The Crab Chronicles

To Sleep Beneath the Sky

Today is not a typical day for us. My son went camping today. He is 26. He is a fully grown man, not a child. Yet, I was reminded of the first time he ever went camping, and all the feelings I had that day.

A little background. I adopted Michael when he was ten years old, from Kazakhstan. I already had adopted a little girl from Russia, and she needed a sibling, so I searched and searched on adoption agency websites until I found this little guy:

I wanted a special needs child. Michael is an amputee. His right hand was amputated when he was 5 years old, due to frostbite. His early life was filled with abuse, neglect, and violence. He was sent to the orphanage at age 8. The ladies there got to know what a smart, funny, kind little guy he was [and still is] and decided to help him find an American family. They knew in Kazakhstan he would have little chance at a normal life because no employer would hire him. So they reached out to an adoption agency and he was listed as adoptable and I saw the photo at left and knew he was my son.

When I went to Kazakhstan to meet him I had a unique advantage. A nonprofit, the Antares Foundation, worked in the area and I got to know two of the ladies who head up that organization and they got photos and information to me before I traveled.

Once I got to Kazakhstan and met him, I knew my instincts were right, and this little guy was my son. He is very smart. He is very loving. He was a leader among the kids. He had friends there. The caretakers truly cared about him. When I got him home in May of 2007 he cried several times, missing his friends. I couldn't do anything to comfort him, but he adjusted quickly. It helped that his older sister still spoke Russian and was able to translate for him.

I naively assumed there would be many things he couldn't do because he is an amputee. I was wrong. Over and over, he proved to me that having one hand was only an inconvenience, not a disability. He played soccer, tennis, and baseball. He loved games of all kinds, and sports. He was making jokes in English before he had been here six months.

In 2008, I was able to get him a prosthetic and we got to know the wonderful people in the Limb Difference Clinic at Children's Hospital. His physical therapist told him about the wonderful Adventure Amputee Camp that happens every summer. I registered Michael for camp and he was pleased about it. Kids with limb differences of all kinds get to have the same camp experience as non-disabled kids, and it's a wonderful place staffed by physical therapists, occupational therapists, and prosthetists -- in other words, adults not freaked out by being around a child missing a limb. The kids get to do all kinds of things, from hiking, water skiing, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, etc. I was sure Michael would have a blast.

The day came for him to go to camp. I woke him up and got his bag packed and we drove over to the hospital parking lot. There was a really nice bus, a top-of-the-line luxurious bus, not some crappy old school bus. We got out of the car and he saw Miss Colleen, his beloved Occupational Therapist. He saw the other kids. He decided he was NOT going to camp and I wasn't going to make him! He was showing me that he had bonded with me and the separation anxiety was getting the better of him. Now, that was very atypical behavior. We had very few discipline issues with him. He was a happy little guy, most of the time. I realized though that this wasn't about anything but separation anxiety. I sternly told him that he WAS going to camp. He WAS going to get on the bus. Period. No arguing. I was bigger and stronger and he knew I wasn't kidding.

Of course, he stomped on the bus, madder than dammit, and I got in the car and cried, wondering if I had made a huge mistake. I actually called Colleen later and she said "Dee he is FINE. He's made new friends. He's having a great time! Don't worry!" [below, Michael with Colleen and Brian, at Children's]

That did my heart good!

Five days after putting him on the bus to camp I was back in the hospital parking lot, anxiously watching for the bus, and when it got there I wondered if he would still be mad at me.

Nope.

Michael was the first one off the bus. Huge smile on his face. He was waving around a tennis racquet he had won in the camp tennis tournament. He had never shown any interest in tennis before but it became a game he loved to play and he was quite good at it, even playing on winning ALTA teams in his teenage years.

He gave me a big hug and was bubbling over with excitement about his time in camp. His biggest joy was in being around other limb difference kids, and feeling like a regular kid, for once in his life. He went back every summer for several years, and always had fun.

His teenage years and the early 20's were very difficult for us both, to be honest. He had no interest in school and got into some trouble, due to substance abuse issues. He is now fully sober and working hard to live a healthy, authentic life. Most importantly, he is able to face adult challenges with courage and grace.

This weekend the Catalyst Sports group is in Alabama, for an outdoor climbing/camping weekend. It's a terrific group that helps disabled kids and adults participate in sports they normally wouldn't be able to do like climbing and kayaking. Michael loves climbing and he has climbed Stone Mountain countless times, but this will be his first real climbing adventure involving climbing as a sport. He has been going indoor climbing weekly for months, and really enjoys the challenge. 

As I watched him put his gear in his backpack, and we joked about his "road trip," I was reminded of that scared little 11 year old guy who didn't want to get on the bus. Now he is a fit, healthy, confident 26 year old man who is a delight. He is not disabled. He works as a cook in an upscale local restaurant. I wrote about him recently and you can read that and see video of him here.

left, me and Michael in Kazakhstan in 2007

 

right, Michael today

Dancing in the Wreckage

I am proud to introduce my newest book to the world: Dancing in the Wreckage. Here's what it's about, in a nutshell: When wealthy attorney Carson Strickland dies in a plane crash he leaves everything to a son nobody knows about, and his law partner’s search for the heir uncovers secrets buried for years.

Dancing in the Wreckage defies easy categorization. It's a mystery, a romance, a coming-of-age story, a family saga, and a quirky character-driven story. One of the main characters is dead, and yet his story provides a lot of humor.

I had a lot of fun writing it. It's very different from my other books.

A few years ago after helping my third cousin Roy discover his connection to me through my maternal great-grandmother I started thinking about unexpected family connections. Many people do the testing offered by Ancestry, 23andMe, and other sites, and learn really startling things about their families. Sometimes they are adopted, like Roy, and know nothing about their birth families. Other times they learn their father was not their biological parent. I know 23andMe has counselors trained to help people in the “NPE” (non-parent expected) category.

This book was inspired by a real-life situation I found myself in during the summer of 2022, when I looked at my list of DNA relatives on 23andMe and decided to proactively try to help one of my second cousins figure out our connection. I had been on 23andMe for years and always noticed various people whose names were not familiar, and I just knew there were fascinating stories back there. I called one of my other cousins and together we figured out how this lady was related. Turns out she was his half sister!She was welcomed into our family with great enthusiasm.

I was fascinated by the notion of growing up thinking your father was one person and then finding out years later that your biological father was someone you never met. I started writing. Rarely am I so inspired by real events!

That said, Dancing in the Wreckage is purely fictional.

Not only is it the story of an attorney named Carson Strickland, it's the story of Zak and Amy -- two individuals who are connected to Carson and yet unknown to each other for years -- who meet and recount their life stories, trying to understand their connections to him. Amy grew up fearful and puzzled by men, as there were only females in her home. When she gets old enough to date, disaster ensues. Eventually she realizes she can only find peace alone. Zak’s story is very different. He grew up in a conventional family. At age 18, Zak learned a family secret that rocked him, and he embarked on a life of aimless addiction and partying for a while. Eventually he fell in love and decided to join the family barbeque business. When Zak and Amy finally finish sharing their complicated life stories, they realize they love each other -- and more importantly, that the truth about Carson can actually generate healing and closure, instead of pain.

I realized as I was writing that the book depicts so many sides of the adoption triangle, most obviously in the way Zak’s life and Amy’s lives differ. I have two adopted children, now grown, and so adoption issues are particularly fascinating to me. What most people don’t really know is that when a mother places a child for adoption, although it’s a very selfless act, it’s also undoubtedly traumatic to both mother and child, a primal wound. It must be acknowledged for there to be any real healing.

I wanted to depict many different scenarios – adoption, abortion, keeping a child, placing a child, a child growing up in an orphanage. I also wanted to show different family situations -- single-parent homes, two parent homes, etc. -- and the pros and cons of each.

Having said that, Dancing in the Wreckage is NOT a message book. There is a lot of humor in it.

I am delighted to share that it's also set partly in Tucker, Georgia, my adopted hometown. I moved to this area almost 30 years ago and Tucker is the best-kept secret in the Atlanta metro area -- a friendly small town an easy drive to the bustling metropolis of Atlanta. The photo on the cover is downtown Tucker.

I seem to find myself always writing about Atlanta, Augusta, and Knoxville, but I make no apologies. They are all great cities and I have been blessed to live in each one. I also write about attorneys a lot, and paralegals, and I know those professions very well. 

I hope you will order a copy of Dancing in the Wreckage and that you'll enjoy reading it. Pass along the link to all your friends who love to read!

 

 

Never Give Up

Many years ago, after I adopted my daughter from Russia in 2004, I knew I wanted to adopt another Russian-speaking child. She needed a sibling. I wanted to give a child with some sort of special need a home. I pored over photos on websites of adoption agencies looking for a child. I wanted to adopt them all, and it made choosing so difficult. Finally, I just asked God to send me a sign. The next photo I saw was a scowling little boy who happened to have been born the same month my father died. I took that as a sign.

In 2007, my son finally came home, to a granny, sister, and mama who were absolutely thrilled to see him.

He is now 26 years old, and after some challenges, he is in a really good place in his life.

He is working as a cook in a very nice restaurant here in Atlanta, Kindred. He loves his job and the people there. It's a very busy place but he works hard and they have a lot of happy customers.

I interviewed Michael the other day and you can see that here: The Cook W ith the Mighty Left Arm. Michael was a bit reluctant to do the interview but I pointed out that a lot of people don't realize that having one hand is no big deal.

The article includes a video and you can see Michael preparing shrimp and grits, a popular dish at the restaurant.

Never let a disability define you.

 

#amputeeawareness, #amputeeemployment, #disabilityawareness,

McMillans and Hastys in North Georgia

In recent years I have altered my blog a bit, focusing more on general topics and less on my family, since my kids are now grown and gone. This is not merely a "mommy blog" but an ongoing way for me to get some writing practice and essay practice. However, today I wanted to swing it back around to the personal, so I hope if you're not related to me by blood or marriage you won't be offended.

Around 2013, I saw a program on PBS called Finding Your Roots, with Henry Louis Gates. It's fascinating to me how Dr. Gates helps famous people trace their ancestry back. The show uses the traditional [hunting through census records and deed records, etc. at the courthouse] and more modern methods -- DNA testing. He talked about 23andMe. I had never heard of that company. I decided to buy a test kit for my son, because we have no information on his birth family. My mom wanted me to get tested, too, so I did.

Not surprisingly, I am 63% British and Irish, 19.7% French and German, and 3.2% Scandinavian. My adopted son is 89% Eastern European, 5% Greek and Balkan, and a smattering of other ethnicities. Because my son was born in Kazakhstan, we have not been able to find any close relatives.

I have located a veritable treasure trove of relatives, however, on both sides of my family. There is a category on 23andMe called DNA Relatives. You can see everyone on 23andMe who is related to you. Now, if you don't want to be identified you can just use initials and not supply any information about yourself -- it's all optional. You don't have to share anything with anyone else. However, when you see a list of folks and how they are related to you, you can contact them.

I have located relatives who are white and African American and Asian. I now have Jewish relatives. I have relatives all over the USA. The more the merrier!

Months ago, I got in touch with a "Second to Third Cousin" named Roy, who lives in Virginia, and thus began a fascinating journey. As a writer, I am always very curious about people's stories, and Roy's story is intriguing to me personally, professionally, and as an adoptive mom. He was adopted as an infant but not told he was adopted. As a teen, he found out by accident. His adoptive parents didn't tell him anything about his birth parents, though. He got a limited amount of information from the agency, but not the names of his biological parents.

Months ago I had a terrific conversation with Roy by phone, and promised to try and help. I wasn't able to get it done, despite my best research efforts. I should explain that by looking at Roy's profile on 23andMe and clicking on Relatives in Common I was able to see he is connected to me on my mom's side of the family. I couldn't figure out how exactly, though. My Hasty great grandparents had a ton of kids. [see below, the family around 1914]

However, a lady named Barbara in North Carolina got a 23andMe test kit from her daughters this past Christmas, and did it. She is Roy's biological aunt. She has several siblings and so she and Roy have narrowed it down to one of her brothers probably being his father, but unfortunately the man has passed away. Roy is still searching for his birthmom's family, and hoping she is alive, of course. I understand and sympathize with Roy's desire to know his birth family. Everyone deserves to know that basic information.

I friended Barbara on Facebook and we were quickly able to figure out our connection. It isn't through the Hastys, but it is through the McMillans.[I have written about the Hastys and McMillans before, here.]

My great-grandfather William Dozier Hasty married Martha Virginia ["Ginnie] McMillan. [See below right]

The Hasty family has been in the Canton Georgia area for a long time. So has the McMillan family. Both families are highly respected in the area. Grandpa Hasty donated land to build a school and it still stands, in Canton Georgia.

Below is a listing of the children of Wilson Lumpkin McMillan and Mary Mansfield Brown [source]:

Wilson Lumpkin McMillan -- my great great grandfather

1833-1880

Marriage: 1853

Fulton County, Georgia

He was born when a man named Wilson Lumpkin was the governor of Georgia, and undoubtedly was named for him. Grandaddy McMillan was a private with the First Georgia Cavalry in the Civil War, and was a blacksmith. He contracted a "lung disease" while serving in the Army, which may account for his death at the age of 47. There is more about him here. He had 16 siblings.

Mary Mansfield Brown -- my great great grandmother

1834-1919                                  

Children (8)

There is more information about her here, Find A Grave. For a more complete listing of her siblings and children, see here. She had 16 siblings. One of her siblings was named Francis Marion Brown, another James K. Polk Brown. Her husband was named after the governor. Pretty interesting. I wonder if she realized that one day her grandson Bob Hasty would be famous in his own right as a major league baseball player?!

 

Emily Adeline McMillan -- she has a granddaughter named Donna and I have gotten to know her, a delightful lady who lives in Florida

1854-1924

 

Franklin Lamar McMillan

1856-1954

 

Margaret Ann Mc Millan

1859-1890

 

Martha Virginia McMillan -- this is my great-grandmother, and she is in the photos above. Mom said she was revered as a very sweet, kind lady

1862-1929

 

James M McMillan

1868-

 

Joseph Warren McMillan  -- this is the grandfather of Barbara, and great-grandfather of Roy

1870-1954                       

 

Arthur Lumpkin McMillan

1873-1953

 

Etta Lozenia McMillan  -- she married one of William Hasty's cousins, Jimmy Hasty, and their grandson is a friend of mine; I call him my double cousin

1876-1940    

 

  left, a portrait of Etta McMillan Hasty

 

  I get a big kick out of locating cousins and getting to know them. I was particularly thrilled to find Etta and Jimmy's descendants. My mother remembers going to see Etta and Jimmy as a little girl. 

 

 The Hasty men are all excellent craftsmen when it comes to wood. My kitchen table was made by William Hasty, my great-grandfather, and we have a beautiful oak chest of drawers he made. Etta's grandson Norman has a thriving business making beautiful custom wood furniture. Mom's cousin Frank Hasty does wood "turning" and makes amazingly beautiful bowls, ornaments, and other things.

 

 One of the delightful legacies of the McMillans is musical talent. Mom remembers going to eat big Sunday dinners at the McMillan home and everyone would sit around and sing afterwards, in harmony. They all sang and/or played an instrument. Mom has a beautiful singing voice and sang professionally as a young woman. I have also studied voice and done a lot of singing [when I was young, not now]. Mom's brother Don and his wife have sung in church choirs for decades, and their children are musically talented as well -- their daughter Linda plays and sings in a band, and their son plays guitar. Don's granddaughter has a lovely voice and we recently saw a video of her singing at church. 

 

Mom said all the McMillan women loved to cook and were excellent cooks. I love to cook too! [You can order my cookbook on Amazon, What's for Dinner, Mom?]

 

 I mention these things because they fascinate me. I know most of today's generations, the twenty-something Hasty and McMillan descendants, probably don't think this is important or interesting, but I do. We are all part of a lineage that goes back to Great Britain, Scotland, Ireland, and further. I have woodworkers and minstrels in my family background.  I have farmers and shopkeepers. All the men on both sides have fought in every war, too. We love this country.     

 

We are all part of a tapestry of relatives, stretching back across the centuries. We all deserve to know those family members, as much as we can. Mom recalls sitting on Grandpa Hasty's knee and him singing Irish lullabies to her. She sat me on her lap and sang to me, too. What a beautiful legacy, the gift of music. I always think of Grandpa, too, when I eat at the table he built. What a rich experience for me, getting to know these cousins, and gaining a broader understanding of my family and how we are all connected. God Bless us all.   

Don't Discriminate Against Gay Parents

Shortly before I brought my daughter home from Russia in 2004 I started a group for parents of children adopted from Russia and Eastern Europe. The best support I got through the adoption process was from other parents. Like veterans, we were part of a unique group and only folks going through an international adoption could really understand the process.

I met a couple of ladies who were gay, and in the process of adopting two babies from Russia. The babies were medically fragile and desperately in need of medical care not available to them in their orphanages. I don't remember their specific issues. One of the ladies adopted both children. Her longtime partner went with her and attested they were "friends." They couldn't admit to more because if they had, the Russian government wouldn't have allowed the adoption to go forward. The government would rather have let those two children die than be adopted by a gay couple. I was thoroughly disgusted by that stance, but not really surprised.

Now, I read that our own government is allowing faith-based adoption agencies to discriminate against gay couples and still get federal dollars.

Pence Praises Rule That Would Let Adoption Agencies Exclude Gay Parents

This is utterly horrifying. Federal dollars -- our tax dollars -- are going to agencies who think it's just fine that religious organizations condemn gay parents and won't work with them.

I know what it feels like to face discrimination. When I was adopting my daughter I heard great things about a local adoption agency and I called them up, only to be told that because I was single they wouldn't work with me. This so-called "Christian" organization refused to work with single moms or dads -- despite the fact that I am not gay. Didn't matter to them. They thought it was better for children to stay in an orphanage than be in a loving single-parent home.

We have a huge population of children in foster care in America today. One in 5 children [20%] adopted through foster care go to loving, stable gay families. In contrast, only 3% of straight couples adopt from foster care.

Being gay is not a choice. People are born gay, straight, or bisexual. Many religions argue being gay is a choice -- then they can say it's sinful. I have several close friends and family members who are gay. It's not a choice. It's how God made them.

Thank God there are actually adoption agencies who help gay people adopt, like Lifelong Adoptions.

The lesbian couple who adopted from Russia are now the proud parents of two teenagers who are smart, kind, well-behaved, amazing. Their daughter is an honors student, now in college, and her brother will soon be in college. Both those medically fragile babies are now healthy, happy teens who love both their mamas and have had a happy childhood.

All children deserve loving parents.

I have met many orphans and all of them would have been thrilled to be adopted by a single parent or a gay couple -- because loving parents are always better than no parents.

No gay family should be turned down by a faith-based agency, but it happens. The fact that our government is endorsing that and turning over tax dollars to them is terrible. I want to bring attention to this issue because it is just WRONG.

Below, my son in the orphanage.

 

Employment for All

Some years ago I was delighted to hear about a relative of mine who had found employment as a stockboy at a gift shop. Why was I so thrilled about that position? My relative was born with intellectual disabilities and had the functional capabilities of a 5 year old, despite being a grown man. The store that employed him knew his parents, knew he would be a great employee, and took a chance -- a highly unusual move in the 1970's. He held that job for many years, until the store closed.

A new business in Montrose Colorado, Buckaroos Slices and Scoops, deserves similar praise. The owners of the business adopted 5 children from Kazakhstan and Kyrgstan and realized only after the children came home that most were affected, to varying degrees, by FAE [Fetal Alcohol Effects]. Their birthmoms drank while pregnant, causing permanent brain damage. [It is never safe to drink ANY amount of alcohol while pregnant, in case you were wondering.]

One of the children, Angela, was in my son's orphanage. Her mom Cindy and I have been online friends for many years.

Cindy quit work and stayed home to homeschool her children because the local school system couldn't educate her children as effectively as she could, giving them the one-on-one attention they needed, and tailoring lesson plans to each child's particular limitations. It took some time, nonetheless, for Cindy to discover that many of the issues she was seeing were related to in-utero alcohol exposure. One of her kids simply cannot remember math facts from one day to the next. Another one of her children is so severely affected he cannot remember, from day to day, to take a shower.

The myth, though, about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome is that it's one-size-fits-all. Nope, it's more like autism - a spectrum of issues, some minor, some major. Cindy writes candidly about her children's struggles in her blog. 

Buckaroos Slices and Scoops is a little cafe serving pizza and ice cream. More importantly, it employs the LaJoy children and others in their town who struggle with a variety of intellectual limitations.

Check out a local news story about it here.

Most of us parents of neurotypical kids will never go through the heart-wrenchingly scary worry of wondering how our kids will ever support themselves. If you are the parent of a child with intellectual issues, it's a constant source of stress after a child grows up. Buckaroos and similar businesses lead the way in addressing that very real concern.

Thankfully, places like Buckaroos will likely not remain unique for much longer. Here in the south [Wilmington NC, Charleston SC, and Savannah GA] we have Bitty and Beau's Coffee Shops. They employ folks with intellectual disabilities too. There may be other places, too - if you know of them, drop me a comment.

I have been reading Cindy's blog for years, and I always finish each post in awe of her ability to write beautifully, and movingly, about topics you rarely see written about publicly. Her courage in handling her kids' issues is awe-inspiring. Excerpt below:

"People with cognitive or developmental delay are FAR more courageous than the world ever wants to give them credit for. For some reason, we tend to apply that thinking to those who "overcome" physical disabilities, and we are dismissive as a society of those with differently functioning brains. We seldom see them as being brave, we infantalize them, we talk over them rather than with them, we don't know what to do with them. People with invisible disabilities face a world in which they will never fit, and they know it. They are bullied regularly, are scared of the impatience they experience from others on a daily basis, and they tackle life with great hope when things are far more challenging for them than they ever are for the average person.

In two heartbreaking conversations, I have already had to reassure two of our employees who approached me privately and haltingly said they were scared because they had been bullied or treated very rudely in the past. I told them that no one was going to bully them or be unkind to them, and if they were, they would no longer be welcome in our store and we would protect them. I was honest, saying that we might not be able to stop someone from saying something initially, but they would always have us to protect them the best we could."

My hope is that one day there will be places like Buckaroos and Bitty and Beaus all over America, and anyone who wants to work will be able to find a job where they can excel.

 

You Only Fail If You Don't Try

I used to be a terribly ignorant person. Ignorant and not even aware of my ignorance. I can admit that now.

When I was in my 20's and 30's I wanted to get-married-and-have-kids. That's how I always thought of it. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby..."

I watched programs or movies occasionally in which couples were struggling with infertility. (Here's where the ignorant part comes in.) In those programs, adoption was always seen as a really poor substitute for having "a baby of our own."

I remember organizing a family reunion about 16 years ago and wondering if I should invite a distant cousin who was adopted. Would he want to come? Would he want to meet a bunch of people he wasn't biologically related to? I did invite him. He appeared. He was delightful. It didn't matter that he didn't look like any of us. We claimed him.

Years ago, I worked for a brilliant man who was an idiot. He had a master's degree from Columbia. He had a law degree. Very book-smart guy. I told him my son was adopted when he was ten years old. He looked startled and slightly horrified. "What does he call you?" he blurted out.

I was taken aback. "He calls me MOM."

I flashed back to a classmate of my son's who looked at me and said "Where's Michael's REAL MOM?"

See, here's the awkward part. I used to be that insensitive, ignorant person. [I wouldn't have actually voiced those hurtful questions but I would have thought them.] The crux of it was that I literally just couldn't fathom loving an adopted child the same as a child I made in my own body. How could you love a child that much? How would that be possible?

It's possible. In fact, unless you are a complete asshole or perhaps mentally ill you will fall in love with your adopted child just like you would love a biological child. It's no different.

You don't wake up every day and think "I need to get dressed and make breakfast for my adopted child. I need to drive my adopted child to school. Is my other adopted child running a fever? Should I take their temperature?"

And so on.

Do I miss looking at my children and seeing my face and body there? No.

Would I have liked to have had a "child of my own"? Sure. I won't lie. I kinda wish that had been possible. It wasn't. For a lot of reasons. I don't see my adopted children as a consolation prize, though.

I used to run a very informal support group for adoptive parents. In it were several couples who struggled with infertility for years. They then adopted children from Russia and Eastern Europe. All of them said "I wish I had just skipped all the infertility stuff and just adopted right away." They had learned that beautiful truth, that having a child from your body is far less sacred than having a child in your arms that loves you and calls you "Mama" or "Daddy" with complete love and trust.

I adopted a 13 year old and a 10 year old. They were mine as soon as I saw them. It didn't matter about the language issue and the culture issues and all the rest of it. They were meant to be my children.

I belonged to a Yahoo group for single moms years ago. Remember Yahoo groups?! Some of the moms on there were married to guys who didn't want to adopt. Their wives desperately wanted to be mothers. Those guys found themselves divorced, as a result. I spoke to some of those moms and they all said although they didn't like getting divorced it was worth it to be a mother.

I've had people say to me, "It costs too much to adopt." Well, no it doesn't, actually. Private adoptions from an agency ARE pricey, yes, if you want an infant right after birth. However, the government still gives families adoption tax credits. It's up to $13,610 and it doesn't matter how you adopted -- internationally, domestically, from foster care, etc. I got a grant for my son's adoption when I worked at Home Depot - lots of big companies offer adoption grants. The state of Georgia gave me a $2,000 grant because I adopted a "special needs" child - any child over age 2 qualifies for that.

I've known lots of families who creatively held adoption fund raisers to raise the money -- selling items online, holding events at their church, etc.

My brother gave me $5,000 to help me with my daughter's adoption. Families often help out.

I knew couples and singletons who spent years trying to adopt and a few who pondered giving up, but they finally really the truth of this: the only failure is giving up. They persisted, and they became parents.

You CAN love an adopted child just as much as a child from your body -- more, in fact. After you've gone through a homestudy and raised the money and jumped through all the hoops to adopt, you develop a determination that few biological parents can fathom, because it wasn't that difficult for them to have a few drinks and put on the Marvin Gaye record and get it on and whoops -- 9 months later, there's a baby!

See the two photos below? Children who are loved, pure and simple. That's all you need to make a family.

 

The Last Days?

When I started researching adoption in 2003 I didn't realize I was starting a journey that would produce not just the family I'd always wanted, but also friendships that would sustain me. I had no idea of any of that. All I knew was that I had visited an orphanage and seen a little girl that I knew in my heart was my daughter.

Shortly after she came home I realized my daughter needed a sibling, and I started researching adoptable children in Russian speaking countries, because I wanted Alesia to be able to help me teach English to a younger sibling. Teaching her had been quite a challenge, simply because I didn't realize that she had a learning disability.

Michael came home in May 2007 and Alesia was a great tutor and sibling to him.

Michael was from Kazakhstan, a country I had only vaguely heard of that day in 2005 when I spotted his photo on the adoption agency website. I was working in the legal department of a hotel company at that time and I had to go examine the world map to figure out where he was.

Kazakhstan is a fascinating country. It's situated east of Europe, right under Russia, and west of China. For centuries, traders between Europe and China traveled across the vast plains of Kazakhstan on a trade route known as The Silk Road.

Sometime around the time I adopted Michael I "met" another adoptive mom who had adopted a little 6 year old girl from Kazakhstan. Although she lives in California and her background is totally different from mine, I liked Judy immediately. She is smart, funny, and she writes a blog. She lives in California, but a few years ago she bought an apartment in New York and she stays there part of every year and sees Broadway shows, goes to museums, etc. I always enjoy reading her blog about all her varied and fun activities.

Although it may sound like a peculiar friendship, my relationship with Judy has always been one of mutual respect and affection. We don't always agree politically, but we agree about a lot of important things.

Judy is one of the few people I can talk to about raising an adopted child who came home not as a baby, but as a fully-formed little human.

Raising a child who has come out of an orphanage and is older than 6 when they are adopted is quite a challenge. Judy has had challenges with her daughter and I have had some with Michael. We both love our children, and we have tried hard to help them. Other parents are great sources of wisdom when it comes to biological children, but they really don't understand the challenges Judy and I have faced.

Most children who live in chaotic birth homes with parents who neglect them carry that emotional scars of that for the rest of their lives. Ditto for kids who spend their earliest years in an orphanage, like Judy's daughter. Our kids didn't have as early examples parents who loved and nurtured them, who protected them from harm and showed them what it's like to cope with adversity in healthy ways. My son watched his birthmom cope with trouble by drinking. Right after he came home he picked up a bottle of perfume on my dresser, smelled it, and said in Russian "My mother used to drink this for the alcohol." [My daughter translated.] I was shocked.

Most kids like my son and Judy's daughter go through periods of hard rebellion when they become teenagers - more rebellious that biological children, usually. It's terrifying to watch, as a parent. Judy's daughter pushed the limits. Michael put me through a lot. Both children are doing well now, though. Judy's daughter is thriving in college, and Michael is headed back to college in the Fall. Our children are smart, resilient, and able to give and receive love. I am so proud of them.

Judy just learned the other day that she has Stage 4 colon cancer. There is a tumor on her colon and it's inoperable. The day she told me that, Wednesday, I cried off and on for most of the day.

You're probably thinking that's weird. I have never actually sat across from Judy and chatted. We've never met in person. I've never shared a meal with her. Yet, I feel like I am losing a member of my family.

I also am constantly berating myself for thinking there's no hope. There is always hope. Miracles do happen, all the time. Ask any doctor or nurse who has more than a few years of experience.

 

A few months ago I finished a book called Dying To Be Me, by Anita Moorjani. She had terminal cancer and actually died from it, in the hospital. Her soul left her body. She writes about it very articulately. Excerpt:

"I didn't feel as though I'd physically gone somewhere else -- it was more as though I'd awakened. Perhaps I'd finally been roused from a bad dream... What I can only describe as superb and glorious unconditional love surrounded me, wrapping me tight as I continued to let go... Love, joy, ecstasy and awe poured into me, through me, and engulfed me. I was enveloped in more love than I ever knew existed. I felt more free and alive than I ever had... I suddenly knew things that weren't physically possible, such as the conversations between medical staff and my family that were taking place far away from my hospital bed."

Anita goes on to talk about time in the other realm isn't linear, it's simultaneous, and how she was able to make contact with her deceased father and best friend. She felt such joy and peace in the other realm. She came out of the coma eventually, and her cancer completely went away.

I gave the book to my mother to read and she, too, found it fascinating. I love this idea: If you want to know about the journey, ask someone on the way back. By coming back and sharing her journey with the world, Anita Moorjani has helped countless people to not fear death. I don't fear it. I don't want anyone I love to fear it. It's simply a transition.

 

I kept thinking about my father's 1996 cancer diagnosis, when I heard from Judy the other day. He had been in such a lot of pain and yet I knew that when he died, the pain would be gone and he would enter into the blissful state Anita describes. Whether Judy is facing the last months of her life or it's simply a very scary bump in the road and she will recover, I feel peaceful. Her life is about to change dramatically, either way.

If Judy is dying, I will miss her friendship terribly. I hope I will also be able to rejoice, though, because she will be out of pain and in a state of peace that I can only imagine. One day our spirits will meet in person and I will rejoice in seeing my old friend, and hug her. One day our Kazakh children will meet, whether in this life or the next.

I am still finding myself crying, at odd moments, for reasons I cannot fully articulate. I don't want Judy to be in pain. I don't wish it on her family either. I am anticipating missing her, and she is not gone yet -- and I am a little angry at myself for pre-grieving. I am also sad that I never got to visit Judy in California, and she probably doesn't feel like traveling, now.

I comfort myself by picturing this: Judy and I sitting and looking out at the ocean, drinking something cold, and talking about our kids, our passions, our lives -- and laughing. So much healing and love comes in the form of laughter. One day it will happen, whether in this life or the next.

They Call Me Mom

Mother's Day is always sweeter to me now that I have children, because for the first 41 years of my life I was childless, and I desperately wanted to be a mom. I just couldn't find the right guy and get things going. I always had a timetable in my mind of when I was going to get married and have children, and publish my first best-selling novel. Of course, as the proverb goes, Man Plans, God Laughs.

I also always had the thought that if I adopted a child I wouldn't get the full 100% experience of being a mom. Yes, I had a bias. I can admit that now, because I realize how foolish I was to think that way.

Apparently I am not the only person to think like that. I was asked just a few years ago, when talking about my son, "What does he call you?" I said "He calls me Mom."

Both kids call me Mom. I also answer to Mama and Mommy. My son usually calls me Mommy now, and that's fine.

Being a mom is so much more than biology.

Most adoptive moms think about their kids' biological moms on this day. If our children were placed at birth, it's likely the bio moms relinquished voluntarily and made a plan for their children. Many adoptions nowadays are Open, meaning everyone knows about everyone else.

In the bad old days, however, adoption was seen as something to be kept secret, or to be ashamed of. This created a lot of emotional problems for adopted children. Imagine being told one day at 10 or 15 or even 35 that the people you've always thought were your biological parents are not biologically related to you at all. That causes massive trust issues and anxiety. I recently made contact with a distant cousin through 23andMe and he was only told when he was 15. His adoptive parents refused to give him any information about his biological parents. He is trying to learn what he can now, many years later.

I fervently believe that everyone on earth deserves to know where they came from, who their biological parents are. I have always told my kids I would help them search if they wanted to search.

Not all kids who search for birth parents will like what they find, of course.

There is some pressure in the adoption community for adoptive moms to honor or include bio moms in Mother's Day celebrations. That's fine, but not all of us can or want to do that.

Another adoptive mom posted an excellent blog about her feelings about her kids' birthmoms. Four out of five of her adopted kids have issues because of the birthmom's alcoholism. She said: "What about when there is information, and it does not allow for creating a fairy tale of a sacrificial birth mom? How about families, like ours, who have had to spend years and years dealing with the emotional wreckage that birth parents caused...the trauma, neglect, anger, and soul deep pain? What do those sweet Mother's Day memes that acknowledge the birth mom and state falsehoods mean when they really do not apply in our own situation?"

As she goes on to explain, all we can do is love our kids and try to help them heal. Those are our best options.

I wish I had been able to adopt both my kids at birth. I couldn't. I got them as soon as I could. I think that's what God calls on us to do: our best.

A Dozen Years

Today marks the 12th anniversary of the day I adopted Michael! It seems like ages ago and it seems like yesterday. Such a happy day for me. 

I copied below the journal entry for April 3, 2007, the day of the adoption hearing. After the hearing I had to leave and fly home and wait for everything to be finalized. I returned to Kazakhstan in early May and we did outprocessing and came on home - an exhausting few days and a really long trip home, but so worth it. 

To commemorate the day, I took Mike out to dinner tonight. He only remembers bits and pieces of the adoption day. I will never forget that day! I am so glad I blogged about it. I thought it would be interesting to share that blog.

Mike and me in the orphanage looking at the photo book I made him

ADOPTION DAY 2007

It has been a much easier day than I had expected – in fact, pretty low key. No drama, very little tension. The most tension came from the fact I wanted to use the bathroom during the entire court hearing, but I was too nervous to run down the hall and find a ladies’ room – I was afraid I would miss something important.

Igor picked me up at 9:45, and already had the ministry of education lady in the car. We drove to a courthouse that looked like any other courthouse, pretty much. There was a small parking area next to it, and the mud was ankle deep in the lot – but I didn’t realize until I stepped out that it was completely frozen mud, so not bad. I had worn my boots, just in case.

We checked our coats downstairs, in the entryway. There were a lot of folks sitting around there. We walked up three flights. I was glad I had on pants, not a skirt and heels.

The judge’s outer office had a desk and a hat rack and several chairs, and a printer. Nothing special, except for the apple green walls. Michael was dressed in his court wardrobe and was there with Tatiana, the orphanage representative. Sholpan, my agency coordinator, was already there.

I gave Michael a hug and a kiss. We waited for about 20 minutes.

While we waited, the prosecutor came in. She was a young woman in her 20’s, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a military style uniform. Igor said they all wear uniforms. Her boots were a weird combination between brown leather cowboy boots with an embossed design, and the typical high boots with spiked heels that all the women here wear. She also had long purple fingernails.

We first went in without Michael. The judge is a short, chubby lady of Kazakh ethnicity, with a little wave of gray in her hair. She sat at an ordinary looking desk. In front of it were two small tables, and about 5 feet away from the tables were about 8 chairs, lined up against the wall. Igor and Sholpan and I sat in the chairs.

The prosecutor and a court reporter sat at one small table. Tatiana and the ministry of education lady sat at the other table. There was a big Kazakh flag in the corner behind the desk.

The judge made some preliminary remarks, and said something about me being able to get copies of everything. I assume she meant Michael’s records. I want copies, of course.

She asked me my name, my date of birth, my occupation. She asked where in America I lived and I said Atlanta.

She told me that Michael was from a very bad background, and his mother was an alcoholic, and didn’t take care of him, etc. I won’t go into all of it here because it’s too private. The judge didn’t say a lot about it, just the facts, and asked me if I was aware of all that and did I still want to adopt Michael. I said yes, of course.

I don’t recall all the questions I was asked, but I will mention here the ones I remember.

The “speech” that Americans are told they will have to give can be pretty brief. I just said I have a daughter and I wanted a boy, and I decided on Kazakhstan because I have friends who have adopted from Kazakhstan.

The judge asked me how much my income is, and I told her. She asked if I thought that was enough to support two children. I wanted to say well duh, why am I here?! But I figured sarcasm was a bad idea. I just said I make enough, but also I live with my mother and she helps financially so no, I didn’t think there would be a problem.

In Russia, I was asked what I would do if I was dating a man and he didn’t like kids. This judge asked me the same insane question, except I think she said if the man wanted to marry me but didn’t want my kids - I replied I would never even date anyone who didn’t like kids and want my kids. [If I were to be completely honest I would say I have no interest in dating anyone right now, and not in the foreseeable future – I have Enough on my plate!]

She asked me if the house was in my name, and I said it’s in my name and Mother’s name, jointly. She looked through the book of photos I brought.

She asked me if I am ready to mother two children and take on that responsibility, and I said yes.

At some point it was mentioned that my daughter still speaks Russian. That was a big point in my favor, I felt. I also said I speak Russian, and that got a laugh. I always say “Ya ploha gavaroo parusski” which means literally “I speak Russian badly.”

The judge asked me if I can help Michael forget his past. I said I don’t think he will ever forget, but being in a loving family will help him to have a good life going forward. There seems to be a prevalent attitude here that when bad things happen you should just magically “forget” – I didn’t see any need to tell her I feel we need to talk about emotions and process painful feelings and memories so they don’t control us. I figured that might lead to an argument.

The one question she asked me that was really hard to answer was: “Now that you have spent time with this boy, what do you think of him?” Big tears came, and I grabbed Igor’s hand and said “Oh boy, I really don’t want to cry!” – and he translated it! I didn’t mean for him to do that. Everyone laughed. I just said “He is such a sweet little boy. He is SO smart. He has a really good attitude. I just love that little boy.”

The orphanage rep, Tatiana, spoke next. She described Michael as a good boy, with a good attitude, who doesn’t let his limb difference keep him from doing anything. She said he doesn’t want help – he prefers to do everything himself.

She said she had observed me with Michael and he has a good relationship with me. The judge asked her if Michael was just being good around me because he wants to be adopted. Tatiana said no, he is good boy all the time, and he couldn’t keep that up if it wasn’t his real personality. Good answer!

The ministry of education lady spoke next and said it appeared Michael and I have a good relationship and I will give him a good home. It was a short speech but that was the gist of it.

They brought Michael in. He stood next to me and I patted his back. The judge asked him his name. He said firmly “My name is Michael Robert Thompson.” He wouldn’t even say his Russian name. The judge asked him if he was OK with changing his name, and he said yes. Igor described the process of me letting him choose his name, and Michael affirmed he wanted to change his name.

The judge asked him if he wanted to be adopted and go to America and he said yes. The judge asked him if he liked living in the orphanage and he just said “No.” That got a laugh. Michael didn’t hesitate or equivocate he just said NO. [Well duh, what child wants to live in an orphanage?!]

Michael was sent out again, and the prosecutor spoke for a long time, some legal jargon. Then we went outside to wait. We had been in the chambers for about 40 minutes. We waited about 20 minutes. We all went back in, everyone except Michael, and the judge read a piece of paper saying the adoption is granted and will be final in 15 days. I grinned, and hugged everyone. I thought I would cry, but I didn’t.

I went outside and grabbed Michael and gave him a big hug and kiss and told him in Russian “I am your Mama!” He grinned big and hugged me back. The judge came out and saw us and said something but I forget what – it was positive. She was smiling.

We left the judge’s office and I went and found a bathroom, and we got our coats. Igor pulled the car around, and we settled in with Tatiana and Michael.

We took Tatiana back to the orphanage. Michael changed clothes while we were there. I also met the director – a short Kazakh man in a suit, who smiled warmly. I took a photo with the assistant director and Tatiana, who were instrumental in helping me.

The caretaker came back down with Michael and said he had gone upstairs and told everyone about the court hearing, and that his mama had on makeup and looked beautiful. He IS the sweetest boy in the world!

We went to the Doner Café for lunch, at Michael’s request. He didn’t play much in the play area, but there weren’t any of his buddies around. He ate fried eggs and a salad for lunch, his choice. I had chicken shashlik [shish kebabs] which were very tasty, and French fries. We got assorted cookies and baklava for dessert. I told Michael his Uncle Bruce loves baklava.

Igor dropped us off here at the hotel, and Michael and I spent the afternoon together. We looked at photos on the computer. We watched some TV. He said to me in English a couple of times “I need bathroom.” So he knows one very important phrase.

We knocked on the door of one of the other families and got 11 year old Caroline and went to the gym, and she and Michael played with the big beach ball for about 45 minutes. Michael made a huge effort to hoist the ball over the high net but it was tough. He fell a number of times. He and Caroline played some one-on-one soccer and he had a blast doing that. I think he has the ability to be a really good soccer player.

After Caroline had to leave at 3:30, he showed me his knee that he had scraped. We went upstairs so he could cool off and I put some Neosporin on the knee and a bandaid. He drew a beautiful picture for Granny and Alesia.

When Igor came in at 4:30 he had his wife with him, which was good, since she is going to tutor Michael in English while I’m gone.

I gave Michael the teddy bear I had brought for him. I also gave him the disposable camera, so he can make photos of his friends. I had Igor read to him the letters from Mother and Alesia. I asked him if he wanted Igor to read the letter from me and he said no. I think he can read it himself.

I gave him the calendar with Atlanta scenes on it and we turned to April. I marked on there today, court day, and we talked about the timing of me coming back. I said as soon as I knew the day, for sure, Igor would let him know.

I said to him the following:

“I hate having to leave you and go back to America. I will miss you so much. I want you to know that when I am gone I will pray for you every day. I pray for you every day now. I wear this cross to remind myself that God is always with us and he watches over us. God answers all prayers. When you come home we will talk more about God. Michael, I know you have had some really bad experiences in your life. I wish I could erase those things, but I can’t. However, in America you will be very loved. Granny and Alesia and I will all help you to learn English, and help you with everything. Even Coco will help you, I bet.” [that got a smile] 

Igor and Michael gathered up all the presents and took them to the orphanage to give out for me. I was glad to hand over that chore. Igor helped me by writing the names in Russian on the tags.

When it came time for him to go, I hugged Michael tight for about a minute and kissed his head. I told him I loved him. I walked downstairs and gave him another hug and told him I loved him. It was very hard to leave him. I had to try hard to not cry. I didn’t want him to see me like that.

I came right up to the room and started working on this blog. It helped to settle my mind. I also called Mother and Alesia.

Dinner was low-key. After everyone ate, I served a cake I bought at the Doner Café for dessert, and we all celebrated Michael’s adoption. I had thought about going out but changed my mind. I wanted to hang out here with the other American parents. They have become my surrogate family here, and made this experience so much easier than I had thought it would be.

I do not know when I will be able to do another blog entry. I am not even sure what hotel I will be in tomorrow night or if it will have an internet connection. I will try to post asap and let everyone know the continuing story. It ain’t over yet.

below, Mike at his Gotcha Day dinner, tonight