Two Years Later: Learning to Hug

It was two years ago this week that my spit-fire of a daughter bounced down the stairs of the baby orphanage, looked me once over and declare "Hi Mommy, I'm ready to go to America now!". 

We would spend the next 2 weeks spending a few hours together each day for our 'mandatory bonding time' while we awaited a psychologist's assessment of our "compatibility". Those two weeks were by NO means a walk in the park.  Mila had just been told three days prior to our arrival that a  mysterious mother & brother were appearing out of nowhere to take her away from all that she knew. She was moved two hours south from the "home" (government institution), friends and caregivers she had known for the previous seven years and now she was left to roam free through the baby orphanage with nothing to do except wait for our two hour awkward bonding time each day, then I would leave to go to her new brother for the other 22 hours. It was A LOT for her little heart to take in and understandably she did not have the vocabulary to assign to all that she was feeling.  That led to episodes of acting out and physically harming others that frankly scared me.  One of the first Albanian phrases I had to learn on the fly was "Gentle please!"

As her heart softened so did her touch; the intentional bruises around us faded but we were left with the unfortunate combination of: being built like Simone Biles (100 lbs of SOLID muscle!), not knowing her own strength (common with Down syndrome), no experience with safe & consistent maternal-child touch, and cultural Albanian affection which is akin to WWF!  My body learned quickly to tense as my new daughter approached me otherwise I would be knocked to the ground or smacked in the back or roughhoused into a "cuddle".  Sadly, over the last two years, I realized that my heart had learned to tense as well. My body would go rigid, I'd squeak out a quasi- Albanian-English version of "Mila, gentle touching please! You don't need to hurt Momma to get my attention. Soft touches are good." and ultimately my heart would wince to see her come toward me.  Two years of 'traumatic affection' starts to take a toll. Of course, I would make sure to initiate hugs, and snuggles and caresses; to both demonstrate gentleness and hopefully to heal her starved heart, but she has clearly not been able to reciprocate safely; she just hasn't had the emotional or physical skills. 

But then last week...she hugged me. 

It was out of no where, in the middle of the hallway, and for no particular reason. She walked calmly towards me with her arms open, eyes asking for permission and gently wrapped her arms around me. It was a real live hug.  One that connected us and fed us BOTH.  (I started to tear up but I didn't want her to think she had hurt me again!)  "That is a beautiful hug, Mila. That makes me feel good. Thank you honey!"  "U welcome mommy"...and then she walked away.   And then it happened again the next day...and the next...and then a gentle hug was given to Gramma...AND HER BROTHER!  Isaac literally looked to me in a panic, 'what do I do mom?!'  Take it as long as she'll give it, dude-just act natural!   

That is healing.  The long, arduous task of opening up a wound, digging out the hurt, and washing it with God's grace upon it day after day after day after day...after day.   Are we over the hump yet? No, we are far from it.  Studies show it takes one year of family healing to 'reverse' one year of institutional care.  If that is indeed the case, Mila will be nearly 28 years old before we even emerge at emotional sea level.  Is it overwhelming? YES.  Is God bigger than 14 years of institutional care? YES YES YES.  Is she worthy of anything I can give on this earth to see her heart heal into the Lord's love? One million times YES. 

So we celebrate a gentle hug. We give praise to the God to created us both and gave us to each other as forever family, then rest in the mercies that are new each and every day.  That is adolescent adoption. Our hope IS in Him.  

Birth Mother's Day 2020

Our annual tradition of honoring my children's birth moms by bringing flowers to the local Chinese pagoda has continued, but also grown to include an as-Albanian-as-we-can-get picnic. Isaac knows this is a special spot and races to put his flowers down. Mila is learning that we pray for people she doesn't know..."We are praying for your first mom, Mila".  "Mom! (absolutely exasperated)  You mom first!"   "Well, yes...but Momma has blue eyes and there is a pretty lady who has brown eyes just like you and we are going to thank Jesus for her today"   "Oh" , and she dug into her souvlaki.   Just like with a lot of heavy knowledge, we'll dose it out piece by piece and let her heart process.  A beautiful day on the waterfront isn't a bad way to spend the time. 

Let's honor your first moms, I said. Let's take a nice picture, I said.... these are MY goofballs!

 They are plotting something, of this I am confident!

To Mila's first mom, 

 I think you would be proud of her strength & fortitude! She is so very brave.  For all the grey hairs it is giving me, I know it is an important part of who she is and it has ultimately kept her alive. That strength mirrors the part that I know of your story.  We are walking a weird line between building infantile trust and adolescent independence at the same time.  But she is learning that when I look her in the eyes and ask her to trust me, she will lean in. She has a stellar ear for music and would gladly blast music in her room for hours on end, especially worship.  She also has a beautifully social heart--she loves to be with people and to engage them (you can image this global shutdown has been hard for her).  Her eyes are the color of caramel coffee and her hair is thick with an auburn highlight, like both her of her mothers (one of the things that I know about you and something I am secretly proud of in that she looks like me).  She doesn't fully understand that there is you and there is me but we pray for you, your safety and your heart.  I want desperately to stand along side you in Heaven as a completed family...Jesus and His daughters together. 

To Isaac's first mom, 

I don't know your story so my heart has the freedom to paint the picture of who you are wider than with Isaac's big sister.  I have always blamed his competing cowlicks and funky toenails on his father, but his deep compassion and also his sassy-ness I think both come from your side.  He has finally learned how to play and invent and imagine and it brings me great joy to see his mind at work.  I want him to be both thoughtful and fearless, which right now it him carefully crafting an obstacle course across the top of the dining room table and back of the couch *wowzers* He makes me proud, even on the days I threaten to BBQ him for dinner. *wink*   He loves Jesus and has such a special ministry at school just by being himself. When we are all together again as a family in Heaven, I know he is going to squish the noodles out of both of us--group hugs are his favorite.  

To the women who made me a mother...they are safe; you are loved. <3