torture right now.  He wants to run around, and play in the fountains, and he gets overwhelmed, and a little stressed, so when it is time to go or do something he does not want to do, like holding hands in a VERY busy parking lot or to cross 5 lanes of traffic, he starts screaming.  This, in turn, sets off a whole new set of problems.

I tried to get a feel from Linda about what she thought about the Embassy.  Is it pretty guaranteed that I get an exit interview for Wednesday?  (nope, nothing is ever guaranteed with the US Embassy in Kampala)  How long are the waits for exit interviews?  (2 days to 2 weeks)  Is it possible that they might do the exit interview on an “untypical” day?  (if they do not have any interviews, they have been known to bump people up, but that is not typical)  I decided that I would not think about it, that I would just keep focused on preparing for Monday.  I will walk in nice and calm, even though we will have to be up very early and Benny might pitch a fit.  I will smile, and be respectful and sweet.  I will not presume anything, I will be focused and cautious, and ask pertinent questions, as needed.

I hate talking to Paul on Fridays.  I call him and he goes through a schedule of everything they are doing, and I get so jealous.  “Wait what, you get to go to soccer games?  Anna scored a goal, she went to her first big girl birthday party, you had Father Daughter, there is no soccer and you get to work on family chores and projects?  The boys are hanging out?  You are going to Costco?  You will be in air conditioning and drink safe water and eat pizza and watch tv and hang out with your awesome kids and play with the dog and and and and???”  My eyes go from blue, to a jealous green, and then when I hang up to a blood shot red, because even though I do not want to cry, I cannot stop the tears.  I just let them fall and I sigh, and accept that my lot is to be here right now, and that I will be home soon enough – even though it does not make it easier, it just invites a sense of resignation.

Every day I wonder what God wants to me accomplish in order to leave.  Maybe he wanted 200 Divine Mercy Chaplets from me.  Maybe He wanted my effort.  Maybe he wants my sacrifices to cure/heal/save someone.  Maybe He wants me to learn patience.  Maybe He wanted me to say something in particular in my blog, and then He will let me go home. We all have a mission, something to accomplish, something great that only you are destined to do.  So what do I need to do in order to be home?  I spot check myself throughout the day.  Am I relying on Him enough, being patient enough, being kind and friendly enough?  Am I focused on His presence inside of me and others enough?  I cannot pretend to know what God has in store for me each day, I can only pray that my will is open to His plan, and that I accept His plan when it is not what I envisioned.  He did not promise happiness, EVER.  He promised only peace.

Notes from my prayer journal:  I need to learn to equate peace with happiness.  If I accept His will, and trust in it, then I will have peace.  That does not mean that everything is roses and butterflies and that I will like it, and that I will be comfortable and physically satisfied.  It means that if I am dying from starvation or cancer or heart disease, and there is nothing left to do to fight against the prognosis, then I accept that there will be a miracle and I will be a testament to his great glory, and if there is no miracle, then I accept that God is using me to suffer and save souls and set an example on how to be full of race and humanity while being totally reliant on Him.  

“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid.  The Lord the Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.”

-Isaiah 12:2-3

Soundtrack song of the day – Time is Running Out, Muse

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, St. Maximilian Kolbe, Day 30

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 4