Being Strong During the Toughest of Times

A few evenings ago you told me that you are too weak and tired to go on, and you need me to be strong for you. You, the strong one, my man of steel, need me to help you during the hardest time of your life. You asked me to stay close to home from here on out, because you feel safer knowing I am close. Me, the weak one, your little girl, makes you feel safer. How can that be? I thought you were invincible.

The surgeries, the needles, the drain tube, and the awful diagnosis scared me, but not you. You stayed strong. You said comforting things to me, and told me you were not afraid. And you were not.

Sixteen months ago, the doctors said you had weeks to live. I said, “You don’t know my dad. He is not like most other guys.” 

But things are getting harder physically now. You are tired. It turns out that you, my superhero, can get tired, too tired to carry on.

You have taught me so many things over the years, and you are still teaching me. These last few months you have been teaching me how to be strong during the toughest of times. You have so much wisdom, and so much faith. You have been such a great example.

My mind is whirling. I am playing all of my favorite times with you over and over again in my head.

Remember when you taught me to drive? I was really struggling with the manual transmission. The drivers’ ed teacher tried to teach me about the friction point and how to apply the gas while letting up on the clutch. I couldn’t get it right. But you taught me in one evening in your old Nissan pick up truck. I wrecked that truck once. You never even frowned at me. You were just glad I wasn’t hurt.

I was your passenger the last time you were behind a steering wheel. Your reflexes had slowed, but you did not scare me. I had more confidence in you than you did yourself. But, when you were sure you no longer wanted to drive, it only meant that I got to spend even more time with you, driving you everywhere you needed to go. You planned all your outings around lunchtime so you could always treat me to lunch.

Remember teaching me to shoot? You set up targets in the garage so I could practice with a pellet gun, and then you took me hunting. When I repeatedly begged you to let me shoot your shotgun, you stood right behind me to absorb the recoil that I was so sure I could handle on my own. That kick was hard, and would have knocked me down. You were ready with your body braced right behind me and you caught me. You always let me try to be independent, and then stepped in to catch me when I had overestimated my ability.

I wish you could be there forever, standing right behind me, ready to absorb the shock for me. The shock I will feel soon will be far worse than a physical one.

Remember the times you took me coon hunting with your dad? I know you both had to walk so much slower with me along. Maybe you knew you were helping me to make memories that would last a lifetime. And maybe you knew that someday you would be the one asking me to walk so much slower so you could keep up with me.

The past few days your steps are shaky and unsure. You could not make it from the bedroom to the living room this week, and you sat down in the walker so I could move you. I made a very awkward attempt at pushing you, then walking backward and pulling you. We both chuckled at my attempts. What if that is the last time I hear you laugh? Oh how you have made me laugh over the years.

Do you remember surprising me with my first car? You sent me to the garage, and you were close behind because you wanted to see the look on my face when I discovered that car in the garage. But I still remember the look on your face. You were as excited as I was! I think that very used orange Ford Pinto was as beautiful to you and I as a shiny new sports car would have been to most folks.

Once I was four hundred miles from home and that old Pinto was making a strange noise. You spoke on the phone to a mechanic who could not find the problem. You told me to start for home, and you stayed near the phone until I walked in the door. I knew that if I had broken down anywhere along the way, you would have done whatever it took to rescue me. There have been so many times in my life I have called you to come and rescue me.

Recently, I have had to rescue you on occasion. I would gladly keep on rescuing you if only you could stay with me a little while longer.

Do you remember when I called home from college to tell you that I had met the man I was going to marry? You said, “Does he know that?” I answered, “not yet” and I described him to you. I could almost hear you smiling on the phone as I told you about his love for God, his ability to defend the truth, and his hard work ethic. I was sure he was the one for me because he is so much like you.

Remember all the games of Canasta? Remember all the pony rides and fishing trips? Remember teaching me to ride a bike, catch a baseball, hammer a nail, start a fire and saddle a horse? I thought I’d never learn to tie that cinch knot, but you just kept showing me day after day until I had it. Every time I tie a cinch knot I think of you and how patient you were.

Thank you for all the times you pushed me on a swing. Thank you for all the times you baited my hook, and gave up fishing with your own pole to help me with mine. Thank you for letting me come to work with you sometimes so I could see what you did. Thank you for making sure I never missed a church service. Thank you for insisting I go to college, and for all the overtime you worked to pay for my education. Thank you for helping my husband to wire, plumb, trim and paint the house we built. Thank you for loving my kids and giving them such great memories to hold onto.

Thank you for teaching me how to be strong during the toughest of times.

Note: Sixteen months ago, my Dad was supposed to be breathing his last. He lived much longer than the doctors anticipated. I have valued the extra time so much. This is the post I wrote sitting in his hospital room all those months ago: Take Another Breath Daddy

Take Another Breath Daddy

Take another breath Daddy! Because as long as you are still breathing, you are still here with me. Take another breath.

Take another breath Daddy. I need you here. You are always strong when I am weak. I’m not sure I can be strong if you are not here to shore me up and encourage me.

Take another breath. I need to be able to ask your advice. I still have so much to learn from you. No one else’s opinion will matter to me in the same way yours has. I need your wisdom. Take another breath Daddy.

Take another breath. I cannot do all the things you do for me. I rely on you! You help me with things that are small to you but huge to me. You fix my broken furniture and change my flat tires. You help me take my dog to the vet and kill snakes for me. You plow the snow from my driveway. You have always been ready to come to my rescue with a ladder, a mower, a chainsaw, or your tool belt.

Take another breath. I have taken you for granted in the past. What will I do without you here? When you are watching I try hard to make you proud. Will I try as hard without you here? I’m afraid. Take another breath.

Take another breath Daddy. I need to hear your stories. I haven’t memorized all of them yet, even the ones you tell often. I need to hear them all again. I want to hear more about your childhood and your time in the army. I want to hear more about your years of farming and the adventures you had as a mechanic. Lately, you’ve told me a few I’ve never heard before! You might have a few more you haven’t shared with me yet. I need to hear more! I want to remember them all.

Take another breath. You need to make me laugh. I love your silly rhymes, and poems, and songs! They’ve made me smile my whole life. How does one guy have that many witty lines memorized? You have one for every occasion. And yesterday, when you were told what a short time you have left, you did it again. You joked with me about a silly regret and made me giggle in the midst of my grief. Please. Take another breath. For me. Take another breath.

Take another breath. Talk to me. I need to hear your voice. What if I forget what you sound like? You’ve always been just a phone call away. Take another breath.

Take another breath Daddy. I have been watching you for these past few days as you struggle to get enough air. I need you to take another breath because I am not as brave as you are. You do not cry. You are not afraid. I cry. I am afraid. I need you here to be brave for me. Take another breath. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never lost my daddy before. I need you to help me get through this. Take another breath. Please. Take another breath.

Note: At the end of March, 2016 my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. We were told he had weeks to live. He has defied the odds. This update is July, 2017 and the end is very near for him.

Mom and Dad's hands, April 8, 2016

Sydney and my dad at a cattle sale

My college graduation, 1985 

If you liked this blog post, you might also like these two: Choosing My Nursing Home and Don't Blink 

Plastic and Stuffing and Love

Misfortune struck our home this morning. If you are fond of Sydney let me warn you: This is a sad story. You’ll need to grab a box of tissues and sit back. 

If you’ve followed our Facebook page long at all you will know who Riley is and probably even remember Liberty from stories long ago. But just in case you need the background: Sydney has had a doll since she was toddler. Her name is Liberty, named after one of Sydney’s friends from preschool. Liberty has been pulled for miles in wagons, ridden on the back of bikes, swung for hours on a tire swing, pushed in strollers up and down the driveway, and gone on many family road trips. She has been carried, dragged, hugged and loved a lot over the years. I have washed her, repaired her, Febreezed her, and detangled her hair many times. Liberty has become quite unsightly, a raggedy mess in fact. But looks do not matter to Sydney. Others recoil at Liberty’s appearance but Sydney still loves her. I had many times tried to get Sydney to transfer her affection to a newer or more attractive doll. Sydney has several nicer dolls but none meant nearly as much to her as Liberty…. until she met Riley. A year ago in March Sydney and I were shopping. Sydney had some money to spend. She usually spends her money on farm toys like tractors and plastic animals. But this day Sydney saw a 20” baby doll she just knew she could not live without. Riley was named before she was even removed from the packaging. It was love. And for the past ten months Riley and Sydney have been nearly inseparable. (Liberty is still loved too but she mostly hangs out at home these days.) The only place Sydney goes without Riley is to school but if it was allowed then Riley would be sitting right beside Sydney every day at a desk of her own there too. Riley has not just become a part of our family, our friends have grown fond of her. Riley almost never misses a worship service and Sydney often asks one of the ladies from our congregation to hold Riley and tend to her while Sydney goes to Bible class. The ladies have played along so often and talked with Sydney about her doll on so many occasions they notice if Riley is not in attendance. Sydney loves the attention the ladies give her through Riley and the ladies love to give Sydney that. 

Liberty, after years of being loved

Sydney with Riley out to dinner

A road trip with Sydney and Riley

Riley rarely misses a church service

Birthday gifts!

Now, for the real story: Got those tissues? Yesterday was Sydney’s birthday. After school Sydney and Riley jumped on the trampoline, swung for a while, and then took the stroller for a walk. Shawn got home from work and Sydney ran to greet him, leaving Riley unsupervised. A few minutes later, Sydney’s older sister drove in. Sydney’s excitement was intense. It was time to start our birthday celebration! And in all the excitement of our family birthday dinner, cake, candles, phone calls from siblings who live in other states, opening gifts, and putting together a couple of new little toys, Riley was forgotten. Even at bedtime she was not missed and Sydney had a sort of campout in her sister’s room. This morning Sydney could not find Riley. I helped her look. Her brothers helped her look. Sydney told me more than once, “This is making me nervous.” and I reassured her that Riley was fine, just under a blanket somewhere or behind something. We looked in the car. Twice. 

I asked Sydney if she could have left Riley outside, thinking back to the last time I remembered seeing Riley the afternoon before. And I started feeling slightly ill as I began to imagine the worst. I asked Shawn to go outside to look around the yard. I could hear Sydney upstairs calling Riley’s name, looking again. I looked out the front window as Shawn bent over to pick something up. He was way out at the edge of the yard and I could not quite see what he had. Then he bent over to pick something else up. And although I could not see clearly, I knew. I knew our two puppies had found Riley. I knew how badly Sydney was going to feel and I knew there was nothing I could do to shield her little heart from the hurt it was about to experience. As Shawn got closer to the house I could see he held pieces of the doll. There would be no washing, repairs or patching I could do. I frantically tried to think of something I could do or something I could say that would protect Sydney from the truth. And then Sydney came down the stairs telling me Riley had not yet been found. I stepped between Sydney and the window. Sydney looked at my face. I saw fear in her eyes. I told her there was bad news and Riley was not okay. And then my little girl, who almost never cries, even when in pain, began to sob and choke out, “But I love her” over and over. I picked Sydney up and went to the rocking chair where we bawled and rocked together for a long while. This fifty-two year old, rational, somewhat cynical, experienced mother cried like a baby. I kept telling myself I was being silly, crying over a ruined toy. But I was not really crying over a ruined toy. I was crying over my little girl’s anguish. I could not take it away from her. So I shared in it.

I know. I know. A doll is just plastic and stuffing and this is ridiculous, blown way out of proportion. But if you can think back to your childhood and the most prized possession you owned all those years ago, then you might get an inkling of how important Riley has been to Sydney. 

As the tears subsided this morning I asked Sydney if she would like to go shopping to try to find another doll. I remembered the store where we’d found Riley and knew it was likely we could find an exact match there. I knew I might also have luck online. It took a while for Sydney to warm up to the idea of a replacement. I suggested we could even pretend the second doll was the same doll and this day had never happened. Sydney did not think that would be possible. But as the day progressed I could see the pain lessen. 

We did go shopping. And we were able to find a doll that is an exact match. And although Sydney insisted we choose a different name (because this was NOT Riley) before our day was through we had all accidently referred to the new doll as “Riley,” several times, Sydney included. The new doll was named Kennedy initially but now we are told she is actually Kennedy Riley and will be going by Riley mostly.

I am reminded of the Disney movie Inside Out as I look back at the day we just had. Ironically the character in that movie was also named Riley. The movie’s message was: We cannot always protect the ones we love from sadness. Sadness is an important part of life and we all need to experience it to grow. Without sadness would we really even know what true happiness feels like?

Steve and Murphy

Tate sent out a text message today to spread the news about Riley. I thought nothing about our tragic morning was worthy of a smile until I read Tate’s words. And before you ask: No. There will not be a funeral, flowers, Cheetos, or Pretzels. 

This was not our first tragedy. We've had broken hearts before. Breaking Bad News

An Autism Mom's Thoughts About Disney's Inside Out

Spoiler alert. I’m going to talk in detail about the plot and the characters from the Disney movie “Inside Out.” Stop reading if you do not like spoilers.

If you’ve followed my blog for more than five minutes and if you know anything at all about us then you know my son Tate has autism and our lives revolve around movies. He has the release date of all the movies he is interested in (which include most G and PG rated ones) on our calendar. I don’t know how he does it, but before most of us have seen the first trailer for a new movie, he has the release date on the calendar and has memorized the actors involved in the making of the movie. To Tate, these things are as important as our loved ones and our careers are to us. He spends most of his waking minutes thinking about movies and talking about movies. So, of course today, on opening day of Disney’s “Inside Out” Tate woke with great joy (pun intended.) He toe-walked and bounced as he paced all over the house in anticipation. I was a bit apprehensive myself. We had been told earlier in the week Tate should avoid popcorn as he has just gotten braces on his bottom teeth. Tate was not happy about this news and had been telling me all week the orthodontist must have been mistaken. But we went to a favorite restaurant before the movie, got some m&ms, and a bottle of water, and settled into our seats without incident over the missing bucket of popcorn.

The first five minutes of the movie were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. The writers and animators illustrated a baby’s first feelings and memories and how they are stored away. They took a very complex and abstract idea and made it simple and clear. I loved it. We were introduced to the emotions of a girl named Riley. There was Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust. Each character was well defined for the targeted audience of children. The characters sat behind a control panel and used the controls to react to the things happening to Riley throughout her day. They collaborated to decide which of the emotions should use the controls and help Riley to react.

The moral of this kids’ movie was a credible message for adults. I cannot always find a real solid plot in animated movies but this one was pretty clear to me. And I think it was a good one for parents to think about. The character Joy went to great lengths to help Riley avoid Sadness and be happy all the time. Riley’s parents unknowingly had pressured her to be “their happy girl” so Riley tried hard to put on a front even when she needed to be something other than happy. The premise of the movie was that Sadness is an important emotion, and one we cannot always avoid. Sometimes our children have to be sad. We cannot shelter ourselves or our children from every sad experience out there. And we cannot ask our children to deny their genuine feelings of sadness so we will not be inconvenienced either. I understood the message to be that sometimes after a sad experience we can find happiness we would not have otherwise found. Without sadness there would be no joy.

We were exposed to personifications of other characters’ emotions as well. If you go to see the movie, be sure and stay until the credits roll. It is then you will see Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust as illustrated for Riley’s teacher, a dog, a cat, a clown, and a few of the other people in Riley’s life. This was another magnificent part of the movie for me. Every character had the same five emotions that were almost identical in appearance. I began to ponder at that point, what would it look like if I were able to illustrate those five emotions for Tate in the same way they had done in this movie? Joy would sit at Tate’s control panel and giggle for long periods of time while everyone around him wondered why. Sadness would be very confused, underdeveloped and never able to convince Tate to cry, while Anger would be able to produce tears when he was provoked. Disgust would be overactive. Almost every food the rest of us eat would cause that character to recoil and gag. Smells other people barely notice would be a problem for Disgust too. Fear would have to be depicted as a hyperactive character who was extremely neurotic for Tate I think. He would always be trying to grab the controls from the other emotions. If I were able to personify Tate’s emotions I think I’d add a sixth character. He would be a sort of big brother to Fear. The sixth character would be named Anxiety (or Stress). Anxiety would tower above the other five and be a giant among them. Anxiety would have some massive muscles and would push the other emotions around. He would constantly be pushing his smaller brother Fear to talk louder. He would silence Joy anytime he got a chance. Anxiety would be a tyrant.

Even during the movie Tate had been so excited to see, his anxiety was ready to suck some of the joy right out of the experience for him. During one scene, Tate became stressed when Joy, Sadness, and another character were trying desperately to find their way back to headquarters. Tate became restless and said to me, “Nothing to worry about. Stay calm. They are going to save Riley.” Tate often reassures himself when he is anxious by offering support to me. Another time, Riley’s dad got stern with her and frowned after she had misbehaved. Tate became nervous and leaned over to ask me, “Her dad still loves her, right?” I assured him that dads still love their kids even when they are unhappy.” I know Tate struggles to understand these kinds of things and has always been nervous when someone speaks to him seriously about anything. He needs people to smile at him, even if they are explaining something quite serious or speaking to him about danger. Tate seems to believe Joy is equivalent to love while Anger or Sadness cannot be. After the movie I took the opportunity to talk with Tate about these things. I had hoped the movie would be a real teaching tool for us and I believe it was. I would highly recommend this movie to the autism community. Disney did a good job with this one. 

If you liked this post you might like to read about the anxiety Toy Story caused for a while. Woody and his hat were a big thing at our house when Tate was younger. Here's the link:  Unusual Attachments

Falling in Love with Sydney

My middle child, my beautiful second daughter, had a birthday two days ago; and on that day I reminisced about the day of her birth as I do every year. I remembered the day of labor, the joy I felt at holding her for the first time, the hospital stay and the wheelchair ride out to the car to go home. I love reliving those memories every year on my children’s birthdays. The elation of holding those newborn babies for the first time made every minute of the nine-month pregnancy and the hours leading up to the birth worth it all.

Tonight is the eve of my seventh child’s eleventh birthday but I cannot think back to her birthdate and remember anything. I was not there. And so I think of other things. Tonight, my husband and I got out the box of keepsakes from our trip to Russia. As we looked through the paperwork written in a language we cannot read, the photos, the trinkets, and souvenirs, we remembered the baby girl who we travelled across an ocean to meet.

In the box, I saw the very first picture we ever received of a six and a half month old baby girl. She is naked in the picture and I can see the painful rashes on her skin. What I felt for the baby in that picture was not love but it was compassion. The journey to adopt was so much different than giving birth. There was no baby inside of me moving around and kicking. A picture hanging on the refrigerator was just not the same.

Our trip itself was an exhausting adventure and our first meeting with the baby they called Anastasia was neither magical nor defining. I had no idea what to expect. I had heard from a few people about their adoption experiences and their “love at first sight” feelings. I hoped for that.

The orphanage doubled as a small hospital. We had an opportunity to talk to the doctor there through an interpreter before we met the baby. He went over her medical history with us. When the nurse walked into the room and handed me “my baby,” I took her. I was curious, and hopeful but I was also physically exhausted from the trip and intimidated by the foreign language and the unknown. The tiny girl seemed groggy and without personality. She stared at me with huge eyes and she was stiff. We spent about an hour with her that day. I had anticipated that I would make some sort of “connection” with the baby at some point during that visit but I did not. And because I did not feel love, I felt guilt. It was not a good start to a happily ever after.

Meeting Sydney

We asked if she was always so lethargic. The nurse assured us the baby was usually very active but it was past her naptime and they had kept her awake for us. She had fallen asleep just minutes before we arrived and then they had to wake her. I was skeptical but that is my nature. The baby was eight and a half months old but she was not cooing or attempting to crawl. She had reflux and spit up often. She was covered in a rash the doctor called dermatitis. We would later learn it was scabies. All the babies had them. When it was time to leave, we left without any feelings of anxiety over leaving “our baby” behind. More guilt. The second day we visited, things went much better and the baby was very active. She did not try to engage us, or act interested in us, but she was moving around a lot, possibly too much. She could turn a complete three hundred and sixty degree turn in my arms and she was attentive to her surroundings. She did not want to be held and she definitely did not want to be cuddled. The third day we spent time with her was the worst of the three experiences. This time we were in a playroom setting with about a dozen children, our baby being one of the youngest. So many of the children were active at a level that I thought age appropriate compared to the baby we were there to see. Many looked a lot healthier too. There was one little one though that was a mess. Her eyes were running and her legs did not work so she dragged herself by her arms over to us. We were told she had multiple medical problems. She wanted us to hold her so badly which was ironic because Anastasia (Sydney) wanted nothing to do with us and we really wanted to hold her. If Shawn stood up with the baby lying back in his arms, swayed back and forth, and sang, she would lay still and stop fighting to get out of his arms. I remember him singing hymns to her. That day was the last day we were to see her before we had to make a decision. It was like a crossroads and we had no idea which direction was the right one. We told the doctor how concerned we were by the baby’s indifference. I knew after all my experience that an eight-month-old baby should be very interested in people and toys. The doctor admitted that the babies were not held often. He told us he would hire someone to give Sydney one hour of interaction each day until we returned if we left him one hundred dollars. Shawn handed him a one hundred dollar bill and we left.  

We left that evening for Moscow. It was a ten-hour train ride in the dark on a very slow moving train. We had a sleeper car but the blankets smelled like dust and the train shook from side to side and made a lot of noise. Shawn and I had our days and nights mixed up and we were exhausted from lack of sleep but we spent the night talking. What did we want to do? We felt no real connection to the baby. Weren’t we supposed to be crazy in love with her? We’d visited her three times. 

We spent the next couple of days doing paperwork in Moscow. I had nagging doubts but I also had hope and compassion for a baby who was lying in a crib day after day with no one to love her. If I brought her home, would I love her or would I just be taking care of her, without love? I told myself repeatedly that the worst day in our home would be better than the best day in that orphanage even if I never really fell in love with her. I knew I could provide her a good home. My worry and frustration were not helped when we met two American couples in the hotel in Moscow who told of the amazing relationship they had with the babies they had adopted that week. They seemed to feel like I had felt upon giving birth to my biological children. I wanted to feel that for Sydney! But I did not. Why?

We flew home and I was so torn. I spent the next seven weeks going from excited about the prospects and the future to frightened I would never fall in love with the baby we were about to bring home. She deserved a mother’s love. I hoped that our adoption day would somehow be like the birthing experience I had with my biological children and that would be the day my heart would fill with love.

While we prepared for the return trip, our kids got sick. They were dropping like flies, and days before we were scheduled to leave for Russia, one went into the hospital. He had pneumonia and it was contagious. I was so afraid to leave the kids but if we missed our scheduled court date we would have to wait another eight weeks and that meant the baby would have eight more weeks of less-than-ideal care. And so we left our kids in the care of grandparents and a doctor in-the-loop and prayed it was the right decision.

The travel was just as exhausting the second time as it had been the first. Thankfully, at the orphanage we noticed a change in Sydney. She was much more engaging and seemed interested in things she had not before. I attribute that to the one hundred dollar bill and the hours of one-on-one attention she had gotten over that seven weeks while we were gone. I have said many times, “That was the best $100 we ever spent.”

The first order of business upon our return was obtaining a passport for Sydney and our interpreter made all the arrangements. Sydney had never been in a car before. She had possibly never been outside the hospital/orphanage before. We returned her to the orphanage for the night, and the next morning was our court date. We had done so much paperwork and jumped through so many hoops by that point, I remember thinking that being pregnant and going through labor and delivery had been much easier than adopting this baby. Going before the judge was one of the most intimidating things I had ever experienced. Shawn, however, was not nearly as nervous. One of us was supposed to speak to the judge about our desire to adopt and be able to answer questions. The interpreter seemed to think it should be me that spoke but I was a wreck. Shawn did a brilliant job of speaking to that judge. We had to both verbally promise the judge that Sydney would be taken care of and she would have every opportunity available to her that we would give her if she had been born to us. After court we went to the orphanage to claim our child. It was very exciting and yet surreal. All that time, all that paperwork, all that travel, and all that money, and it was time to claim the baby. There was no pomp and circumstance at the orphanage. We walked in and changed her into an outfit we had brought with us and strapped her into a car seat. Everyone involved seemed to be in a hurry to get us in and out of there. I had the interpreter ask how much Sydney was used to eating in one sitting and how often they had been feeding her so I would know what she was used to. The nurse pointed at the eight-ounce mark on a bottle I held and said, “Fill it up.” I had seen the brown liquid they were using in their bottles on another visit and it looked and smelled awful. It definitely was not formula. The nurse told me they fed the babies on a schedule and they ate three times a day. I wanted to cry for those babies. No wonder Sydney had reflux. She was fourteen pounds, being fed eight ounces, spitting half of it up, and then having to wait six hours or more until it was time to eat again.

Sydney's foot from scabies in the orphanage.

The first time I can recall my heart feeling anything resembling the beginnings of a mother’s love was in the hotel right after we left the orphanage for the last time. We were waiting for our train-ride to Moscow. We had just a few hours and it was time for Sydney to be fed. I knew from experience that it would be better to feed this tiny baby four ounces of formula every two to three hours verses eight ounces, three times a day. When she saw the bottle she began to hum. Humming was about the only noise we had heard from her so far. She drank the four ounces and whined when it was gone, holding tightly to that empty bottle. I stretched out beside her on the bed, her eyes huge and terrified of her unfamiliar surroundings. I whispered softly to her and watched her fall asleep. I knew I had a long way to go but I think that was the beginning of the beginning of love for me. I knew the potential was there and I felt immense relief. (On the new schedule and smaller feedings of baby formula, she stopped spitting up all together.) 

My love for Sydney was such a slow growing thing and I felt so much pressure because it did grow so slowly. The overwhelming love I had felt for my other children from the first second I held them would take a long time to grow this time and there was nothing I could do about it. The trip home was stressful. We landed in Paris late and ran through the airport to make our next flight, Shawn carrying our bags and me the baby carrier. We walked on as they were trying to close the doors of that plane. Sydney actually travelled very well. She slept for hours. When we landed in the states our next flight had already left so we were stranded in Atlanta. At that point we did not even care that much about where we were as long as the people around us were speaking English and we could drink the water. One of the most amazing things happened when we hit the ground in Atlanta and walked onto American soil. Sydney went from an immigrant with a visa to American citizen. Sydney received a letter from President George W. Bush less than one month later, congratulating her on her citizenship.

When we got home and settled in, the real challenges began for me. Sydney did not want to be held and would have preferred to not even be touched unless it was on her own terms. My instincts told me to hold her anyway, even while she fought to get down. Night after night I would rock her and sing to her while she screamed (yes, she found her voice soon after we got home and it was loud.) Shawn and the kids would say, “She does not like to be held. Why don’t you put her down?” I would tell them that I knew she did not like to be held but I had to teach her to like it. I knew she was not bonding with me and I was not bonding with her those first few months either. It scared me. I wanted to love her but I was not feeling much love yet. I was still often telling myself that the worst day at our house had to be better than the best day at the orphanage but I was beginning to doubt that some days. It often seemed that Sydney and I had waged war against each other.

Sydney rocked much of the time and I insisted that she needed to stop. I would gently remind her every time I walked past her, "no rocking." I knew it was something she had needed in the orphanage to stimulate her brain but it was no longer needed. I did not want it to be a lifelong habit. It did not take long and the rocking stopped. That was one of the easier battles I fought with her. 

The scabies she had brought home were very hard to get rid of and we treated them over and over. She could not sleep well at night because of the itching and she spent the first hour of every night screaming ‘til I thought she’d lose her voice. She did not want to be held and there was nothing I could do to comfort her. Sydney could only turn her head in one direction, probably because of months of lying in the same position in the orphanage. Our Pediatrician showed me how to do stretches with her to help her turn her head. I was gentle but she hated it and it must have hurt. The kids thought I was torturing her and they looked at me like I was evil when it was time to do those exercises. I'm sure those exercises did not help Sydney's opinion of me. 

After months of not really bonding, as I knew we should, I suspected that Sydney might have Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD). Shawn and I were concerned because Sydney seemed no more interested in us than she was in complete strangers. She would have never looked back had someone taken her from us. We had tried to teach her to show affection and she had started giving kisses, to us, to the furniture, to the walls, to the floor… We took her to a child psychologist. He watched her, listened to us, and told us that Sydney did not have RAD and was beginning to bond with us. He noticed the way she watched me from afar and used me as an “anchor” as a toddler should. He also noticed something else that had concerned us. Sydney did not seem to react to pain the way she should. She bumped her head hard when she was there that evening and never even winced. The doctor told me to keep doing the things I had been doing. He thought that I was doing the right thing by insisting she let me hold her and rock her. It was the right thing to do. 

It was a rough first year. Sydney was hyperactive and had to be watched every minute. We have a two-story home and bedrooms on both floors. The living room downstairs was carpeted and the rest of the house on the first floor was not. All her toys were in the living room and I taught her that the living room was the only place for her. The carpet edge was her boundary. Everyone thought I was mean because I did not let Sydney have free rein, but I was just trying to survive. They made me feel so guilty but I NEEDED Sydney to have boundaries because she was almost impossible to keep track of and had no sense of danger. There was just no impulse control. She did not have an age appropriate understanding of the word "no" either. If one of the kids or her daddy let her roam the house for a little while then it took me a couple of days to reteach her that the living room was where she belonged. They would all leave for school and work and if I turned my head for a minute, I would lose the baby. She did not answer when I called and had little interest in what I was doing like my other toddlers had. My other children had always been under my feet or hanging on my leg while I tried to do my daily chores. Not Sydney. I might find her eating a plant, surrounded by 250 tissues she pulled from a box, dumping a bag of tiny Legos, or swinging from the chandelier. She was so tiny and so busy. I was always afraid she would get hurt. I had never seen anything like the level of activity she possessed and she had four brothers who had been pretty active. Sydney was a biter and often bit our two youngest boys. They were always afraid to let her get too close. Those bites hurt! The older kids started staying in their rooms more and more to avoid the chaos that Sydney caused. There were times I doubted the decision to adopt. There were times I resented Sydney for all the work and worry she was causing me. There were times I felt like we would never really care for each other the way we should. But there were also times when I would see a little progress and hope.

The day we went to Children’s Mercy Hospital (CMH) for an appointment with a geneticist was huge for me. She was two years and two months old. She had been with us almost sixteen months. I had taken Sydney to several doctors during that time. We went to CMH because an eye doctor saw something he thought was alarming in Sydney’s retinas. He sent us to an expert at Children’s Mercy who recommended genetic testing. The doctors that spoke with us about the genetic testing spent some time with Sydney and then asked us many questions. They took detailed measurements of Sydney’s limbs and facial features. When they were finished, they told us they were almost certain Sydney had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. My first thought was, “But in Russia they promised us Sydney’s birth mother did not drink.” After the doctors pointed out all the physical evidence they saw of FAS and the behavioral signs everything made so much sense. FAS and RAD, which I had suspected months before, have many of the same signs. I cannot put into words the why, but that appointment and that diagnosis made all the difference to me. That war that Sydney and I seemed to have waged no longer mattered to me. I was able to stop feeling so much guilt about why she was not responding to me the way my other babies had. That diagnosis gave me an excuse to stop feeling so much pressure to be a mother that had all the answers. Sydney would not ever be able to respond to the same kind of parenting my other children had. She could not understand consequences. I needed to learn how to parent differently. I had promised that judge in Russia that I would take care of Sydney and give her every opportunity that my other children would have. I was moving heaven and earth to help Tate learn and develop so I would do the same for Sydney. I could suddenly understand many of the whys. 

I cannot tell you what day or month or even year that I knew I felt exactly the same kind of intense love for Sydney that I do for my biological children. It crept up on me and grew quietly. I can tell you that it took a long time, much longer than I had hoped it would, or expected it to. I can tell you that it was not an instantaneous thing like it was for my biological babies. I can tell you that I would do a lot of things differently if I could go back and talk to the me I was ten years ago. I can tell you that Sydney used to be a child I was fond of and took care of because of a promise I made and because I am a good person who tries to do the right thing but it is not like that anymore. I still remember the promise I made but it is not what motivates me. Now it is love that motivates me. Because I now can honestly say I am “in love” with Sydney, head over heels.  

And that is the very long answer to the questions I received about Sydney’s “gotcha day” and the amount of time it took me to bond with her.

Update: I got a lot of questions about our trip so I wrote a follow up. Find it here: Memories of Our Trip To Russia

The question is sometimes asked, "Would you do it all again?" I answer that in this post: Would I do it all again?

Still cannot get enough? Sydney, age six

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