we have been blessed by an amazing relationship – – last year when mercy started grupa mijlocie (aka k4), she had a teacher (educatoare) and two rotating class aids (ingrijitoare). she bonded from day one with “doamna dorina.” fast forward to this year (grupa mare or k5) and dorina (and her daughter denisa) are now family friends. we love these two! in september, mercy spent the entire day with dorina and denisa at their house. it was such a beautiful thing for christian and i – – it was proof that our little girl is healing and moving forward after losing her brother last may. i took the first four pictures and then dorina and denisa sent me all the other picutres!
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disclaimer: way.too.many.photos. {sorry not sorry!}
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homework which we might actually enjoy around here, oh my:
alex started at mercy’s school!
chocolate eyes and a tear on her cheek…
and then we got new colleagues!
that time we bought a bag of mixed veggies boasting broccoli and found one entire piece of broccoli, haha!
there is something magical about sleeping babies:
international day of world peace:
freshly washed and braided hair:
summer comes to an end whether or not you want it to…
the last few pictures on my phone of summer…
you’ve played hard when you fall asleep this way:
he has his own bed(s) and his own toy(s) and yet he thinks he is one of the kids:
so blessed to have (re)connected with tim and wendy:
our new best friend, orla…can’t wait until we hang out again either in Romania or Ireland!
just random metal things she wanted her picture with:
she thinks my bed is her bed…she’s basically right:
lego science from emmy and katie:
if the truth be told, i have probably talked to my sister (almost) every 24 hour period since moving overseas almost five years ago…minus travel days and maybe her honeymoon.
watching the olympics and cheering for way too many countries (my children are very loyal to every country, haha!
summer means impulsive…we love summer!
trying to convince my kids that summer movie nights don’t usually include their robes is impossible:
when did she start making dinner?!
if you put pink (bath approved) dye in the bathtub, your child will probably think that means it is okay to splatter blue (permanent) ink on the walls:
when ninja turtles fight my little ponies:
beautiful care package from my irish twinsie:
when rough days come, give your kids five lei and take them to the store:
This was another day we had planned long ago – – to meet up with our community group for a really cool hike so it isn’t shocking that Marie was 100% disappointed to be feeling icky (sick enough to stay home – – ask her mom, Bonnie, that is RARE). Christian and Addy ended up going and Marie and Mercy ended up doing a lot of snuggling and sleeping but also some mama+Mercy time which ended up being a sweet time.
…to be continued!
That is all for now! Have no fear – – we have SIX more posts still. 🙂
…to be continued because we took a lot of photos. And these aren’t even Marie or the girls’ camera photos!
What is grief?
I don’t know.
What does grief look like?
I don’t know.
Does it really fit into neat little stages?
I don’t think so.
Can death and loss affect some of us more than others?
Probably.
Can we decide what is worth grieving, what level of grief we deserve, how long we get to be sad or mad for?
I don’t think so.
Will we be whole and pain-free once in heaven?
I think I am resting in that promise most these past few months.
On Thursday, traveling through Baia Mare (because we are on a road trip), grief hid it’s ugly face. Mercy woke up happy and silly. She climbed to the top of a clock tower, she marched around outside, a map stretched out in front of her, “interpreting” it for me. She fell asleep easily, happily, calmly.
On Friday, she played on her iPad while her big sister (shockingly!) slept in. But just ten minutes into it, she slammed it shut and announced it “dumb.” Not completely out of the ordinary for a strongly opinionated child, we laughed and said she could do something else.
Five minutes later she started griping about her foot. We had long forgotten the iPad truthfully. Then she was upset about breakfast. Then upset about the tv. Then she threw a tantrum about her clothing. And her hair. And her feet. Pretty soon she was worked up, angry, yelling, throwing. An hour later, after going over her boundaries a little, she had stopped “doing hurts” but was crying, borderline wailing, that mix of upset and whine.
We thought she was hungry. Nope. We thought she was tired. Nope. Somewhere in the midst of it all, that point where you start to pull your hair out, piece by piece, she reached both hands out for me to hold her, her sign she is ready to be comforted. I wrapped both arms around her, cuddled her, started to rock her.
And then she whispered in my ear, “I miss my brother.”
I stopped. “Right now?” I asked her. “All day,” she responded. She stopped, took a gulp of air and continued, “I started to play a game on the iPad that I used to play with Noelan. It was a game that I taught him how to play. And I felt very mad and sad when I saw that game.”
And that was it. She wrapped her arms and legs around me and I tight hugged her for a while. No tears. No words. Just a wiped out little girl, with no energy left and a hole in her heart.
That is grief. It really is an ocean, waves that ebb and flow. And there isn’t a magical formula out there. No one has written a book called “how to help your children grieve the adoption loss of their brother fifteen months after the death of their cousin.” Last time I checked, I can’t find “how to assure your children that no one can snatch them away the way their brother was taken from them” or “how to comfort your children that their other ‘best friends’ won’t completely betray them.”
So tonight I’m just laying next to my sweet five year old as she recounts her day and tells me which parts Noelan would have loved. I’m simply staring into her dark brown eyes as she wonders, “do you think bro-bro remembers me, mama? Do you think he misses me?” And I kiss her forehead softly and whisper into her ear, “he loves you. He remembers you. He misses you.”
And as her breathing slows and she starts to drift off to sleep, I find myself wondering…will tomorrow ebb or flow?
Oh August.
Last fall we started planning our summer furlough. We would go in August, immediately after camp. We would spend the next five weeks soaking up the California sun (while enjoying the California air conditioning). We would swim in Grandma and Grandpa Ducky’s swimming and go boating on the lake with Grammie and Pops. We would have BBQs and picnics and sleepovers with aunties and uncles and cousins.
Then came Valentine’s day. Would we come to California and adopt Noelan? We knew if we went in February that we wouldn’t go in August. But can you really compare the two – – summer vacation or a child?
And so we went. “I can’t attach to him. I don’t love him. Will you attach to him? Will you be his mom and dad?” The mama in me, the daddy in Christian – – we had to respond. And I attached, we attached. We were asked to and so we did. Every ounce of me became Noelan’s mama and every ounce of him became my son. We know the difference between fostering and adopting. We were asked to adopt Noelan, not foster him. And because of that, we became a family and completely attached to him.
Which is why I feel like a piece of my heart is missing.
Which is why two and a half months after loosing Noelan, I am still rocking my almost eight year old when she goes into an infantile grief. And it is why I still wake up in the middle of the night, panicked because I hear Noelan crying for me. And it is why Christian and I sit and stare at each other and have no words sometimes. And it is why my five year old tantrums and throws and hits until she finally voices “I want my brother back.”
Oh grief. Oh August.
The Lord brought me a new, unexpected friendship this summer. And she has already been an ear and a shoulder for me. She sent me this article and as Christian and I read it, we suddenly felt so much more “normal” during this process. I would encourage you to read it and remember it if the Lord brings someone into your life going through adoption loss. Just reading it has ministered to me, because it has reassured me that we are not alone in this process.
these are just a bunch of snap shots from my phone…but we have been so blessed by the love, prayer, encouragement, notes, etc. we have received and we wanted to let you guys see what our past three weeks have looked like. one more week and hopefully mercy will get the green light to leave this house and venture to more exciting places!
friday morning, when i decided we were hospital bound…
first two days in the hospital. it was basically this for forty-eight hours…
the first signs of her ‘tude coming back…
our four walls and view for eight days…
last treatment (out-patient) and IV port removed…
two weeks down of complete sequester – – now we are going into a week of camp, where mercy, addy and i are going to sleep in a pensiune (think bed and breakfast minus the breakfast) in the town near camp (called buzau) and christian and i will trade of staying with mercy because she isn’t allowed to be locations like camp just yet. she is very disappointed about missing camp but in good, her puppy is coming with her!