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Burchard Ukrainian AdoptionChronicles of our adoption journey in Ukraine, 2005...and our adventures in life beyond 7月25日 poetry in motionTwo Sundays ago, I was heading out the door of the high school cafeteria where we meet for church. Everything was packed up and put away for another week, and we were ready to belly up to the table and eat. I had my hands full of papers and bags of curriculum and candy from kids' ministry, so I was moving a little slowly with Veech by my side. Suddenly, I heard, "Hey, MaryJo!" It was an old friend, Jerry, who was visiting from Washington. He was jogging toward us with a bundle of folded clothing in his hands. "Sharon found these at the upscale kids' thrift shop where she works, and we thought Veech would enjoy them." "Well how swee----" I didn't finish my sentence, because suddenly I was being RUN OVER by a GOLF CART. It's a little terrifying to start to get run over by something you hardly realized was even near you, especially when it's being driven by the five year-old son who was just standing next to you ten seconds ago. "AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa!" I screamed, totally disoriented. What was going on? It's impossible for Veech to be the one driving that thing, he's never even been in one before, and he was just here!.... but it was Veech. Veech was running me down. It was maybe 3-7 seconds of abject horror for both of us, neither really believing what was happening. Thank God that my scream got his attention enough to stop. And just as suddenly as he had swept behind me, climbed into the janitor's vacant golf cart, goosed the gas, jumped the curb, and came 3 feet short of pinning me to a wall, Veech had stumbled out as if it were on fire. Horrified that his experiment had run me down, he was nearly crawling toward me---"I'm---sooo sooooorrr---ry mooommmmmy! Iiiiiiit---- waaassss---- aaaaaan--- acccident----- I'm----sooooo----soooorrrryy-----aaaarrre---yoou---okay?" And I was. I got a little bruised up, but I was okay. When we got home, Veech insisted on holding the ice pack, stroking it up and down my ankle, whispering little love whispers and asking for reassurances that I was okay. Kenny had a long talk with him about why we don't play with other people's things--and why five year olds don't drive ANYTHING but their own bicycles. Ever. I doubt he'll ever have trouble remembering that lesson. Once we got Veech down for his nap, I began to unfold the clothes that Jerry was handing me when the golf cart episode took place. I held up the grey t-shirt on the top of the pile and had to laugh. It read: "I decided to put myself in charge." Of all the things to be handed when my kid is trying to drive. That is just way too perfect. Boy, are we in for a ride. 7月9日 When "lightswitch" is a miraculous wordTime has run away with me (or perhaps without me) once again. If there's still anyone still curious how the Veecherdude and his fam are doing after so many long breaks between entries, prepare to be amazed. :)
We just returned from surgery #5: a "sphryncto-phringio-plasty." I probably butchered the spelling of it, but in layman's terms this procedure has permanently restricted Vitya's air passage between his nose and throat by criss-crossing the muscles (not the glands) of the tonsils, stretching them across his throat and attaching them to the opposite sides. The purpose of the procedure is to give Veech a chance at normal speech, a chance that is nonexistant without it. Of course, this had some considerable risks, most minor (e.g., snoring, high risk of sinus infections/runny nose, etc.) but some more serious, namely the risk of developing sleep apnia.
What's Sleep Apnia?
Apnia is a sleeping disorder that causes you to stop breathing as soon as you enter deep sleep. This, of course, causes you to wake up after a few seconds, gasp for breath, and try to get back to sleep. This happens hundreds of times each night for people who suffer from apnia. And I did not want my little guy to develop this, just because he wants to talk like a normal person. This last Thursday night, the evening before Veechie's surgery, true to tradition, we converged with several of our closest friends and descended upon Chuck E. Cheese. I sat quietly at our table, now covered with empty soda cups, wads of pizza-smudged napkins, game tokens, and a few sad slivers of cold pizza. Surrounded by singing puppets and screaming children, I watched my boys excitedly flit from game to game: Kenny with his buddies, competing at the freethrow line, then skee-ball, then cyber-motorcycle races; Veech excitedly trying to prop up a rifle and deftly aim at rabid wolves in a forest like a big boy. I just want him to have a normal life God, I silently prayed. I just want him to be able to talk like everybody else. Please, please don't let him suffer with something worse, just in order to be normal.
Don't forget to see the miracle I remembered back to a conversation I had with my friend Amber, earlier that morning. "Why does it have to be so hard for Veech, why does he have to go through so much, just to be able to talk right?" I asked in tears.
"Jo, you have to remember that Veech isn't comparing his life with your childhood or the lives of the kids around him. He's comparing it to what he had. You have to remember where he'd be if he were still back in that orpahanage in Ukraine. He has a chance. That's the point. He has a chance to be normal. That is a miracle. Don't miss your chance to see it because you're stuck comparing his life to kids' lives who have it easier. That was never a reality for him until now."
What would I do without friends like that?
Veech slept with me that night. Kenny, Veech, and I all snuggled together on a double futon at my sister Rachel's house. I lay there listening to him silently sleeping like an angel, so softly and silently. He's going to snore after tonight. This is the last night that he will sleep like this. God, I'll trust you. I sure will miss this sweet sleeper. I softly wept in whisper-tears that slowly flowed down my pillow until I drifted into sleep.
Done Before We Knew It
Before we knew what happened, we were being whisked away to ICU. The surgery was over. It had been predicted to take 2-3 hours, but was finished in 90 minutes. Kenny and I, along with my mom, sister, and Veechie's God-parents, formed a procession behind his gerney. He was conscious, wailing with pain and disorientation. They allowed me to go directly into the room, but everyone else needed to wait outside in the ICU waiting room. Before long, Veech was juiced up with morphine and everything began to calm down. The nurses brought in a sleeper-chair and set it next to the window for me. I took a few deep breaths of relief as I stared down at Veechie's sleeping figure. He was snoring, but the snore was soft and sweet. He was going to be just fine.
Who Gave Man His Mouth?
For a couple of hours family filtered in one or two at a time. Then it was quiet. I sat staring out the window, then back at Veech. In that silent moment, God reminded me of a passage he had given me to pray over Veech during the stay of his first surgery:
"But Moses said to the LORD, 'O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.'
"The LORD said to him, 'Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the LORD? Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say'" (Exodus 4:10-12, ephasis added).
I remembered. I know that this was spoken to Moses at a specific time for a specific purpose, but don't I serve the same timeless God? If he doesn't change, does it not apply to us today? God made Veech the way He did--not only to rescue him and save him for us, but to remind us through the restorative process that HE is the LORD, and HE Himself will help Veech to speak and teach him what to say.
I just needed to trust. Why does that come so hard sometimes?
Speedy Recovery
The hours rolled by, measured more in Disney movie titles than in minutes. Veech was awake, unable to speak but very alert. Alert enough to consistently refuse pain meds 4x longer than they had anticipated. They were under orders to give him meds up to every 2 hours; he was going as long as 6-8 hours before allowing them to administer it. "It's that stoic Russian constitution," one of the nurses said. I smiled. It could also be a merciful answer to my exhausted prayers. In my sleep-deprived state, I was so grateful that this one was so much easier.
What I Learned In Pediactric ICU
The next morning, Veech was talking. He was speaking softly--in a half-whisper--but it was distinctively clearer. He was excited to gain strength and go home. "When you can eat and drink, they'll let you go home," I told him. He smiled.
"I want apple sauce and chocolate pudding."
Veech was also feeling too good to stay in bed. Still looking like a zombie with glassy eyes and an expressionless face, he asked if he could walk around. With the help of Leah the Wonder-Nurse, we did lap after lap around the ICU unit, trailing his beeping machines behind us. He had to stop at each room and waive at the mothers and the children and the nurses. One little boy was lying in a dark room. He had buzzed blonde hair and looked to be about Veechie's age. His mom, thin and spent, sat next to the bed and leaned over him. Veech paused as the boys' eyes met. The boy smiled. Veech waived. The boy struggled to sit up a little and waived back. "Look Veech," I pointed out, "he has a light on his finger and tubes in his hand, just like you." Veech held up his tubed hand and showed it to the boy. The boy held up his tube-laden hand and slowly waived it back. The mom started to cry. She rose from her seat and made her way to the sliding glass door that separated us. Bending down to speak to Veech, she started, "Thank you for coming to visit us." She looked up at me. "He's very, very sick." She glanced back at her son. "Thank you for showing him that he's here so he can get better." Veech squeeked out a "You're welcome" and the mother closed the door to return to her chair. I couldn't leave yet. I opened the door.
"Wait--" she looked up.
"I'll--we'll be praying for you, okay?"
Another tear splashed onto her lap. "Thanks."
I was flooded with emotion. What was wrong with her son? How did I get to be so lucky?
As we stopped so Veech could waive at every baby and child that was hooked up to so many machines and gadgets and surrounded by so many doctors and nurses, I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed for feeling so bad for Veechie's struggles. I want Veech to talk normally. Some of these kids will just be happy to make it out alive. It really puts life into perspective to be in ICU. When we returned to our room, we sat on the floor and prayed for the kids and the families we would be leaving behind. I felt a similar emotion to the one I had when we were leaving Ukraine: like we had somehow been snatched from the fire, but we couldn't bear to have any of the other children burned. I know God's heart feels this even more strongly, and He just gave us a tiny taste of His pain for these little ones.
Four hours later, we were on our way HOME! From ICU to home!
One night in the hospital, and now home.
A Beautiful Shock
Yesterday morning, I came into the kitchen to check on Veech, who was eating a breakfast of oatmeal and soup (that's what he wanted!). His back was turned from me, so he was in his own world. He was looking around the kitchen, finding words he was previously unable to say:
"Frigerator!...and...Oven!....and...Sandwich!" I walked slowly to him. When he saw me, his eyes sparkled with pride and anticipation. "Mommy, listen." He took a deep breath, then another, like a child who is preparing himself to jump from a diving board into deep waters. Suddenly he got his nerve: "LIGHT SWITCH!" WOW! My boy is talking! "And--Sissy! SHIP!" And this went on for over an hour. I don't think either of us were able to contain ourselves very well.
And when Kenny came home from church it started all over again: "Daddy, I have a really, really hard one: SANTA CLAUS!" Kenny burst into laughter and tears.
A couple of times yesterday, we didn't understand a word he was trying to say. The expression he gave was priceless, something in tandem with: "Now, I know this is you, because I got my upgrade and I'm not broken anymore." But what came out was a long sigh and, "Mommmeeeeeee, you're not listening."
"Honey, I am listening. You do have a new throat now and we can understand you much better, but it's only your second day using it. Miss Wendy (the speech pathologist) will help you practice some of the sounds that are still hard to understand. You're fixed, but it's still going to take practice for us to understand everything." Another sigh. More attempts. And finally we understand. Everything still takes time.
Veech is still slow on his feet, still tired, still speaking more softly than usual, still occasionally choking on his food, still in some pain. But this is by far the easiest surgery yet. We are so grateful.
God is so good.
Who gave man his mouth? Is it not the Lord? Then He will help Veech speak and teach him what to say.
We just have to walk it out.
Love to you all.
jo 3月21日 Veech on heaven and worshipA Different View of the World
Every day, I am reminded that Vitya looks at the world from a different perspective from me. Recently, he has been doing some special recruiting.
Heaven
Veech's teacher told my mom a story yesterday: "Victor sure presents things from a different angle. Today he came up to me and said, 'Mrs. Trotter, would you like to go to heaven with me? Jesus will be there. We can go right now together. Do you want to go?' I had to tell him that I do want to go to heaven, but we can't go right now.'"
I smiled too. He'd asked me the same question the night before. I decided to tell Kenny about it. He started laughing. "That little guy. He invited me to go to heaven with him yesterday too. I said, 'Veech, heaven is a wonderful place and I do want to go, but we can't go to heaven until we die. Do you want to die?' He said, 'No.' I explained that we will love heaven when we get there, but we won't go to heaven until Jesus calls us to go, and then we will die. So since he couldn't get permission from us, he's going down his invite list to see if he can get anyone to say yes."
"Well," I said, at least he's processing things. He told me yesterday, 'Mom, Jesus is in heaven, but he is in my heart right now. I asked him to come and he's in my heart right now.' I said, 'That's right, honey.' He paused for a moment and asked, 'Is Jesus big or little?' I couldn't figure out where he was going. 'What?' 'Jesus is in heaven, but he is in my heart. If Jesus is in my heart, is he little? or not?' How do you explain spirit to a concrete mind? I said, 'Well, honey, Jesus is big, but somehow he can still fit into your heart because he loves you.' That was the best I could do...for now. He squinched his eyebrows, nodded pensively, and leaned back in his car seat. 'Oh, okay." We'll get there.
Here I am to worship
A few Sundays ago, Vitya insisted that he was ready to worship on his own, standing in the front row next to the power point guy. Kenny and I usually have him sit with friends since we’re both on the worship team. He did such a great job! He was totally participating in the worship, fully engaged. After watching him like a hawk for the first couple of songs, I relaxed and started singing on my own and engaging with the rest of the congregation. The next time I looked over at him, he was bowing on his face, hands folded, then raised, then folded, eyes closed, singing his heart out. He happened to look over at me as I knelt down myself and gave me a “good job, Mom” nod before closing his eyes again. When the communion elements were being passed around, they passed him over because he was still kneeling. He got up and quietly walked to the usher and requested his elements. Returning to his seat, he raised them over his head, waving them as he sang. It was so precious! I walked over to him, laid a hand on his head, and silently prayed over him as we took communion together. “Jesus, please continue to make yourself real to my boy,” I whispered.
I returned to the stage as worship wrapped up. At the end, Kenny came to the front. “I know this isn’t commonly done until the end of the service,” he began, “but I just wanted to ask—is anybody here ready to accept Christ? Maybe you’ve been coming for a while and you’ve never made a solid commitment to Jesus. Are you ready to invite Jesus into your life? If you are, please raise your hand and look at me, so I can come and talk to you at the break.” Victor’s hand shot up, and he waived it solemnly as he stared at Kenny. Kenny continued to ask, “Anybody at all—“ Vitya’s hand stayed up. Kenny paused. “I see you, Veech.” Vitya nodded and put his hand down while everybody prayed. When I sat down for announcements, the guy who runs power point flashed his phone to where I could see it: he’d snapped a couple of shots of Veech during worship. Needless to say, I melted. Vitya’s getting closer. He’s so soft. I love watching him grow! I love being his mommy.
Yesterday, we had his next pre-surgery appointment with Dr. Witt. This will be the last surgery for a few years. Yes. I said "years." YEARS Whoo-hoo! They'll be tightening the back of his soft pallate, so his speech won't have such a nasal resonance. I'll give more news on that a little later. I'm all sweaty from my run.
Much love to you!
Jo 2月8日 Slow, behind, or just a kidThis entry has been percalating for some time. I didn't think it would happen so quickly (he's just four), but we have experienced what it's like to wonder how to make sure Veech is okay at school. Don't get me wrong; he's had an incredibly positive experience at his preschool. He has two wonderful, nurturing teachers, he gets along well with the kids, he's absorbed and learned and grown so much where he is.
And the school where he attends (Hanford Christian School) is somewhat of a magical place to be a kid, I think. It's an "old school" school. It looks like you walk into a time warp when you pull into the gravel driveway. Ancient trees line the fenced playgrounds. The quaint, old schoolhouse buildings look like something off of a movie set in the 1940s. The property is surrounded by orchards (at least for a few more years until the area is developed). The teachers are loving and nurturing, and the kids all get along. Educationally, kids who emerge from this school are top performers, too. A safe place to learn and develop--just what we want(ed). The plan was to keep him there until the 8th grade, so we minimize upheaval and the chance of bullying. Kids who grow up around somebody different are enabled to think of that somebody as one of them, because they've always known each other. Kenny and I have many times said we would have loved to have childhood memories from a place like this.
So what spooked us?
The Dreaded Kindergarten Entrance Exam
What initially discouraged us was learning that in order to enter kindergarten, the kids in preschool would be tested to see if they were academically ready. Specifically, Veech would need to know how to write, identify verbally, and demonstrate the sounds of all the capital and lowercase letters of the alphabet, count and write to 20, and know all the primary numbers and shapes by May. Believe it or not, this was a relief, because we didn't know how extensive the test would be (would he need to be a certain stature, have certain speaking skills, be tested for wiggle-levels, be assessed in emotional development, etc--the answer to all of which is "no.").
Enter PapaSchool
We started playing an hour-long "game" (or series of games) with Vitya called PapaSchool. Primarily Kenny works with Vitya on his letters, counting games, sounds, writing, grammar, shapes, etc. using the art eisle I gave Veech for Christmas. After only a couple of weeks, he can write almost all the alphabet and 1-6 without help. Smart boy. He loves PapaSchool. I'm there for breaks in between every accomplishment: Kenny will say, "Go jump on Mama." Veech gets this predatorial grin and pounces on me. We tickle and kiss each other, I throw him around a few times, he jumps off the couch, and I flip him over to see Papa again in the "focus area." It's been a really bonding time for us as a family. I find it a little ironic that Kenny is the teacher, though. I've spent my whole life working with and teaching kids. But Kenny's doing just a fantastic job. And it's deepening the love, trust, and confidence in each other. So I cherish getting to watch.
Still Unsettled
Despite our efforts, I started wondering, "what kind of a kindergarten would have an entrance exam?" Will the kindergarten be too stifling? Will he be crushed if he makes it in? But watching him in PapaSchool and seeing his love for learning, would he become a behavior problem if he spent another year with such a significantly lower level of stimulation during such a developmental phase? Were we doing the right thing not to shop around and make sure Veech should stay where he is? Not knowing which way to turn, I started researching alternatives.
No Such Thing as Benchmarks
I shared my angst with my friend. "I guess I'm just concerned because Veech seems so behind in some areas, and so ahead in others. He's not slow. He's just behind. There's a difference." She just smiled. "MaryJo, every kid is behind and ahead. No kid is typical. 'Normal' in its purest form is an illusion. We create benchmarks in education so we can see how we are making progress, and where kids are on the developmental continuum. But over time, Veech will even out. Kids just do it naturally. Relax. You're doing fine. He's doing fine. Just make sure he's in a safe environment to grow and learn and be."
I can't tell you how much I needed to hear that. Veech needs to be challenged, but not crushed. It feels like walking a tightrope when considering how to do this in the educational setting. But it really was encouraging to know that I can just relax and be okay with whatever the outcome is.
So we'll help him with the exam, but if he doesn't pass, as my friend said, "there's a lot of things worse than an extra year of preschool. So many people do that on purpose for their boys." And there's always PapaSchool.
I just don't want him to miss out on anything: not on learning stimulation, not on the freedom of being a child. God gives us wisdom. We do our best. But ultimately, we will be at peace with the outcomes.
And--I still love Hanford Christian School.
Gotta get ready for work.
Love to you.
jo 1月18日 Three quick memoriesI don't have much time to write, but I don't want to forget these things that have happened in the past few days:
My Turn for the Sunshine
On our way to church Sunday morning, Veech said, "Well, the sun is coming up. My groupa's asleep. It's my turn for the sunshine."
It's always right there in the back of his mind. Even the sunshine can make him feel close to his former world. Those kids are an inseparable part of him.
A Present for You
On Tuesday morning, we were all in one bathroom getting ready for the day: Kenny was shaving, I was doing my hair, and Veech was putting on his clothes and waiting for me to gel his hair. "Oh mommy and papa, I have a present for you," he said, rising his eyebrows and curling up the edge of one side of his mouth.
"What is it, buddy?"
(pause) "We are all together right now."
(another pause) "That's your present?"
(a look of astonishment) "Yeah! You like it?"
"We love it! It's a wonderful present, Veech. Thank you."
Whenever we go out together, he still grabs our hands and proudly sings "Mama, Papa, Vitya" at the top of his lungs. "Family-ness" and his being part of it is still a celebration every day.
Washing My Heart
Last night I went to check on him as he took his bath. He was gently rubbing his chest with a wash cloth and lightly humming.
"Whatcha doing, bean?"
"I washing my heart. I helping Jesus wash my heart."
"Honey, he doesn't need any help."
"I helping him. I want to, Mommy."
Little glimpses. Tiny peeks into the mind of a boy I love more every day.
Thanks for letting me share.
jo
1月4日 A Richer Season (with a little boy)Good morning to you all. I finished my workout early so I could write a little before heading off to work. It's 2007! How did that happen!?!
I just can't let another day go by without catching you up a little and giving you a few peeks into our little world.
Christmastime with a Grateful Boy
I think few things are more beautiful than enjoying the Christmas season with a little kid who's really appreciative of the magic all around. It makes everything new and fresh again. A year ago, Veech had never known a Christmas. It was all new, so we spent hours strolling through the Christmas aisles in the stores and looking at the lights together. He hardly spoke any English yet, but he knew whose birthday we were celebrating (although he was a bit unclear on what birthdays were too, because he hadn't celebrated one yet).
Opening up and Reaching Out
Veech is taking shape, getting deeper, growing in his understanding. His capacity to comprehend deeper things is growing. Because of that growth, this Christmas season was so much richer. Last year, we cut a few things out of our Christmastime because Veech was still adjusting to life here (and recovering from two consecutive surgeries); this year, we brought them back and plugged him right in. He soared. Watching him discover these very precious parts of celebrating in our family motivated me to take the time to explain what we do, and why. For instance:
Our Family Open House.
We take two weeks out of the season to invite everyone in our church family into our home in shifts, for no other purpose but to love on them. We eat together, talk together, play together. Veech had to be the one to answer the door, hug everyone as they entered, and with a sweeping motion of his arm he'd exuberantly shout, "Hum on in! Hum on in!" I love watching him "take care of" the smaller children as they tore his room up. (Of course, we cleaned up the house together after the day was over, so he wasn't too worried).
Reaching out.
Our signing choir (made up of kids, youth and a few moms) had planned to visit a home for moms coming out of drug addiction and their small children. To involve Vitya with the gift giving, I sat down with him and we talked about the kids like him who we were going to visit who lived with their mommies and were having a hard time, and didn't have any money for presents. We looked at his mountain of accumulated stuffed animals in perfect condition, piled up on his book shelf. He loved every one of them (he's a sentimental little dude), but plays with few of them. He went through that pile and found several (6-8) that he could part with and took them to the living room to say his good-byes. He talked to each one ("Oh, my lambie. I love you. (kiss, kiss, kiss) Bye bye, lambie."), and told me things like, "I will miss him when he's gone because he won't be here anymore." But he was still excited to give them to the kids. It may have been easier to just buy all of the gifts, but letting him give a piece of the packages gave him a chance to truly participate in a meaningful way.
On the day of the visit, after a sweet time of mingling with the kids and families, Veech and his little "sister/girlfriend" Claire took turns carrying the gift packages to each child. Then Veech sat with the boys and helped them take all the wrapping off of their toys. and get them working At one point, a little boy couldn't get his truck to work and Vitya fixed the wheels so it would move properly. I watched him swell with pride that he had been able to help. In that moment, watching all our kids playing with the kids who lived there, snuggling with the tiny babies, talking to the moms, I was so blessed. It especially touched me because Vitya was a part of that moment. A piece of him was left with those kids. He watched them play with Lambie, with Big Bear, with other toys that he'll miss. I saw him looking longingly outside where some of the kids were playing with their new toys. Worried that he may be having regret, I knelt down where he was. "May I play on the playground?" Relief. He just wanted to go be a boy.
We want to start going back a few times a year, to build our love for the people living there. And yes, Veech will be going, too.
Man, I didn't even get to Christmas itself, or the Day of the Train. I'll get back to you as soon as I can.
Love to you.
Jo
Vitya's Beautiful BeakProbiscular Trophy-Mania
You know, it's amazing what you can be proud of as a parent. Some of our friends just took their 8 year-old to compete at the state championships in gymnastics. Others' kids have won titles in soccer, cheer-leading, public speaking. Wanna hear our trophy-talk?
"Hey! Have you seen my kid's nose?"
"What about it? It's just a normal nose."
"Exactly! Isn't it just the most beautiful thing?"
Without the context of Veech's history, it's easy to get some pretty funny looks. But we are beside ourselves. Vitya's nose is beautiful. Normal is beautiful. My boy gets to be normal--truly normal--someday. Every surgery is a closer step towards normal. He knows it, and we can notice a difference in him.
Normal
Before the last sugery I didn't really see what all the fuss was about with Vitya's nose. It looked like a cute little nose to me. Sure, one side was a little smooshed, but it was his nose. It didn't look malformed in a way that stood out to me. But when I compare it to "normal," when I compare it to what a little boy's nose is supposed to look like, complete with an even slope down the middle, a high point at the end, and precious, little tear-drop shaped, symmetrical nostrils that both allow proper air flow, I suddenly realize how abnormal his schnaz was before.
The Unveiling
A week ago today, Veech got his nasal stints removed and his cast taken off. They had to put him out to do the 30-minute procedure, and I couldn't be there. It was a tough, but wonderfully worthwhile day. Kenny called me and told me what happened through his tears. Here's the run-down:
To get Veech ready, Kenny pulled down the demonstration-mask from the wall in the waiting room and practiced what would happen to Vitya when they administered the gas, before the doctor came to get him. Despite not eating all day (surgery was at 3:30pm), Veech was in good spirits when the anesthesiologist carted him away in the red wagon.
"Do you want me to give him Verced (liquid knock-out juice)?" he asked.
"No," Kenny shook his head. "Veech knows the drill. He'll be fine." Veecherdude waved as they wheeled him into the operating room. A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist came out with his nurse. They were both shaking their heads.
"That was so sweet," the doctor said.
"What happened?"
"Well, Victor just calmly climbed up onto the table and asked, 'Where's my bubble gum?' (the flavor of the gas). I handed the mask to him, he put it up to his face and sucked in the gas deeply: heeeeeave, (exhale), heeeeave, (exhale), heeeeeave--- and he was out like a light. He was so ready for it, I can't believe how sweet that was."
Kenny smiled, returning to the waiting room to wait for the news of the unveiling. A few short minutes later, Dr. Witt emerged from the surgery room and called Kenny into the hallway.
"It's done," Dr. Witt began. "It's about as perfect as I've ever made a nose in that condition. I'll still want to do one more on it later to make it absolutely flawless, but it's a very nice nose. You'll also already hear a difference in the tamber and quality of his voice. Next surgery, we'll be working on the back of his palate. That's when you'll really hear a marked difference in his ability to speak."
Vitya awoke a few minutes later with Papa standing over him, weeping profusely.
"What's the matter, Papa?"
"You're just so beautiful, baby."
Veech squinched his brow with groggy concern. "It's okay, Papa. It's okay."
"I know, honey. Sometimes mamas and papas cry because they're so very happy."
That one was over Veech's head, so he responded with, "May I have baby corn dogs and french fries and root beer at A&W please?"
"You can have anything you want," answered Kenny, swabbing his eyes.
As he relayed the story to me over the phone as I commuted home, I could scarcely see the road. "Oh, I can't wait to see him! Let me pick up the A&W. We should both get home around the same time."
And we did. I walked in with dinner just a couple of minutes after they'd arrived. Although I'd tried to psyche myself up not to cry, as soon as I saw his nose I couldn't hold it in. "Blaaaaaahahahahaha....Veech, you're soooo beautiful! Your nose looks so good! He has such a perfect, normal little nose! You're so handsome, honey! Kenny, it doesn't look like a cleft-affected nose at all anymore!" Veech sat next to me, rubbing my arm to comfort me.
"It's okay, Mommy. I'm fine," he said. I laughed through my tears and told him the same thing Kenny had said:
"I know, baby. I'm crying because I'm just so very happy." He cocked his head and gave a half-smile, satisfied enough to dive into his first meal of the day--at 6:30pm. Nine baby corn-dogs, one medium order of fries, and 1 1/2 medium root beers later, Veech slowed down enough to breathe. Cute little ketchup-smeared, greasy-faced, twinkly-eyed boy with a perfect nose. Perfect nose!
"Veech, have you even seen your nose yet?" His eyes lit up and he looked at Daddy, shaking his head. "Well let's go!" I scooped him up and the three of us paraded down the hallway with great fanfare. We halted in front of the large mirror mounted in the hallway. Vitya froze, his big, starry mud-puddle eyes staring, scrutinizing, admiring from every angle. We watched our boy inflate inside. A proud, silent smile crept across his face as he stared. That was a turning point for our boy.
The Whole Package
That was a week ago. Today, when Kenny picked Vitya up from preschool, Mrs. Trotter pulled him aside.
"There has been such an amazing transformation in Victor since he's returned," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"He has just exploded. He's broadened. He's--he's got the whole package now," she answered.
"The whole package?"
"Well, he's got everything: he's sweet, he's polite, he's mischievious, he's responsive to discipline, he's funny, he's creative, he's loud and boisterous, he's quiet when appropriate, he's--he's just balanced. He's a broad soul. He's--got the whole package."
The whole package. He's becoming whole. He's embracing the long, arduous, painful process of becoming whole on the outside, and it is creating a whole soul on the inside. I am soooo grateful.
Perspective and Running To The Process
My friend Kim commented recently after seeing Veech's response to this last surgery:"You know, he has a clear picture of what the purpose of each surgery is going to be. He knows it will make him look better, feel better, live better. So he runs to the process, no matter how hard it is. If we could just take hold of what God's envisioning for us, the final product He's got in mind for our lives, can you imagine how much more we'd be pursuing the painful process He's taking us through, too?"
I feel about myself like I felt about Vitya's nose. Sometimes, I look in the mirror of my heart and think to myself, "I'm not in that bad of shape, am I God? Do I really need all this pain? Am I really so bad off that I need all this difficulty in my life to mold me into where I should be?"
The problem is, I have no frame of reference. I am not comparing myself to God's vision for me, God's plan for me, God's ideal for me. When I turn around and see His work in an area of my life, only then can I see how truly marred I was in my original condition. If only I could trust Him like Veech trusts us and Dr. Witt. If only I embraced the process of becoming "the whole package" with my whole being.
Help me, God.
And thank You for the gift of watching the blossoming of a beautiful...
banana, bazoo, beak*, beezer, bill*, bow, bugle, honker, horn*, muzzle*, nares, neb, nostrils, nozzle, olfactory nerves, pecker, proboscis, prow, schnoz*, schnozzola, smeller*, sneezer*, sniffer*, snoot*, snout*, snuffer*, stem, trunk, whiffer*
Love to you all tonight!!!
Thanks for your patience. I'll write again as soon as I can!
Hugs,
jo 11月20日 New Book Published - I LOVE YOU VITYATHE BOOK IS OUT!!!!
For those of you who follow our blog, many have requested that we format the story into a book. Well - good news! It's done. You can order a copy for $14.00 at CafePress.com. Here's the address...
If it does not allow you to point/click, just copy the text of the link into your web browser and hit GO.
Thanks to all who have encouraged us to do this. We hope the book is an encouragement to all!
POSTED BY: Kenny 11月12日 The Day Of the NoseHello all, I will update you tomorrow. We’re home, all is well (very well, in fact!). Here is my entry from our hospital stay. I’ll try to write more in the morning. Peace! Nov. 10:The Day of the Nose I’m writing you from our room at Valley Children’s Hospital. I’m sitting on the floor, making my laptop earn its name. Veech is lying in an eye-fluttering near-stupor, trying to watch Monsters, Inc. It’s nearly 3pm, and it’s already been a full day. My boy is sporting a new nose—splint, shunts, and all. Veech woke up this morning and asked, “Where’s my doctor? I need to see my Dr. Witt. I miss him.” “You will see him very soon.” “I need to go to the hospital,” he whimpered. “I need my surgery.” Okay. Well, at least he’s not dreading it.
Since he was a baby When we checked in this morning, the lady at the registration told me, “Oh, it’s you again! You’ve been here so many times, haven’t you? I remember checking him in as a baby!” I had to smile. “Yeah, he was really like a baby,” I answered, “but that was just last year.” She looked up, wide-eyed. “He was three.” She checked on the computer. “You’re right, good heavens. He has grown, hasn’t he? And he seems to be in such good spirits!” Veech sat humming little tunes to himself as he played with her letter opener. First it was a train, then a bird, then a hammer, then a screwdriver. Hum, hum, hum. “Where’s Dr. Witt? I can’t see him!” Veech broke in. “He’s helping other children in surgery right now. Dr. Witt doesn’t just love you. He loves lots of other children too.” “And me,” he added. “Yes, and you.” Veech grabbed the registration lady around the leg and gave her a squeeze. “Thank you for helping me. Bye bye.”
Waiting for the moment As we walked down the halls, he galloped beside me in his red plaid flannel pajamas and blue felt slippers singing loudly and greeting passersby. For an hour or two (it’s all a blur now) he roved around the magical waiting room, looking for things to look for: should he ride the pedal-motorcycle, or read a book with Daddy, or play with the basket ball with a little blonde girl, or move strings of beads on a track…. Finally, they gave him his happy juice and he was under the knife by 11am. We remembered to film him as the groovy-juice took effect this time. Too, too cute.
We came so close to missing out As soon as he was whisked through the double doors in the red wagon, we ventured off for food. While inhaling El Pollo Loco, we mused about how blessed we are to get to be Vitya’s parents. Kenny sat shaking his head. “I don’t know how God got me to change my mind. I almost missed it. I came this close—“ He held his thumb and index finger a short distance from each other and stared into the distance. “I was so scared. I almost said ‘forget it.’ It’s a miracle that I gave God a chance to say yes.” He looked at me intently. “Now look at what is happening to him! Look at what he gets to have. Look what God is doing for him. He would have never had access to these surgeries if he’d stayed in Ukraine. I am so happy for him. He is such a wonderful little guy. I’m so glad we get to be his parents.” Me too. So glad. I feel so humbled and grateful to be a part of God’s lavishing His love on this precious child. His life is better because he was born with a birth defect than it would have been without it. Only God can do something like that!
The Outcome As I sit writing, Vitya continues to drift in and out of consciousness. Veech’s right ear is filled with blood; the stitches are leaking, but they say it’s normal. It’s slowed down since he has relaxed, but he’s lying on a pad to catch the drainage. His upper lip and nostrils are swathed in bandaging, stints (small, pink rubber straws) are in his nostrils to promote uninhibited breathing while he heals, and a tent-like splint sits squarely on his beak, holding his noggin in place. But the dude looks good. At least right now, there’s not too much swelling and minimal bruising. Just be ready for lots of facial bandages when you see him. Dr. Witt said, “He had a very severe malformation, but this will make a significant difference in his nose when it heals. It will be less bulbous, and it will have increased, symmetrical height and airflow.” Every time he goes in to do work on Veech, he sees how much in there still needs to be done. “It will take a lot of work, but we’ll just keep taking it one step at a time.” Well, we’re certainly not going anywhere. We’re in this for the long haul. We are grateful for the journey, grateful for the opportunity. Just a quick update, the next surgery will be in about six months, and will be on the back of his palate, to tighten the muscles enabling him to make more necessary sounds in speech. Before that happens, he needs to be re-evaluated by a speech pathology diagnostician as soon as possible to see what specific sounds he is still struggling with, what airflow challenges he is facing, etc. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks to all of you for your prayers. We are doing well. Peacefully, Jo 10月25日 Let's catch up!Hello all of you!
It has been far too long since I've added a blog entry. For those of you who normally receive emails from me, I am so sorry for falling off the cyber-planet for so long. Thank you so much for your patience. It has been a tremendous few weeks, in every sense of the word.
Perfect
If you had told me what I was in for even 18 months ago, I'd have had a difficult time even imagining it. But things have been good. Tough sometimes, but good.
This morning, as I was taking Veech to preschool, he asked if we could play "Perfect, yeah, yeah", which is a phrase from a song on the Parent Trap soundtrack that he's informed me is "our song. Whenever we play it in the car, he loves me to flip my visor down, pop open the mirror in it, and keep glancing back at him making smiley-eyes at me as the song blares and thumps us down the road. The first time he said it was "our song," I bawled listening to it--and if you heard the song you'd be visibly amused that anybody could CRY from such a techno-bubblegum-pop song. But there you go. Proof once again that I am a girl. Anyway, I was listening to the lyrics this morning:
whenever I feel your arms around me,
I feel like we've never been apart
I think it's just perfect, yeah yeah
and my life is perfect, yeah yeah
whenever I see you smiling at me
I know you could never live without me
I think that's just perfect, yeah yeah
and our life is perfect, yeah yeah....
And the song got me thinking. Previously what's struck me in this lyric is the fact that the comfortableness of being together makes things feel so complete now, it feels like we've always been together. Our previous ache for one another still happened--but the completeness of "us" eclipses the black hole of before.
But that's not what hit me today. This morning, I was struck by "Everything's perfect...and my life is perfect...." It surprised me. I couldn't hold back a silent smile.
My life looks nothing like what I'd planned. I get so frustrated sometimes, trying to be faithful to find a balance between work and home and family and church and social life and, and, and. I thought things would be simpler than they are. I hadn't anticipated the need for top-notch insurance, or the need to work full-time after becoming a mom, to keep that wonderful insurance. I hadn't anticipated 4 surgeries in less than 18 months (and more to come every few months, for the next few years). I hadn't anticipated speech therapy twice a week or so many other little details that have changed as a result of these elements. I wouldn't have recognized this life as my future life, because I'm a goal-setter, a creative planner, a calculated dreamer, and all this was off my radar.
But I can see where this current life is taking us. It's taking us to a future in which Veech has a(n even more) beautiful face that can work like it was intened to. It's turning us into people with a much more stable core, a core that is increasingly less dependent upon what's going on around us. It's taking us somewhere good, where we're supposed to be going.
I think that's just perfect, yeah yeah...and our life is perfect, yeah yeah....
My definition of perfect has morphed, and I'm not sure when. It doesn't mean "ideal." It doesn't mean "flawless." It certainly doesn't mean "easy" or even "smooth." And it can't mean "according to plan." But it is complete. It fits. It is making us what we're becoming. So it is a better kind of perfect than the kind I had cooked up as my ideal. I'm not used to it yet, I'll be honest. Sometimes I find it tough. But it is perfect for what we need.
It was my little lesson today.
Got Your Nose!
We got our new surgery date: November 10. This time, the Veechster gets a new nose. I'm going to aim for only being out for a total of 6 workdays, which will mean we'll need to get members of our church family to help out. We'll see how this approach works. The comfort is if it doesn't work well, we can always do it differently for the next surgery. :)
I LOVE MY BOY. In person, I am making a conscious effort not to talk everyone's ears off about him anymore. I can't believe I became one of those parents who couldn't shut up about their kid(!), but this has been a heck of a ride: tough, but I would not change it for the world. Veech is completely enjoying preschool and speech therapy, loves to sing and tell us stories, loves to pretend to be Popeye, loves reading together, loves painting, loves mud and airplanes and TRAINS.
When Kenny broke it to Veech about his upcoming surgery, he said:
"Hey Veech, I just got a letter from Dr. Witt!"
"You did?"
"Yep. He said, 'I love Vitya. I want to give him a new nose.'"
"He give me a new nose!?! He love me!"
"He sure does, Veech."
"I so very happy my new nose, Papa."
"Me, too."
He's a good little dude. I love my life, and I can't avoid breaking into tears at least weekly when I attempt to imagine our lives without him, and his life if he were still back in Ukraine.
I'll tell you more soon. Love to you all!
Jo
8月20日 Love and MoneyFirst, can somebody please tell me what happened to the month of August!?! Vitya has recovered phenomenally. So well, in fact, I returned to work two weeks early. We are preparing to place him at Hanford Christian School. From "baby" to "schoolboy" in a year. Unbelievable.
Where Babies Come From
We have talked many times about Vitya's origins to him. He knows that he was not born to us. He knew about the Baby House. But he didn't know how he got there. So a few months ago, we started telling him about Ilyena, in whose belly he lived when he was a tiny baby. A few days ago, he climbed up into bed with us, crawled on top of me, perched on me and smiled.
"Mommy---Mommy---" I rubbed my eyes. "Hmmm?"
"Mommy, you know, when I a tiny baby in Olena's belly, I grow grow grow, and I born in Olena's belly, you know--I have no palate and my lip is open." He had my full attention.
"Mmmhmm."
"And you know, I born in Olena's belly, Olena's hold me and she say, 'Oh, I not have money. I not fix his owie.' You know?"
"That's right, honey."
"Well, you know, Olena's put me in groupa. And I have an owie. But then, Dr. Witt give me surgery, and now I not have owies anymore."
"No more owies, but you still need more surgeries."
"Yeah. Das okay." He lay down next to me.
"Who loves you, Veech?" He sighed and smiled.
"Mama and Papa love me." Okay. He's slowly getting it.
Money For Her Pockets
Today in church, Kenny brought a friend of ours over to Vitya. This woman happens to be pregnant. Kenny pointed to her belly. "Do you know why her belly's big, Veech? Can you guess what's in there? It's a baby!"
Vitya's eyes lit up. "Oh!" he paused for a moment, then looked up into the young woman's face. "Does she have money?"
"Yes, she has money."
The woman quickly shot a glance over at Kenny for an explanation.
"He wants to make sure you'll be able to keep her." The woman smiled. Vitya seemed to be satisfied.
But that wasn't the end of the story.
Tonight, as we tucked him into bed, he started asking how much money was in his bank. Why?
"I want to give money to the lady with the little, little baby. The baby will grow, grow, grow, and get big and will get born. I want the mama to have money in her pockets and in her bank. I have money in my bank. I want to put money in her pockets for the baby."
Who thinks like this little boy? God, make me worthy of this gift. Help us to channel this heart, and help him to never lose his generous spirit.
Good night. More soon.
Jo 7月24日 The Original and Intended Shape Of Our LivesToday has been a good day.
Despite the pain that Vitya's experiencing between the time his meds wear off and the new dose kicks in, we are enjoying this day. I cannot stop staring at him. He is just so beautiful. The swelling is going down, and he's already able to make sounds that were previously impossible for him.
Yesterday, we pulled out his wooden kazoo. His pucker isn't very strong yet, but he was able to faintly play it.
Today, some friends brought him a metal kazoo. He was shy, embarrassed in case he couldn't make it sound right in front of them. But he tried anyway. As soon as his lips wrapped around the fat end of the silver metal instrument and he made a sound, it resonated happily with the pitch he hummed. His eyes widened and he looked around (Did you hear that?). When they left, he grabbed that kazoo and proudly hummed into it for all he was worth until they disappeared out the door.
Today, he drank from his first sippy cup. At four. He had to suck hard (air still escapes out his nose) but he made it work. His mouth isn't stopping him anymore.
Before, he could legitimately pull the "I can't, I have an owie on my mouth" card for many things. Now he must learn how to navigate through life without that excuse. We expect him to annunciate. We expect him to try to use his mouth the way it was meant to be used. And although it's tough for him, he tries. He is proud that he can do it. His identity is being shaped right now, just as much as his face. The night before we went into surgery, I had a thought: if anything ever happens to Kenny and me now, Veechie's life--the life he was meant to have--has been set into motion. Nobody can take it away from him after tomorrow.
When Kenny and I tiptoed into the recovery room, we found him lying in bed gazing into space. When he saw us, he immediately locked onto our eyes, and his chubby little finger started poking around at his upper lip, as if to show us that the protrusion was gone. I blinked back tears and said, "Yes, honey. We see. It's not there anymore. Do you want to see?" He nodded. A nurse scurried away and quickly brought him a hand mirror. Even with all those drugs pumping through his system, he grasped the mirror firmly and examined his new reflection from every angle. His upper lip lay flat. His lower lip...there it was, plump and pouty. And now he's opening his mouth to see his teeth, his palate. Now he closes his mouth, nods to the nurse as he returns the small mirror to her, and drops off straightaway to sleep. That's all he needed to know.
I want to share something I found two days before Veech went into surgery. It's from the Message, which is a modern paraphrase of the Bible:
God knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him.
Isn't that beautiful? The original and intended shape of our lives.
Look at Victor. When we met him, we were given enough of a peek at God's vision of him to see and treasure the immense potential and deep beauty in this precious boy. But he was not by any means in the state that he was meant to be in. He was meant to be loved. He was meant to have a home. He was meant to have a working, fully functional nose and mouth and palate and face. But he had nothing in himself to make any of those things happen. He was utterly at the mercy of God.
And God led us to him. Last year we very nearly walked off the plane and into the hospital. We started with a dim picture of who he was and what he is meant to be. Now every time we take Veech in to see Dr. Witt, we get an expanded vision of what Vitya is meant to look like, and what needs to happen to help him get there. Then, once the next phase of cutting away, the sewing together, the rebuilding and reshaping is over, we take him home and work him through the healing, the speech exercises, the character development and discipline. God had an "original and intended shape" of Victor's life, and he is now doing what is necessary to help him get there.
After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun.
(Romans 8:29-30, The Message)
Are you feeling as small as I am when you think about this? Small--and yet so terribly significant to be part of such an intricate and loving plan for just one little boy.
And He loves each of us this much.
That's why I don't think there's any comparison between the present hard times, and the coming good times. The created world itself can hardly wait for what's coming next. Everything in creation is being more or less held back. God reins it in until both creation and all the creatures are ready and can be released at the same moment into the glorious times ahead. Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens.
(Romans 8:18-21, The Message)
And that's all I have to say about that.
:)
Jo
7月22日 We're Home...He's BEAUTIFULHello loved ones,
Before I collapse into a gratitude-and-relief-filled state of comatose bliss, I wanted to tell you: WE ARE HOME. Incredibly. Only one night in the hospital. This kid is amazing.
We're Watching A Miracle Unfold
They did it! Vitya's mouth is finally in his mouth. Dr. Witt and Dr. Julian did some pretty mind-boggling medical gymnastics in there. In order to prevent any threat of his premaxillary jaw dying after the surgery, they decided not to go in from the front. Instead, they tilted his head back and upside-down and went in from behind, thus preserving completely his sole source of bloodflow. So, essentially, they scraped out 1 cm of bone and tissue from behind, folded the protrusion into the roof of his mouth, and sewed it all together. So his 2 front teeth that were previously hanging on his chin when his mouth was at rest are now lying flat on the roof of his mouth. The disconnected piece of bone is basically just being held in place by nothing but soft tissue. They decided against any wiring devices. This will enable his bone to float around, find its new home, affix there, and start gluing together with its neighboring bone pieces. Is that not phenomenal? The surgeons are hoping that his front teeth will drop to a vertical position as the healing takes place. They also believe that his permanent teeth buds were unharmed and should drop down naturally where they belong. Bottom line--his front jaw is now flush!
The Many Faces of Veech
There's so much I really want to share (but don't have the energy right now). I will fill you in more--but for now--check out the newest photos! You can see The New Veech. Doesn't he have the most beautiful bottom lip you've ever seen!?! More on that later. Kenny put in a photo of Vitya a year ago, so you can compare his face then to his face now. Such a metamorphasis. Not only because of surgery, either. So much has changed in his demeanor. Just look for yourself. It's really quite remarkable.
One More Thing....
Before I sign off, I need to say THANK YOU to all who have been praying for us. As difficult as it is right now (last night was spend "up for 2 hours, down for 45 minutes, up for an hour, down for a half-hour, up for 45 minutes, down for 30 minutes....) it has been the smoothest surgery experience to date. I know that part of it is because Veech has been looking forward to this surgery for months (all his life, really), and part is because he is now so much stronger mentally, emotionally, and physically.When I take his hand and encourage him to, he is able to actually make a conscious effort to relax, take deep breaths, and not give himself over to panic when he's experiencing pain. But I know that the prayers that you've all been praying have certainly been heard and answered. I have literally felt the grace of God surrounding us, even when he's shaking with pain, even when I'm dabbing black-circle-concealer around my eyes, even when we both are unable to sleep for extended periods of time right now, there is just so much grace.
I think my mentality is changing, too. I couldn't see it until now, when I'm in the midst of the situation, but I think I've grown. Last year when I'd wake up and I'd see him sleeping in a puddle of blood I'd flip out. Now I just sigh and reach for the wipees. Things change. Perspective grows. Believe it or not, the more often you do this, the easier it gets, even when it's harder. It becomes more "natural," I guess.
Ever-so-grateful,
Jo 7月18日 Breathing Sweet Air (before the plunge)Friday morning is the BIG DAY. Vitya goes under the knife at 6:30am on July 21, at Valley Children's Hospital in Fresno (actually, officially, it's Madera). Tomorrow is my last day of work before I go on leave. It's all finally happening. It's happening too quickly. How can both be true? My head is spinning. I obviously can't sleep. There is so much to do before Vitya's surgery on Friday. Sometimes I just want to sit down and cry. But other times, I want to collapse and thank God it's finally happening. Such a swirling mess of emotions! Yeesh. Women.
A Special Surprise
On Sunday, our church family surprised us with a power point presentation of Vitya's last year, in honor of our corporate life-changing experience. The slide show was accompanied by the song "When Love Comes Home" written by Steven Curtis Chapman when his family brought home their little girl from China. Everything was quiet except for the song, and Veechie's little voice shouting out all the familiar images as they flashed across the screen: "THAT'S THE DIETSKIY DOME!" "THAT'S MY GROUPA!" "That's Mama and Papa!" "That's ME!" He was squealing and squirming with excitement. The rest of us just wiped our eyes. I was a little uncomfortable at first, because it seemed awkward that they'd single our family out like this. But then I remembered our corporate journey. Our little church family really went through it with us, and as I sat watching this sweet presentation, I could feel how much it meant to all of them--not just to us. We all are family. We all are changed. When it was over, all adoptive families were asked to stand (if they were comfortable) so we could pray for them and their families. It was such a sweet moment, and so very timely.
And then--LARISSA!!!
Larissa, our interpreter, called us from Ukraine tonight! How we miss her! We had tried to contact her on a few occasions, but were unsuccessful in reaching her. We learned tonight that this was because she had gone on an "extreme adventure" to some destination so primitive that it didn't have electricity (let alone internet access) and she had been gone for quite an extended period. But she's home now, and we can talk regularly!
We were her last adoption. Obviously, she was our primary adoption interpreter. She was with us for the most intense moments of the journey. She became like part of our family during that time in Ukraine, and it hurts because this part of our family lives so very far away. We will always love her even more, because she saw the beauty and spirit in our boy and fell in love with him just like we did. She became a part of us in that moment. WE LOVE YOU, LARISSA!
We are hoping that she'll be able to come for a visit, either later this year or early next year. Wouldn't it be wonderful for her to be able to see with her own eyes, our precious little dude, all handsomified and Americanized? :) I'd love for her to play with him in Russian. They got to talk to each other tonight, but Veech wouldn't (probably couldn't) answer Larissa until she spoke in English. That must have been so strange for her!
One final gulp of air
Tomorrow I'm tying up all the rest of my loose ends at work; Wednesday, I'll do the same thing for church. Thursday, we're going to party as a family, go up to the mountains and crash in a hotel in Fresno. Then we'll roll out of bed when all good little children are still in a coma, and we'll head for the hospital. Be assured we'll keep up this ole' blog. Please keep us in your prayers. We're going down for the deep dive.
Love to you tonight!
Jo |
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