Birthparent 101 (well, maybe 201)

I’ve gotten a crash course on this trip.  Not that I didn’t already have some baseline knowledge, but this trip has put me to the test.  Both BubblyGirl’s Ghana Daddy and GhanaGuy and GhanaGirl’s mother live within walking distance of LH.  They are with me, and their kids, all the time.  I couldn’t turn around without greeting BubblyGirl’s father when I went to get her.  This time it’s the same with the Ghana-duos mom.  Every birthparent has a story, most of them aren’t happy.  If your life were sunshine and rainbows, would you really be placing?  The answer would probably be no.  I have met all of my kid’s placing parent now, minus one who chose not to meet us.  The interactions have always had the same feel to them.  The feeling of “could this BE any more uncomfortable?”.  How do you adequately thank someone for giving you the chance to be a parent?  You can’t.  As the days go by, and the child begins to feel like more of “yours”, the memories fade.  The birthparent becomes a picture on the wall or in the photo album.  Sad, but true.  It almost has to be that way so that you can bond with the child.  It’s hard to love a child when you feel like they’re borrowed. 

Even though it has only been a little over 3 months that BubblyGirl has been home, I had forgotten what it feels like to stare into the face of a birthparent while trying to bond with your kids.  There is an added pressure here, because I don’t speak the language, but can plainly tell when the kid’s Ghana Mom is referring to me.  What is she saying?  Is she telling them things that will help or hinder this process?  Who knows! 

Then there is the desperation.  Again, the living situation is almost unreal.  So, it comes as no surprise when someone in a horrible situation like that asks you to help.  Whether the help comes in the form of cedis or food, it is still looked upon as a bribe.  Nothing can be promised.  Do you know how hard it is to stare into the face of someone who has NOTHING, is giving you EVERYTHING you could have ever hoped for and have to tell them NO.  It’s eating me a little.  It’s eating me a lot. 

Time and distance will probably help me see that I can’t do a whole lot that isn’t illegal now.  But as I sit here in Ghana, looking around me, it is hard to think that in just three days I’ll get to go back to all the things the kids here can’t even fathom (like my dishwasher).  I get to escape and go back to my “real” life.  For them, this is real life.  Wow. 

--FullPlateMom,

who is thankful for a cold Coke at the restaurant she is at.  She just wishes people would stop shouting “obruni!” at her. 

    

Give me the finger (but only if it’s purple).

I have witnessed so many miracles here.  It’s unreal.  Today I can add another one to the list.  For the last year I have emailed every single person I could think of to try to get the kids of LuckyHill vaccinated.  Someone that I emailed led me to someone else who in turn led me to someone else who then led me to Rotary International.  I contacted them prior to leaving.  It was like a ‘Hail Mary’.  I never thought anything would come of it.  Today I watched as they vaccinated over 60 children in the ‘Nursery’ class for Polio.  

To tell them which children have taken the oral vaccine, they dip their pinky in purple ink.  I have never been SO happy to have purple ink stains all over my pants in my life.  A little three year old came up to me and touched her little purple pinky to mine and I thought to myself…one disease down.  Again, I take my blessings one at a time.  But, God didn’t stop there.  I began to speak to the man from Rotary.  He lives up the road.  He is a member of the same church as Kingsley.  He offered to take me to the office to talk to the Director.  Within the hour, I had met with the woman who will bring Measles and Yellow Fever vaccine to Lucky Hill next week.  Tetanus won’t be far behind.  It is a slow process to wade through the Ghanaian politics of it all, but we made it.  I have a promise, and a name to the face that made it.  Mission accomplished.

--FullPlateMom,

who feels lucky to be Polio free. 

My heaven looks a little like this…

Did you ever read the book ‘The 5 People You Meet in Heaven”?  I know who three of my people are.   The other two have yet to come.   When I do get to the other side, they will be waiting there to explain to me why God chose to make things end the way He did.  When I am finally allowed to understand the grander plan, I’ll walk forward, hand in hand with FPD, to wait for my seven to come (hopefully they will be VERY far behind me).  While I wait, I am comforted to know that I will spend my days playing here…

I’ll wait for my seven and play with all the children who died of diseases that I tried so hard to save them from, or children who starved because I can’t stop all the famine.   In heaven, they aren’t sick, they aren’t weak, they aren’t emotionally wounded.  It is sunny, but they aren’t hot.  They are happy, funny and playful.  In heaven, there is no pain.  Today, I’m holding onto this promise as hard as I can, because today, I am brought to my knees by what I’ve seen.  

--FullPlateMom,

who feels a little overwhelmed today.

You Spin Me Right Round.

The Merry Go Round that generates enough electricity to light the dorms. 

While school is in session…

While the children are “on break”…

Love it!!!!  No problems with charging my cell here.

FullPlateMom,

who took a spin and now feels a little like “bawfing” herself.

Joy and Pain

And sunshine…and a little rain.   Thank God for the rain, because children, it is hot in Ghana.  I tell that to the kids every single time I’m here and I’m sweating like a pig while we blow bubbles of dance or do whatever we do.  They just laugh at me, as if to say “stupid obruni, of course Ghana is hot”.    The rain cooled the afternoon off to where it was bearable.  As I walked back from the local restaurant, I reveled in the coolness it was bringing me.  It brought a little clarity as well, clarity to what has been an amazing 24 hours. 

A little joy…

She is little, and her name happens to be Joy.  She is my shadow this trip.  Every trip a new child needs some love.  This time it’s her.  She is wonderful, beautiful and because she was BubblyGirl’s best friend, she is like a tiny little reminder of the love that waits for me at home.  While I’m here, I’ll take my joy where I can get it: small brown hands that reach up to feel my hair, 700 hugs from dusty arms and the amazing sound of two more children that call me “mom”.  I am very “lucky”. 

And pain…

I spoke with my children’s birth mom and listened to her explain the desperation that comes with not being able to feed your children.  Prior to my coming, from what I understand, they hadn’t eaten in three days, so that their baby brother could eat.  The children’s home can’t feed the children who can’t pay.  And, they don’t live there.  They can’t just move in either.  There just isn’t any room.  How am I supposed to help?  If I give her anything it looks like a bribe.  If I leave and they have no food, well, that just isn’t an alternative.  I’ve never seen such desperation.  I’ve never felt so desperate.  Can you imagine how she feels?  I can’t even weigh my options right now.  All I do is cry.  How in God’s name am I going to leave them here to this kind of life while I go home to wait for them? 

And sunshine…

I got to hand pictures over to one of the eldest boys here.  A boy that FPD and I have loved from the moment we met him.  Those pictures were of his new home in America.  I’ve never in my life seen so much light in anyone’s eyes.  It was the light of hope,  the light of possibility.  His smile outshone the blazing sun here, and it makes all the pain from earlier fade into the background. 

And rain..

Dear God,

Please make it rain tomorrow, just for a little while.

XO,

FullPlateMom,

who is sweatier than ever before.

Akwaaba and a little deja vus.

Haven’t I seen this all some place before?  It’s becoming like my second home. 

As I rode that same shuttle from the tarmac to the airport, I inhaled deeply and took in all the smells that are Ghana.  I always have the same reaction to the smell.   Excitement and dread combine to mix this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I know what’s in store for me, days of some of the most difficult situations I’ve ever had to deal with.   Sometimes these situations come to me as a nurse, but mostly as a mom.  I look at all the little faces as we pull in to LuckyHill, some of them are the same faces that are always there to greet me, some are new and have just been brought to the children’s home, then there are the holes that children have left who have been here for so long and then gone on to find their family in the U.S.  What is joyful for the families that have found them has left lasting holes for the children who are left behind.  I have never seen that more than on this trip.  As I entered the compound, children throng forward, some to collect biscuits, some to touch the weird white person’s hand, and some to ask if I’ve found them a home in America yet like their friend.  My answer is always the same.  Not yet, but I pray to God everyday.  Today one of the children’s answers brought tears to my eyes.  “So do I sister, so do I”.  There is always a new dimension to the suffering that these kids have to endure. 

--FullPlateMom,

who is suffering a little herself.  

Good news comes in pairs.

It was an adventure to get ready for this trip.  I worked until the day before I left.  FPD worked until minutes before I had to leave for the airport.  Responsiboy got pink eye and GigantoBaby held a bowl all the way to the airport because he thought he was going to “bawf”.  This all seemed so much easier when BubblyGirl wasn’t involved either.  FPD agreed.  This is the only time when five has slapped us in the face SO much more than four.  I don’t think she was ready for me to leave quite yet.  She’s still learning to trust us and I left her…and in comes the guilt.

48 hours before I left we got good news.  Adoption granted.  The decree will be in Kingsley’s hand next week.  No time to even celebrate.  We were too busy packing to come and see the children that, in the eyes of Ghana, have just become ours.  So, I sat on my suitcase and cried, dual purpose because I got it zipped at the same time. 

The day before I left the rest of the good news came rolling in.  Kingsley has GhanaGuy’s passport in his hand.  Do you know what a miracle that is?  I didn’t expect it for another two months.  The only thing holding this adoption up is our HS update.  I am in awe of how God has moved mountains to help my kids.  I am in awe of my blessings. 

Today, as I sit here in Ghana, I’m holding one half of the golden ticket for my kids.  The other half will come when they stick that little visa into it.  For now, I’m rejoicing in what God has given to me.