We were bringing them to their new adoptive families. The trip was pretty amazing. Not just because EVERYTHING went wrong and we still had the best time of our lives, but because we got to see the world through such new eyes. Things like escalators and elevators and plastic forks, headphones and cabin lights, seat belts and automatically flushing toilets were incredible wonders. Flying through the air was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Everything was curious. Where do the bags go when they disappear into the wall on that moving belt? What is the point of walking through a doorway when there are no walls around it? Where are all these people going?
The children, who had never seen any of this before, had no idea what crazy thing would be coming next, and could barely understand a word anyone around them said, were amazingly flexible and brave. FAR more than any adult I know would have been.
Immigration gave us a hard time. So we missed a flight and got stuck, camped on a dark, empty terminal floor until J finally found someone to help us. We took a shuttle bus. Spent some time in a hotel lobby. Another bus, to another hotel. Just a few hours later, woke the kids up for another bus, another plane. They didn't understand where we were going, why, when it would ever end, when they could sleep. They just trusted.
They followed us around, their lives in our hands. Though we'd only known them a matter of weeks, their world revolved around us for those four days. And ours revolved around them.
Which made it really hard to let them go when it was all over. Despite the joy of seeing them in their families, it was a bittersweet thing to have to say goodbye and continue our journey with the overly quiet company of just each other.
Three of the four kids were siblings being adopted into one awesome family. We were lucky enough to get to spend some time with them at the airport, getting to know the family and sharing what we knew. The little one is a picky eater. But she'll never turn down a banana. The middle one needs a hand to hold when anything is new. The older one wanders, keep an eye on him. Enjoy the giardia. ha. We are lucky enough that we still hear updates from this family, keeping in touch through christmas cards and the occasional letter.
But the oldest of the bunch, an 8 year old girl, was going on her own way.
When we arrived in DC, there was a rush of hugs and tears and where is the blue backpack? Where are his visa papers? Someone needs to pee! Smile for the camera! And suddenly I turned around and her new mother had her by the hand.
I'm a teacher, she said. I've learned that the best way to handle these things is to just walk away quick. Thanks.
And then she did. By the time her words sunk in and I blinked, she was halfway down the corridor. The little girl trailing behind, pulled gently by the hand. Looking back at us. Crying.
Maybe the mom was right. But that image has haunted me sometimes. I have always regretted the fact that I didn't really get to say goodbye. Didn't step away from the rush in time to reassure her, hug her. We've always wondered what became of her. Did she like her school? Did she get her cavity filled? Is she happy? She comes up sometimes. But she was gone so fast, there was no time to give her mom our email, no time to blurt out "keep in touch!" No way to know where she might be.
Except we forgot about the pictures.
The kids at the home loved seeing pictures of themselves, it was a novelty. So as a parting gift and to help them remember us, J and I had our picture taken with every child. We gave them each a copy of their photo with us, and on the back we wrote a note to the child and included our email.
The kids treated them like baseball cards. They traded with their friends, they traded other small treasures to collect more than one, they hid them away in secret places. By the time we left just a couple days later, not many of the kids still had the picture we had given them. It made us laugh.
So we never considered the fact that this little girl we had brought to America and watched walk away might have kept hers.
But she did.
And a few days ago, a little miracle arrived in my inbox.
Do you remember me? She asked. I remember you. She told us about her life, her mom and her friends and her trip back to Ethiopia where she survived a car crash. She likes to play volleyball. She gets good grades.
Thank you for bringing me here, she said. Thank you.
We've emailed back and forth now and it's come to light that the confusion and fear I thought I saw on her face as she was leaving us was real. Somewhere between the language barrier and the overwhelming-ness of a journey across the world, there had been a terrible misunderstanding.
She had thought that J and I were her parents.
Until suddenly a stranger was leading her away into the giant, engulfing unknown. I can't imagine.
What I can tell from her emails is that she and her mom are close, that she has great friends, and that she has grown to be a very eloquent young lady. I'm happy for those things and for the open line of communication to learn more about this person who was a part of our lives for such a short but intense time.
Isn't it amazing how sometimes the smallest moments can hit you so hard that they leave a dent forever? Isn't it crazy how some people orbit around in your life for years without being noticed much, and some just brush past you but in doing so change you to your core? And isn't it incredible how the world is so big, so full to teeming and busy and spinning that we sometimes lose each other. But then sometimes, find each other again.
This post was so touching and very true. Some of the most lasting memories in my life have been short but powerful.
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