What We Were Before

Three years ago at this time I remember clearly sitting on the bed with Megan in our home in Nashville looking at pictures of the Haiti earthquake on Facebook posted by Katie, our babysitter. She had just left for Haiti 3 days prior to the earthquake and now she was in the middle of rubble. The anguish, the shock, the chaos of something already so fragile being pummeled with such force. It was this time last year Megan and I were returning from Haiti after having met John Diego. We were full of dreams of what it would be like to adopt him and all it would mean for our family. Not knowing what the road would look like but both our hearts not being able to look away or move on as we were before. Today I’m coming back by myself from spending four nights with Christine now 11 months and John Diego coming up on 3 at the end of March. Our paperwork has been in the IBESR office since late August. Once we’re through it should be 5-7 more months. Honestly the first day I arrived I wasn’t sure if I could handle both alone, but the fact that I’m married to Megan means I know what it looks like to essentially run a daycare single-handedly. I rolled up my sleeves, set up two play areas, a bottle station, a changing station, blew up the portable bath tub, organized the food for meals, and strapped on the Ergo carrier. The Haitians at the orphanage were looking at me a little funny and kept saying, “If you need help, just let us know.” (No, not me. I’m fine. This papa can manage.) Both John Diego and Christine are stout in their bellies and midsections but very thin in their arms and legs. They eat like crazy. They poop like it’s the apocalypse. I swear each one took at least 10 diapers and 4 changes of clothes every day. I changed Christine all night long. They are not fed baby food, but rather dishes you would see cooked at a potluck, a starchy mash-concoction. Unlike American kids, these Haitians know how to sleep. Sun down to sun up. No issues (other than fecal Armageddon). I’m seriously thinking about minimizing the lights we turn on after dark to indicate to our household that the day is officially done. All that said, we are in the middle learning how to manage the not-yet, the hope. I don’t know what else to do other than keep going down there to face it head on. Christine is only one, but she is waiting to be unlocked. I see flickers of her come out in the middle of her quiet, wide-eyed calm. John Diego is the deepest little soul with so much expression on his face but so few words coming out to share with us. The hardest part. I had given Christine back to her nanny because of my early flight. It was the last night. John Diego was antsy with Christine being gone and I knew that he knew I would be leaving soon. After he was asleep, I packed up the room, the bottles, the food, the toys, the diapers, and the portable bath tub. About 10 o’clock I woke up to find his legs off the bed. I leaned over and realized he was standing there. He had filled his pants. After I changed him, I laid him back in bed. He sat up. He looked around the room with this look. He saw everything gone and the suitcases by the door. He just sat there and took it in. I saw the sinking feeling. I hurt knowing the pit in that little bloated stomach. I knew he saw the door. I wondered if he would just run. Maybe this whole process is just too hard for him. I would completely understand if he ran. He didn’t run. He let me pick him up. I pulled him into my bed and set my pillow against the wall and let him fall asleep in my lap. In the morning I woke up just before six, picked him up and walked downstairs. I got him a drink of water and Naomi, the head nanny, came into the entryway. I stood for the goodbye, kissed him, told him I love him, and handed him over. I heard the screams down five floors and into the next building where his room is. The thought of doing this over and over doesn’t really appeal to me. Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved all. I get it. But there’s a part of me that would rather not face it and just go down when we know we can take them home. But we can’t wait for that. Not knowing what the road will look like, but both our hearts not being able to look away. We will definitely not be as we were before.