The whole experience had been much harder on Q-Boo than I had
expected. She is very smart and sometimes that can lead to more complicated
emotional issues. We’d spent the last
couple of weeks before the trip talking, talking and talking, and talking,
about adoption and about how Q-Boo “looks a little bit different” than other
people (even looking like the other people in China caused her some angst) and
about how she felt nervous to meet Luna, “But I’ve never seen her before” and
“What if she doesn’t like me?” and
“Well, I’ll just hide behind your leg.”
I told her that I thought I might hide behind Dad’s leg. She thought
that was funny. She had no idea how
serious I really was. At breakfast of
the morning that we were to meet Luna, she was driving us nuts, “I just want to
be where Luna is!” Yes, babe, so do we.
After breakfast, we went downstairs to wait, impatiently. We
met John, our guide for the rest of our time in China. He apologized that he had not met us at the
train station but, due to unforeseen circumstances, he’d just been able to fly
to Hangzhou from Guangzhou. Although he was a professional guide, he’d never
been away from Guangzhou, ever. He was
as excited about being in Hangzhou as we were, and I immediately liked him. Two
and a half years later, I still think about him and hope that he’s happy.
 |
| In the van on the way. She could not sit still. |
 |
| Finally there. Carting all our important stuff. |
 |
| Still decorated for Chinese New Year. |
 |
| Waiting on Luna. |
We traveled to meet Luna at the local civil affairs building
in Yiwu. We nervously got off the van and walked into the room. We found three
little kids from another orphanage already waiting there with their nannies and
their orphanage director. And then, we watched as other adoptive parents came
in and met their kids. The orphanage van carrying Luna and her caregivers, it
was explained to us, could not enter the city until after rush hour as the van
had out of city tags. It was a chaotic and emotional wait.
At last, Luna entered the room, dragging a brand-new Minnie Mouse backpack and another bag stuffed with candy. She was a very unhappy little girl. Parts of her clothes were wet because she’d thrown up during the van ride and she was stiffly holding one of her hands because a large section of fingernail was hanging off one of her fingers. The orphanage staff reported that she’d been car sick, but I’ve since ridden in almost every vehicle known to man with her -in and out of China- and she does not get motion sickness. It was probably very much emotional. That, and she told me, later, that they’d given her a very big breakfast. The ripped fingernail, the orphanage director said, was the result of her sticking her finger into a pencil sharpener. A fact which still baffles my mind and Luna, later, told me that this did not happen. Regardless, to this day, neither one of us know what did happen.
This was a lot for me to mentally process as my new daughter was standing, miserably in front of me, and Mandarin was flying all around. I can’t imagine what was going through her mind. I know that I desperately wanted to hug her, to comfort her, but also knew that any way that I forced my attention on her would probably only add to her pain. It was a very hard beginning.
At last, Luna entered the room, dragging a brand-new Minnie Mouse backpack and another bag stuffed with candy. She was a very unhappy little girl. Parts of her clothes were wet because she’d thrown up during the van ride and she was stiffly holding one of her hands because a large section of fingernail was hanging off one of her fingers. The orphanage staff reported that she’d been car sick, but I’ve since ridden in almost every vehicle known to man with her -in and out of China- and she does not get motion sickness. It was probably very much emotional. That, and she told me, later, that they’d given her a very big breakfast. The ripped fingernail, the orphanage director said, was the result of her sticking her finger into a pencil sharpener. A fact which still baffles my mind and Luna, later, told me that this did not happen. Regardless, to this day, neither one of us know what did happen.
This was a lot for me to mentally process as my new daughter was standing, miserably in front of me, and Mandarin was flying all around. I can’t imagine what was going through her mind. I know that I desperately wanted to hug her, to comfort her, but also knew that any way that I forced my attention on her would probably only add to her pain. It was a very hard beginning.
We were all introduced and then she was given presents by the
orphanage staff to give to her new mèimei, or "little sister." Q-Boo gave her the presents that she’d picked out for her
new jiějie, or "big sister." "This is the orphanage director, this is one of Luna's nannies, but not Luna's regular nanny - they work shifts. This is Luna." "This is Momma and Daddy and little Sister. Give this to little Sister. Say thank you to Momma and Daddy and little Sister." It was a whirlwind of demands and expectations and emotions. I wanted to scream "Stop!" I wanted to say, "Time, we need time and quiet and ease." But, this was not to be.
The girls were deposited into chairs next to one another. I showed Luna the brand-new hot pink backpack, filled with toys, that we’d brought for her and then I sat it next to her in the chair. She hardly moved. “Overwhelmed” does not even begin to describe her emotional state. What IS the English word for “being a child and watching your entire life change in front of your eyes without a bit of control and no one to make you feel safe?” I’m not sure it exists in any language because it should never happen to any child, ever. We gave Luna’s nanny some coloring books that we’d brought, and the nanny got her busy working in them.
The girls were deposited into chairs next to one another. I showed Luna the brand-new hot pink backpack, filled with toys, that we’d brought for her and then I sat it next to her in the chair. She hardly moved. “Overwhelmed” does not even begin to describe her emotional state. What IS the English word for “being a child and watching your entire life change in front of your eyes without a bit of control and no one to make you feel safe?” I’m not sure it exists in any language because it should never happen to any child, ever. We gave Luna’s nanny some coloring books that we’d brought, and the nanny got her busy working in them.
Through all of this John,
our guide, was wonderful. He took time to speak to Luna directly, he asked her
questions, and did the best that he could to bridge the gaps between us all.
During this trip, he was an extremely valuable resource and I feel so lucky to
have had him. He was careful to speak to her and then to make sure that we knew what she'd said and how he'd responded to her.
Luna told John, that yes, her finger hurt, she wanted to change clothes, and that she was hungry. In between all of this we worked on paperwork. Tons of paperwork, immigration information, promises, and legal documents. That day was about putting the finishing touches on everything and signing twenty-four hour guardianship papers. We'd return the next day to sign once more, to finalize the adoption papers. China believed in giving a family twenty-four hours to spend with a child before they fully commit. I'd come half way around the world, spent over a year on paperwork, and tons of money. My heart had leapt the first time that I'd seen her picture. I was vested in this child. I knew exactly what I was doing when I'd said "yes," to her referral She was my child. I would not go home without her. But, this is the way that they did it, so we did it this way. The next day would be more a formality, but this day was the main brunt of paperwork and it took a while.
Luna told John, that yes, her finger hurt, she wanted to change clothes, and that she was hungry. In between all of this we worked on paperwork. Tons of paperwork, immigration information, promises, and legal documents. That day was about putting the finishing touches on everything and signing twenty-four hour guardianship papers. We'd return the next day to sign once more, to finalize the adoption papers. China believed in giving a family twenty-four hours to spend with a child before they fully commit. I'd come half way around the world, spent over a year on paperwork, and tons of money. My heart had leapt the first time that I'd seen her picture. I was vested in this child. I knew exactly what I was doing when I'd said "yes," to her referral She was my child. I would not go home without her. But, this is the way that they did it, so we did it this way. The next day would be more a formality, but this day was the main brunt of paperwork and it took a while.
Through it all Q-Boo tried to interest Luna in playing with their new toys and we tried to engage her. Luna could barely make eye contact with any of us. The
depth of her pain was difficult to watch. I am a mom, who desperately wanted to
mother her new daughter. There was very little that I could do, but I couldn't do nothing, so I was sitting in front of her,
tentatively rubbing her legs, when I saw the tears begin to form in her eyes. She
was losing control and, even though I knew that she might not really be okay
with it, here was a child in distress and I couldn’t just sit there and let it
happen I slowly leaned forward and took
her in my arms and she began to sob. She
stiffened when I first wrapped my arms around her and then she melted into
me. She lie there and sobbed for a bit
more and then she pushed me away, she grabbed her bag and Minnie Mouse
backpack, and she got up. She was leaving.
She was going back to the orphanage.
 |
| This represents a photo that Luna has asked that I not share on this blog. We'll tape it in for her, later, when she's ready for it to be a part of her story. |
The orphanage director came and picked her up and she and the workers
began talking at once, trying to console Luna and then John came over. He translated
the very obvious scene for me, that Luna wanted to leave and for me to sit down
and hold her. I did for about a
minute. She would have none of it and
began to cry harder. She got up,
gathered her two big bags again, and began dragging them to the front of the
room.
I turned toward the room and just announced out loud, “John, she’s leaving.” He dropped what he was doing and walked over to us. Luna looked at me and, through John, told me “I don’t want this backpack,” she pushed the one I'd brought away from herself, toward me, and turned to leave, again. I am still filled with amazement at the sound of her voice, it was soft. I do not know how a completely distraught six-year-old managed to treat me with respect and kindness when her entire world had just shattered, but she did it. It would be a memory that I’d return to again and again in the days to come, to remember who was really inside of this very angry child that she’d become.
Luna and John spent a long time talking, I don’t know exactly what they said to each other except that she was broken-hearted and determined to return to the orphanage. Finally, he convinced her to sit down, we all got our chairs and gathered around her, while he talked to her and she calmed down further. The frantic sobbing became quiet sobs and then just tear-stained resolution. Later, he said that she’d told him that she had a friend that she wanted to talk to and that the orphanage had promised Luna that we’d bring her back so that she could talk to that friend. She wanted to call the orphanage and talk to them. John got her to calm down by promising that we’d finish our paperwork and then go back to the hotel. We’d change her clothes, put a band aid and some medicine on her finger. Then, we’d let her choose whatever she wanted to eat and after we ate, we’d call the orphanage. But, first, she’d have to try to stop crying and sit patiently while we finished our paperwork.
Eventually, he told me that she’d said three different times, during their conversation, “Don’t lie to me.” Adults lie, she knew it and she wasn’t going to believe us easily. Bit by bit the other parents finished up their paperwork, gathered up their new children and trickled out of the room. Long after the room had emptied, we were still sitting there doing paperwork, with John repeatedly telling Luna, “Yes, we will call, but first we have to finish this.”
I turned toward the room and just announced out loud, “John, she’s leaving.” He dropped what he was doing and walked over to us. Luna looked at me and, through John, told me “I don’t want this backpack,” she pushed the one I'd brought away from herself, toward me, and turned to leave, again. I am still filled with amazement at the sound of her voice, it was soft. I do not know how a completely distraught six-year-old managed to treat me with respect and kindness when her entire world had just shattered, but she did it. It would be a memory that I’d return to again and again in the days to come, to remember who was really inside of this very angry child that she’d become.
Luna and John spent a long time talking, I don’t know exactly what they said to each other except that she was broken-hearted and determined to return to the orphanage. Finally, he convinced her to sit down, we all got our chairs and gathered around her, while he talked to her and she calmed down further. The frantic sobbing became quiet sobs and then just tear-stained resolution. Later, he said that she’d told him that she had a friend that she wanted to talk to and that the orphanage had promised Luna that we’d bring her back so that she could talk to that friend. She wanted to call the orphanage and talk to them. John got her to calm down by promising that we’d finish our paperwork and then go back to the hotel. We’d change her clothes, put a band aid and some medicine on her finger. Then, we’d let her choose whatever she wanted to eat and after we ate, we’d call the orphanage. But, first, she’d have to try to stop crying and sit patiently while we finished our paperwork.
Eventually, he told me that she’d said three different times, during their conversation, “Don’t lie to me.” Adults lie, she knew it and she wasn’t going to believe us easily. Bit by bit the other parents finished up their paperwork, gathered up their new children and trickled out of the room. Long after the room had emptied, we were still sitting there doing paperwork, with John repeatedly telling Luna, “Yes, we will call, but first we have to finish this.”
 |
| Finishing up paperwork. |
 |
| It's done. We have a new Shrider. |
Finally, we were ready to leave and, as all of us headed back to the
hotel, I filled John in on albinism. We
talked about Luna's lack of coloring and her eyesight and how the nystagmus (her
eyes moving back and forth) was caused by the brain trying so desperately to
find a visual signal that it could use. We even discussed the fact that it was
probably worse than it normally would be because she was so emotional. John looked
at Luna and said, “Your mama just told me all about you. If anyone is going to
take care of you, she is the perfect one to do it.” I think that it was at that moment that I
realized we were going to be alright.
Somewhere, in all of the chaos, her fingernail had been ripped the rest of the way off so, once we got back to the hotel room, I put some Neosporin on it and a band-aid, and then I kissed it. She spent the whole time asking about the phone call and telling us all the way that wǒ māma, –the nanny from her orphanage- would have done things. At some point, she informed us that she was eight not six. John believed that this was because the nanny was from the country and she’d count birthdays differently than the people in charge at the orphanage.
We changed Luna’s clothes, and then she walked to her backpack, picked it up, unzipped it, and pulled something out of it. In her hand was a stack of photos of herself and another little girl, on the backs were names written in Chinese. THIS was the friend that she wanted to talk to, the little girl turned out to be the daughter of the nanny that she called wǒ māma, “my mom” in Mandarin. I believe that she called the nanny this because it’s what the little girl would have called her mother when talking to Luna- “my mom.” Luna even asked John how to say “friend” in English so that she could tell Q-Boo about the little girl in the picture. The best that I’ve been able to figure out from talking to Luna and John and other families with children from her orphanage was that Luna went to a boarding school Monday through Friday -the only one in the city that'd take "kids who need rehabilitation"- and then came back to the orphanage during the weekends and holidays. We knew this already from her paperwork. What we didn’t know was that, apparently, when she was at the orphanage she also went home with this one nanny, that she called wǒ māma. (Not the nanny who accompanied Luna to the adoption.) She didn’t sleep at wǒ māma’s house but she did spend a lot of time there. It was the closest thing that Luna ever had to a family. And her grief, at losing them, was intense. Since we’ve gotten home, Luna has been able to point out to me that wǒ māma is the woman leaning against the orphanage wall in our video chat. Somewhere, in China, is a lady who knew and loved my daughter and is probably grieving her, too. This is the reality of adoption- the broken cost of loving a child not born to you. It’s a cost that I readily pay, but one that must be acknowledged for all of our sakes.
Somewhere, in all of the chaos, her fingernail had been ripped the rest of the way off so, once we got back to the hotel room, I put some Neosporin on it and a band-aid, and then I kissed it. She spent the whole time asking about the phone call and telling us all the way that wǒ māma, –the nanny from her orphanage- would have done things. At some point, she informed us that she was eight not six. John believed that this was because the nanny was from the country and she’d count birthdays differently than the people in charge at the orphanage.
We changed Luna’s clothes, and then she walked to her backpack, picked it up, unzipped it, and pulled something out of it. In her hand was a stack of photos of herself and another little girl, on the backs were names written in Chinese. THIS was the friend that she wanted to talk to, the little girl turned out to be the daughter of the nanny that she called wǒ māma, “my mom” in Mandarin. I believe that she called the nanny this because it’s what the little girl would have called her mother when talking to Luna- “my mom.” Luna even asked John how to say “friend” in English so that she could tell Q-Boo about the little girl in the picture. The best that I’ve been able to figure out from talking to Luna and John and other families with children from her orphanage was that Luna went to a boarding school Monday through Friday -the only one in the city that'd take "kids who need rehabilitation"- and then came back to the orphanage during the weekends and holidays. We knew this already from her paperwork. What we didn’t know was that, apparently, when she was at the orphanage she also went home with this one nanny, that she called wǒ māma. (Not the nanny who accompanied Luna to the adoption.) She didn’t sleep at wǒ māma’s house but she did spend a lot of time there. It was the closest thing that Luna ever had to a family. And her grief, at losing them, was intense. Since we’ve gotten home, Luna has been able to point out to me that wǒ māma is the woman leaning against the orphanage wall in our video chat. Somewhere, in China, is a lady who knew and loved my daughter and is probably grieving her, too. This is the reality of adoption- the broken cost of loving a child not born to you. It’s a cost that I readily pay, but one that must be acknowledged for all of our sakes.
Steamed buns, she wanted steamed buns and so back into the
van we went. John found us a great local place. We went upstairs to the
restaurant and I took Luna to the bathroom while Kenny and John ordered our
food. Luna and I got back to the table just as it arrived. We sat down and began to eat, trying in vain
to fit in amongst the local population and knowing that we most definitely did
not. Most of the people stared at us, but continued eating their steamed buns
at their tables. Finally, one guy got up and brought himself and his lit cigarette
over to stand on one side of our table.
He loudly directed his conversation toward John. We kept eating as he and John discussed this
strange thing that he’d found during his lunch at the restaurant -our family. I figured the discussion was mainly about
Q-Boo because that seemed to be the main focus of most questions: why do these
white people have a Chinese child? John nodded at Q-Boo said, “Guangxi,” the
Chinese province that Q-Boo is from, and then nodded toward Luna, ‘Yiwu,” her home city in the province that we were in. The guy looked at Luna,
startled, and the questions started, we knew exactly what they were talking
about it because we heard John say lǐngyǎng or "adopt." I knew when he started talking specifically
about Luna because I heard báisè or “white.”
Luna suddenly looked up from her food and added to the conversation. John started laughing and looked at me, “She
knows about herself. I was explaining to him about why she looks the way that
she looks, and she added, ‘And, I don’t see as well the other kids.’ “
Luna is Chinese, she has Chinese facial features, she moved
and talked like the other people in the restaurant, she ate like them, she knew
exactly how to use the squatty potty and had used it like a pro moments before
that, with me, because she is a pro.
She’s a pro at being Chinese because she is Chinese. But, even with Luna
right there in front of him, speaking Mandarin to him, with John explaining it
all to him, the guy never could accept the fact that Luna was Chinese. It just
would not compute inside of his head. He began shaking his head in disbelief
and left. He sat down at his table and returned to eating, his back toward
us.
We would find this attitude all over China. People with any sort of disability are hidden away, many Chinese people do not believe that they even exist inside of China and if they do they are considered very unlucky and often shunned. Most Chinese people that we saw, in China, focused on Q-Boo and assumed that Luna was our very American biological child. I was glad for this, because I believe that it meant that Luna was spared unkindness. It also made my heart hurt for how she must have been treated before we got there and that there were no other options for her, other than Chinese and unlucky. A lifetime of being outcast.
We would find this attitude all over China. People with any sort of disability are hidden away, many Chinese people do not believe that they even exist inside of China and if they do they are considered very unlucky and often shunned. Most Chinese people that we saw, in China, focused on Q-Boo and assumed that Luna was our very American biological child. I was glad for this, because I believe that it meant that Luna was spared unkindness. It also made my heart hurt for how she must have been treated before we got there and that there were no other options for her, other than Chinese and unlucky. A lifetime of being outcast.
 |
| Eating at the restaurant. |
After lunch Luna perked up, road on my back as we walked to the hotel, and even commented on the "beautiful flowers" along the sidewalk. She grabbed my hood and giggled as we walked down the street. This would be a pattern. She’d give me bits and pieces of herself sometimes, reluctantly. But, she’d much preferred her dad and Q-Boo. In fact, our Gotcha Day photo is of Luna and her dad and Q-Boo. I feel sure that this was because she had such close relationships with other women and allowing me in was a threat to that. At the time, understanding it didn’t help me feel any better about it.
Back at the hotel, I broke out the gifts from friends, that we’d brought. If she liked the item, it went into the bag that the orphanage had sent with her. She began to play quietly in the floor, and we began to discuss our options for making that phone call to the orphanage. She hadn’t asked to make the call in a while, but I insisted. “In her life, she’s learned that adults lie. We will not lie to her. We told her that we’d call. We call.”
John stepped into the hall and called the orphanage. When he came back in, he told us what they’d said. They’d be glad to talk to her but, no, they didn’t want us to come to visit the orphanage or the kindergarten. They’d be glad to tell Luna this when they talked to her. John had hung up and returned to the room to report back to us. Was this acceptable? Yes. He cautiously approached Luna, “Si Yu,” she was sitting in the floor, head down, looking at a toy. He reminded her of the phone call that we had promised her and asked her if she still wanted to call the orphanage. She froze and sat still for just a second and then, without even looking up, she quickly shook her head, “no.” Our hands shot up into the air in silent celebration and John quietly said, “Success!”
John stepped into the hall and called the orphanage. When he came back in, he told us what they’d said. They’d be glad to talk to her but, no, they didn’t want us to come to visit the orphanage or the kindergarten. They’d be glad to tell Luna this when they talked to her. John had hung up and returned to the room to report back to us. Was this acceptable? Yes. He cautiously approached Luna, “Si Yu,” she was sitting in the floor, head down, looking at a toy. He reminded her of the phone call that we had promised her and asked her if she still wanted to call the orphanage. She froze and sat still for just a second and then, without even looking up, she quickly shook her head, “no.” Our hands shot up into the air in silent celebration and John quietly said, “Success!”
 |
| A happier girl. |
We spent the afternoon being shown the things in her backpack. John explained what each one was. It was schoolwork and the pictures from wǒ māma’s house. There were copies of a few
official things, a copy of her finding page in the newspaper from when they’d
found her as an infant. Finding Pages
are the pages in a local newspaper of all of the children that had been found
in the community and given into state care in the local orphanage. Abandoning a child is a crime in China and
these pages are notoriously unsuccessful.
I already had a copy of the picture that was printed in the newspaper
because I’d found it in her referral as her intake picture. I’d scanned it into
our computer and made a copy for myself. It’s the only picture that I had of
her before the age of five.
Luna had lived a lifetime and she owned nothing except the clothes on her back, some paperwork from school, a bag full of candy, and this obviously brand-new backpack that she held onto as though it were a treasure. Because it was. It was her only link back to a life that she couldn’t even really tell us about. I gave her the remote to the TV and I let her eat as much of the candy from her candy bag as she wanted, at any time, - this is parenting on an adoption trip. It is survival parenting, get through this, get home. Worry about "correct," then. I showed her all of the videos that I had of her, on my computer. She watched them religiously. She particularly liked one that we had of her dancing. Luna would point at the other kids, tells us their names, and sing along. (Later, she told me that some of them had parents. "I used to watch them together," she said.)
She got out the photo album that we’d sent her. She figured out that the blanket that I'd brought and put on her bed in the hotel was the same one as the one in the photo, she asked John what the picture of the car seat was and what it was for, we showed her the windows to her room in the picture of our house. She showed John the watch that we’d brought her, and told him, “I asked for this on the video chat.”
Over and over. Even after he'd left for the night, she'd flip through the TV channels, she'd eat her candy (and share with Q-Boo, sometimes,) she'd watch her videos and name the kids, she’d pull out her backpack with the school pictures and school work and she’d show us. She’d put it up, she’d pull out our photo album, she’d point to our pictures and name us, “māma, bǎbá, mèimei…”
Over and over. Her entire world had shifted. She was desperately trying to find her way in it. And, I had no real way to help her.
Luna had lived a lifetime and she owned nothing except the clothes on her back, some paperwork from school, a bag full of candy, and this obviously brand-new backpack that she held onto as though it were a treasure. Because it was. It was her only link back to a life that she couldn’t even really tell us about. I gave her the remote to the TV and I let her eat as much of the candy from her candy bag as she wanted, at any time, - this is parenting on an adoption trip. It is survival parenting, get through this, get home. Worry about "correct," then. I showed her all of the videos that I had of her, on my computer. She watched them religiously. She particularly liked one that we had of her dancing. Luna would point at the other kids, tells us their names, and sing along. (Later, she told me that some of them had parents. "I used to watch them together," she said.)
She got out the photo album that we’d sent her. She figured out that the blanket that I'd brought and put on her bed in the hotel was the same one as the one in the photo, she asked John what the picture of the car seat was and what it was for, we showed her the windows to her room in the picture of our house. She showed John the watch that we’d brought her, and told him, “I asked for this on the video chat.”
Over and over. Even after he'd left for the night, she'd flip through the TV channels, she'd eat her candy (and share with Q-Boo, sometimes,) she'd watch her videos and name the kids, she’d pull out her backpack with the school pictures and school work and she’d show us. She’d put it up, she’d pull out our photo album, she’d point to our pictures and name us, “māma, bǎbá, mèimei…”
Over and over. Her entire world had shifted. She was desperately trying to find her way in it. And, I had no real way to help her.
 |
| The picture used on Luna's Finding Page. |
 |
This is what we looked like that afternoon.
K-man and Luna in the floor playing,
and Q-Boo taking it easy.
|
 |
She "read" a book to bà ba in Chinese.
|
