China
Guatemala
Russia
Vietnam
Brazil
IndiaI am more emotional than most mothers are as I watch my daughter, almost 4 years old, playing happily with the neighbor girls. The girls have been at it for hours enjoying the beautiful spring weather, running from one imaginative game to another. Sometimes when I go out to check on them, she is too busy to stop. Other times, she stops to fill me in on all the happenings. I stoop down to listen. Her beautiful brown eyes still captivate me every time I gaze into them. I want to make sure that I have memorized every feature of her face. She puts her arm around my shoulders to tell me with great pride what they have been playing. It fills me up to see how happy she is. My child is so full of life. But this was not always so.
It was June 25, 2000, at 8:45 p.m. We had been pacing my hotel room in Nanchang, the capital of Jiangxi Province in China, for 45 minutes. The Chinese Cailin doll, given to me by a friend, was perched on the couch waiting for her also. My husband wanted to wait until she arrived, but finally had to run down to the business office to copy some papers that we would need early the next morning to complete the adoption. As he left the room, I panicked. "Please don't come until your ba ba (Chinese for daddy) gets back, Huiping," I whispered. I did not want Tim to miss that moment. Would it be a magic moment? Would she like us immediately? Would she be happy to have a mommy and a daddy, even if we did look strange?
Our life was about to change forever. We had journeyed half way around the world to meet our three-year-old daughter for the first time. Many people, who pay attention to the media, had warned us of the risks of adopting an older child, but we ignored them all. Everyone that we had spoken to personally had wonderful experiences adopting older children. It seemed to us that the media had sought out and exploited those few that had gone awry.
Our desire to adopt had been a very strong calling from God. It began in 1990 when we saw the 20/20 special on Romanian orphanages. The search for our daughter in China started 10 months earlier. We had been working on a Russian adoption for 5 months. When we realized that our agency had not processed the paperwork correctly, and we had not made any progress, we decided to start all over with another agency. It just so happened that Families Thru International Adoption was having a reunion about that time. Keith Wallace invited us to attend and check them out.
The majority of the children at the reunion were beautiful, vibrant little Chinese girls. My seven-year-old, blond son fell in love with all of them. He began lobbying for a little Chinese sister before we had even left. My nine-year-old daughter chimed in her agreement. Danny's lobbying efforts were touching and relentless on the two-hour-drive home from Indianapolis. By the next morning the final decision was made. Our daughter was definitely in China; so sayeth the seven-year-old! And now tonight in this hotel room half way around the world, one journey, the journey to adopt, was about to end, and another was about to begin.
I had left the door to our room open. I had run out several times watching for any sign of our daughter. I felt privileged to watch several of the other families in our travel group meet their ten-month-old babies for the first time. Our daughter was coming in from a different city than the babies. It was almost 9:00 p.m. They said she was coming at 8:00! ..
During the last 10 months, I had often imagined what our daughter would look like.
While doing simple things around the house, I would often picture a beautiful dark-haired little girl in my mind's eye peering around some corner watching me. Then I would wonder what she might be doing at that very moment.
Even though we had received a picture of Huiping two months earlier, I still did not know what she would look like tonight. Our "referral" photo was about eighteen months old. Still, I had memorized every detail of that photo. She had big, dark, beautiful, sad eyes. Yes, I would look into her eyes and know it was she.
Our guide, Bruce, popped his head around the corner and knocked on the door. "Oh," I quivered, "is she here? Tim is not back yet." In walked several people, but the only one I noticed was a 24-pound little girl with big, beautiful, dark eyes. She was wearing dirty pajamas, striped socks, and those plastic sandals that squeak when you walk. Her hair was thin and coarse from malnutrition. Her skin was covered with scabies. She did not run into my arms. I thought that I would rush over and envelope her in my arms, but I did not. She clung to her foster mother.
I gasped for air. She was so beautiful and so scared! This was the daughter and sister our family had talked about and dreamed about for 10 months. I thought I would cry at this moment. I had cried so many times before thinking about her. But now, I had to remain calm. What could I do to make this easier for her? I just wanted to do whatever I could to win her over.
My husband, Tim, walked in just after the grand entrance. I remember some sound coming from him, but I am sure that it was not words. We crouched down on the floor next to her, and said, "Ni hao, Huiping (Hello Huiping)." Her foster mother was braver than one could imagine. She had cared for Olivia since infancy. They were obviously very close.
She pointed to Tim, and said "ba ba." She pointed to me and said "ma ma." She tried to push Huiping to us. Huiping clutched her foster mother even tighter. Her strong will became apparent to us from the first moment. She was not interested in being hugged by these two strange-looking people. Tim put his had out and said, "that's okay." Her foster mother seemed to understand.
I had practiced Mandarin Chinese for two months. I had planned on saying just the right thing to win over my daughter, but my brain was too garbled. Panic! I couldn't remember any words! Quick! Say something! Finally, I choked out "piolian (beautiful)." The crowd: the orphanage director, her foster mother, a driver, and our guide repeated "piolian" and laughed in congratulations at my excellent choice of words.
We handed our daughter the doll. Huiping, soon to be Olivia, was not interested in any gifts from these strangers. She was obviously trying to figure out a way to escape this situation. She was being asked to call these two strange-looking people, ma ma and ba ba! What kind of a bad dream was this?
Encouraged by the approval of my audience, I decided to try some more Chinese, "Women ai ni. (Ne love you.)" Again, my audience murmured in approval.
We had a long list of questions to ask her foster mother, but things were moving too fast. There was the exchange of gifts with the orphanage director and the foster mother, then pictures. I did manage to find out that the foster mother's nickname for Olivia was "Bright Eyes." Oh yes, her eyes must be very bright when she was happy. But tonight, they were big and beautiful and sad.
Oh no! I thought, where is everyone going? They just arrived a few minutes ago! Now, they are all leaving! I panicked. How would our daughter react? They didn't even give her time to get used to us!
My panic soon paled compared to that of our beautiful daughter. She bolted to the door in sheer terror and tried repeatedly to open it. Then she banged on the door! She screamed for her foster mother, "MIA! MIA!" She launched into a lengthy, full-body-slam temper tantrum. My heart broke into a million pieces. What could I do to make this easier for her? Was this was how Jesus felt when he yelled, "My God, why hath thou forsaken me?"
I sat next to Olivia while she kicked her shoes and socks off and pulled her hair ribbons out, screaming loud enough to frighten anyone who must have been staying on the floors above and below us. I wanted to show support for her feelings without invading her space. We had read a great deal from experts on toddler adoptions. We knew that it was best to approach her one at a time. Tim stayed back and put a Chinese lullaby tape on the small recorder.
After about 20 minutes, Tim picked her up, and I stayed away. She continued to cry, but we were relieved that she let Tim pick her up. She clutched her tiny possessions: her shoes, socks and hair ribbons. When she dropped one of them, she panicked and Tim quickly picked up the missing piece and handed it to her.
Then I held her for a while. Clutching her possessions tightly to her body, she continued to cry. I repeated her name, and a few Mandarin phrases of affection, and sang, over and over, the only Chinese song that I knew.
After about 90 minutes she fell asleep in my arms. Still clutching her possessions, her sweat-drenched head rested on my shoulder. It felt good to have her in my arms finally. As difficult as the last 90 minutes had been, we knew that this reaction was a good sign. We had read that children, who mourn the loss of a caregiver, had already learned how to bond. That meant that it would be easier for her to bond with us. I was happy to know that she had been loved while she was waiting for her family to find her. We also knew that we were already in love with her.
The next morning she woke up crying, but not like the night before. We bathed her and dressed her in a beautiful flowered cotton dress that her big sister had worn many years earlier. Tim whisked Olivia down to breakfast, hoping that a change of scenery and some food would help. She refused to eat, and was obviously sad and scared, but she did stop crying. She did engage in a game with me passing her hair ribbons back and forth. I mustered up a few more Chinese words. My eyes welled up. We were making progress, but her pain pierced my heart. I felt the love and support of our travel group who sat there at breakfast with us.
After breakfast, we all went straight to the adoption office. For three hours, I held our Olivia and swayed with her as one does an infant. I whispered all the Chinese that I knew in her ear. I told her that I loved her and that I was her mama. For 3 hours, she clutched on to me. She did not let me put her down or sit down.
How was it possible for us to love her so much already? I thought about her eight-year-old brother and nine-year-old sister waiting for her at home. Yes, I knew that they would love her as instantly as dad and I had. She had been our daughter and sister in our hearts since the agency reunion when we realized that China was our destiny, and now, the Chinese government was about to sign a paper in agreement. Did she love me? Or was this whole thing so scary that she just wanted someone, anyone to hold her? Yet, she would not go to anyone else. She was clinging to me! Yes, we were definitely making progress.
Our name was finally called. We entered the office for a short interview, and to put Olivia's footprint on the adoption certificate. The government official handed us a beautiful gift of local porcelain and adoption certificate and shook our hands. Tears well up in my eyes (yes, again!). She is still clinging to me. The muscles in my arms ached from carrying her for so long, but I didn't care. I am becoming her mommy in the eyes of the government and in my daughter's heart at the same time.
She rarely left my arms or my lap the rest of the day. She grew happier with each passing moment. That afternoon, we met our travel group in the lobby for the next bus ride to the Passport Office. Olivia bounded into the lobby with a smile on her face holding my hand. She was met with applause from our group. (I love these people!)
After a big celebration dinner with our adoption group, Olivia and I, her new ma ma, sneaked up to the hotel room. We needed some time alone. We hugged. We tickled. We giggled, just like any other three-year-old might be doing with her mother at this very moment. After many satisfying belly-laughs, she fell asleep in my arms. I couldn't stop staring at her. I wanted to memorize everything about her. Even though I had been her mother in my heart since she was born, I had been her mother legally for less than a day. Why had God chosen me to mother this amazing child? I felt very privileged and grateful. "Thank you; thank you, God," I whispered.
Pam and Bill
