3.16. she turned 3.
3.19. i cuddled her and thought of the moment i first laid eyes on her.
23 trips to haiti.
3 long years.
she is growing with our long distance love.
help our children be un-STUCK
Friday, April 17, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
a reminder of my last night living in haiti...
Thoughts from the evening of Feb. 12, 2014:
At this very moment one year ago I was hugging and kissing our entire Haitian family after they came to visit the boys and celebrate our grand exodus from Haiti.
Our families and friends anxiously awaited our homecoming after four years of adopting from Haiti and seven months of living in country. Thank you to all of you who cheered us on, prayed for us, screamed with us, cried with us, laughed with us, and celebrated with us!
Samantha Bertier, Natalie Claire Holly, Holly Harmon, Joanne Kimball, Diony Monestime, Patrick Bentrott, Ashley Gibson, Mallery Neptune,and Jean Hilaire Filder thank you all for being a magnificent part of the final stages of our journey.
There are so many names I would like to include on this list. Those who weren't there with us in person were with us in spirit. Kelly Lefeber Blanchard, you walked every day of four months of hell with me like a sister and I'm so proud to call you family. There are countless mothers and fathers who have, did, and are walking the land mine that is the path of adoption with us and I want you all to know that you own a special piece of my heart.
I'll never forget our last night among many spent in Haiti. Surrounded by family with eyes full of happy tears. Surrounded by friends who knew how badly I wanted to go home but how hurt I was to close part of this chapter of my life.
Harry Hames thank you for your love and compassion, your loving fatherly spirit and your shared respect and admiration for the people of Haiti. I miss you so much. I'm not sure if I can aptly share with you how special our visits were to me. You are a gem.
Natalie I want to kick trees on swings with you again. Joanne, you saved me by delivering our visas. Diony, you are the most important puzzle piece that without our boys wouldn't be home. Ashley your love for Haiti, her children, and my sweet V helped me get on that plane. Holly, your love and support carried us through so much even long after we came home. Patrick, thank you for coming to our rescue with documents and your amazing sense of humor when I wanted to go postal at Ibesr. I still owe you a prestige for that one. Thank you for being the absolute right person to be there for our final moments and for being our "stand-in" for the happy family photo! Thank you for all you've done for V. I'm happy to call you family as well! Filder my amazing friend, I can't tell you what your friendship means to me. You are an amazing person. Your heart is so gentle and you care for people so well. I admire you and am so happy to call you my friend. Thank you always for our many adventures, even in your pony - which clearly hates me!! Samantha you and your family were a beautiful warm hug for Kelly and I and I cherish you and them. And Mallery, our adventure has only just begun but I thank every star above for you every day. The mold was truly broken with your creation. You are my resuscitation, you are my sanity. You are an amazingly beautiful person, and I'm so honored to have you as a friend. Thank you for everything you do every day, your sacrifices, your love, your dedication and devotion, and your loving and kind heart. The gift of loving V that you give me daily is a debt I will never fully be able to repay.
I miss Haiti so much. I miss momma Epheta, Darline, Darla, the worlds cutest grandpa and grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We never realized how many people we would bring into our lives and our hearts with the special gifts that are our three children.
Stepping down the escalator to the faces of Melissa Bolt Dunkleberger,Teresa Huber, Karyn Puller, and Kate Romero as well as J, Britt, and Leo was exactly the rescue my heart needed to know that no matter where we go people who love us are there. Thank all of you beautiful women for the special people you are.
I hope you all know that we love you and you are in our hearts every single day.
Friday, April 10, 2015
a small dose of healing
the grasshopper, normally extraordinarily agile, took a good tumble today after getting hit in the head with a ball.
he's ok. but it has made me do a lot of reflection on the times he took swipes, dings, bangs, slams, spills, and outright splats on rocks and cement in haiti. there were so many days i couldn't nurse the wounds. so many tears i couldn't wipe away. so many snuggles that didn't happen. so many boo boo's not kissed. like when he split his face open on the shower wall at the orphanage. that one is an ever-present reminder when i look at the scar on the bridge of his nose.
today as he got off the bus with the ice pack on his face and his glasses tucked into his bag for safekeeping because they were sliding off of his swollen face, he stepped into mine and britt's outreaching arms. his bus driver gave her dose of hope that he would heal and rest comfortably over the weekend. leo was behind him holding his bag and his nurse's note. he was enveloped in the love of the family we are. he has us and we have him. and i'm so thankful that we can provide the love and comfort for him that so many children need.
please let your heart love a child from afar today. tonight. right now. please send a little love to a lonely little heart who has a skinned knee. a busted lip. a scraped eye...they need it. they may not feel your touch. but they will feel your heart somehow. there are so many children who need the rescue of a family. they need love.
please also send your love to the families who wait for their children to come home. they long to have their children in their arms. they want to kiss their boo boo's. they are fighting so hard to bring them home. they need your love too because they fear what they don't know is happening to their children. their hearts ache over the time lost to this process. they hurt knowing that they can't nurse their sick children. they can't pick them up when they've fallen. they can't clean up the scraped knee. they can't soothe their pain. they need your love.
this. today. soothing his pain. being there for him. wrapping our arms around him. letting him know it'll all be ok. these are the moments that make everything we did and do worth all of it. all of it. he's here. he has a belly full of pizza, his glasses have been bent back into shape. his fabulous lips are just a little fuller right now. he's surfing the couch like a champ. and he will be ok. and because he will be ok, so will i.
he's ok. but it has made me do a lot of reflection on the times he took swipes, dings, bangs, slams, spills, and outright splats on rocks and cement in haiti. there were so many days i couldn't nurse the wounds. so many tears i couldn't wipe away. so many snuggles that didn't happen. so many boo boo's not kissed. like when he split his face open on the shower wall at the orphanage. that one is an ever-present reminder when i look at the scar on the bridge of his nose.
today as he got off the bus with the ice pack on his face and his glasses tucked into his bag for safekeeping because they were sliding off of his swollen face, he stepped into mine and britt's outreaching arms. his bus driver gave her dose of hope that he would heal and rest comfortably over the weekend. leo was behind him holding his bag and his nurse's note. he was enveloped in the love of the family we are. he has us and we have him. and i'm so thankful that we can provide the love and comfort for him that so many children need.
please let your heart love a child from afar today. tonight. right now. please send a little love to a lonely little heart who has a skinned knee. a busted lip. a scraped eye...they need it. they may not feel your touch. but they will feel your heart somehow. there are so many children who need the rescue of a family. they need love.
please also send your love to the families who wait for their children to come home. they long to have their children in their arms. they want to kiss their boo boo's. they are fighting so hard to bring them home. they need your love too because they fear what they don't know is happening to their children. their hearts ache over the time lost to this process. they hurt knowing that they can't nurse their sick children. they can't pick them up when they've fallen. they can't clean up the scraped knee. they can't soothe their pain. they need your love.
this. today. soothing his pain. being there for him. wrapping our arms around him. letting him know it'll all be ok. these are the moments that make everything we did and do worth all of it. all of it. he's here. he has a belly full of pizza, his glasses have been bent back into shape. his fabulous lips are just a little fuller right now. he's surfing the couch like a champ. and he will be ok. and because he will be ok, so will i.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
hallelujah!!
v sings her praises for hope house! she is one happy kid!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCpa-Ip6fvA&feature=youtu.be
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCpa-Ip6fvA&feature=youtu.be
the day came
In keeping with the theme of posting ancient topics in my life several months past due, this is what was intended to be posted on February 14, 2014:
It happens!
I married the human calculator. and I've never been completely awesome at math. But I'm fairly certain (enough that I'll commit a number to a google search and publish my tally) that after 1,460 days, one day
shy of four years, including one leap year day = 1,460 days exactly since we
officially filed for permission to adopt from Haiti…and the boys are finally HOME! Happy
Valentine’s Day 2014 – the year of the horse (and I’m a HORSE)!
Happy 10th
Anniversary to the love of my life. Thank you for living our dream with me. I
love you.
10 months
March 12, 2014
10 months ago today
my boys left their orphanage with me. no more dirty mattresses. no more
cramped, dank, and musky orphanage room. no more open air filled with
mosquitos. no more bucket baths. no more rice and beans for their two daily
meals. no more orphanage. today
marks 10 months of that much more love, the fulfillment of all of my promises
to them, and 10 months of daily healing. tomorrow will be 3 months since they
came home. we are 10 months closer to their futures. we are 3 months into our
amazing lives of 4/5. please send your love to the children who continue to
sleep on those dirty mattresses in those cramped, dank, and musky rooms with no
mosquito nets. they deserve the love of a family. they deserve all of the
wonderful things living has to offer. they deserve better. please celebrate
that our boys are home. but please never forget all those who remain there.
cheers, ten months.
with love,
the club of bittersweet members.
flashback of agony. up. down. all around. my ridiculous emotions.
i wrote this sometime in early january, 2014. i had spent many nights lying in bed with too many thoughts. too many tears stained my pillow cases as i thought of leo lying in bed looking up at his rhino valentine. a momma and baby. a baby belongs with its momma. and i was an ocean away.
i'm not sure these words make any sense to anyone but me. but this is the scattered reality of my brain on adoption depression as i swiped ants off of my forehead and felt the sweat of haiti's nights drip down my chest.
Which way is up?
Which way is down?
Am I on the bottom looking up?
Or am I at the end looking back?
Am I at the beginning still waiting to start?
Am I at the end reflecting on all that has happened?
All are/is true. It's all happening.
It's all starting.
Again.
It's also all ending.
When will the day come?
Will it come fast enough?
Or too quickly?
Will I think that it’s too quiet
On the long and lonely nights?
I repeat in my mind, “let’s go home.”
The gun shots break the silence.
And I think of all the violence.
My heart needs the respite of my home away from this home.
How do I come to explain all that I have seen?
Thinking of bringing them home is just a dream.
Years and obstacles, countless tears.
It’s all such all a waiting game.
A game.
There should be no such thing.
Tossing and turning, and flipping over in my sleep.
How do I explain everything that I’ve seen?
I’ve seen hunger.
I’ve seen pain.
A labor of love to live through each day.
Smiles that erase all of the strain.
With a love that I’m so thankful to have gained.
Write all these words down and share them with us.
They all say they’ll buy the book; on that I can trust.
Say all you can say.
Don’t mind every look.
Keep your head up today!
And remember to write that book!
I read all the loving the words, as if they’ve been spoken, I’ve felt.
“We are all praying for you.”
“You’re doing the good work.”
“God is using you as his tool.”
Though I feel like a mule.
I heed the warnings and follow the rules.
But how can I start to explain,
How did we make it each and every day?
Crashing, colliding, trying not to drown.
Sorrow flooding me like an ocean.
I feel each wave pulling me down.
How can I try to explain?
For so long now my heart has beaten outside of my chest.
There are no more words for this pain.
And I have given all of my best.
Though I’m close, I am not yet done.
Victories will be mine, but they are not won.
How can I carry the torch beyond?
I’m leaving this island missing one.
My heart begs to stay until I’m done.
There is no bell I have not rung.
The night rushes in like thundering rain,
And my heart can’t take all this pain.
My last night so wished for will come so fast.
How to make our time now last?
Is it the end?
Or just the beginning?
Are we losing?
Or are we winning?
They sleep.
It's quiet.
Their dreams are my comfort.
They wake.
They smile.
I enjoy their artwork.
I'd do it again a hundred or thousand times over.
I'm doing it today.
I'm finishing, but starting over.
Time to sleep, so down my head I lay.
We'll do this again tomorrow.
It will be a new day.
i'm not sure these words make any sense to anyone but me. but this is the scattered reality of my brain on adoption depression as i swiped ants off of my forehead and felt the sweat of haiti's nights drip down my chest.
Which way is up?
Which way is down?
Am I on the bottom looking up?
Or am I at the end looking back?
Am I at the beginning still waiting to start?
Am I at the end reflecting on all that has happened?
All are/is true. It's all happening.
It's all starting.
Again.
It's also all ending.
When will the day come?
Will it come fast enough?
Or too quickly?
Will I think that it’s too quiet
On the long and lonely nights?
I repeat in my mind, “let’s go home.”
The gun shots break the silence.
And I think of all the violence.
My heart needs the respite of my home away from this home.
How do I come to explain all that I have seen?
Thinking of bringing them home is just a dream.
Years and obstacles, countless tears.
It’s all such all a waiting game.
A game.
There should be no such thing.
Tossing and turning, and flipping over in my sleep.
How do I explain everything that I’ve seen?
I’ve seen hunger.
I’ve seen pain.
A labor of love to live through each day.
Smiles that erase all of the strain.
With a love that I’m so thankful to have gained.
Write all these words down and share them with us.
They all say they’ll buy the book; on that I can trust.
Say all you can say.
Don’t mind every look.
Keep your head up today!
And remember to write that book!
I read all the loving the words, as if they’ve been spoken, I’ve felt.
“We are all praying for you.”
“You’re doing the good work.”
“God is using you as his tool.”
Though I feel like a mule.
I heed the warnings and follow the rules.
But how can I start to explain,
How did we make it each and every day?
Crashing, colliding, trying not to drown.
Sorrow flooding me like an ocean.
I feel each wave pulling me down.
How can I try to explain?
For so long now my heart has beaten outside of my chest.
There are no more words for this pain.
And I have given all of my best.
Though I’m close, I am not yet done.
Victories will be mine, but they are not won.
How can I carry the torch beyond?
I’m leaving this island missing one.
My heart begs to stay until I’m done.
There is no bell I have not rung.
The night rushes in like thundering rain,
And my heart can’t take all this pain.
My last night so wished for will come so fast.
How to make our time now last?
Is it the end?
Or just the beginning?
Are we losing?
Or are we winning?
They sleep.
It's quiet.
Their dreams are my comfort.
They wake.
They smile.
I enjoy their artwork.
I'd do it again a hundred or thousand times over.
I'm doing it today.
I'm finishing, but starting over.
Time to sleep, so down my head I lay.
We'll do this again tomorrow.
It will be a new day.
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