I'm sharing this from a friend's blog. The question is often asked "Why adopt from overseas when you can adopt a child with special needs here?" Well here is a reason or two....
Kori's Story
Sometimes adoption breaks
a Mama's heart so badly that the words cannot come for a very long time.
Sometimes what is seen and experienced is so gut-wrenching that it takes time
and distance to begin to heal the pain. Sometimes.
A little over a year ago
a Mama and Papa crossed the ocean to get a little Reece's Rainbow angel. They
knew she had been transferred. They knew. But knowing and seeing are two very
different things. Last year they discovered what transfer meant for their
precious treasure. It was unbearably hard. While there their eyes were opened
to the plight of special needs children in that place. We followed their
journey closely as we had just come home with Aaron and understood on many
levels the agony they were experiencing. We prayed for them, encouraged them,
did whatever we could from afar to support them. Unlike our experience, they
were not in a completely closed facility and were able to walk the halls of the
mental institute and touch the other children. They learned their names and
fell in love with them bit by bit, day by day. In doing so their hearts were
broken over and over and over again.
Sometimes adoption breaks
a Mama's heart so badly that the words cannot come for a very long time.
Sometimes what is seen and experienced is so gut-wrenching that it takes time
and distance to begin to heal the pain. Sometimes.
But when the time is
right... then the story needs to be told. And it is time for Kori Maria's story
to be told.
This is Kori's story...
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The doors open. We are
treated to tea and cookies and treats in the director’s office. Afterwards they
walk us to meet the person we had been waiting so long to see. Doors swing open
left and right. Joshua, barely able to keep from vomiting. Something about the
unusual smells and triggers he is unprepared to face. People of all ages and
levels of disability stand. And watch. And one after the other speaks the
word: “Amerikanskis”.
The word multiplies and
follows us like the roar of a huge wave. No one believes that these Americans
have come to their mental institution. Could it be true? Are they coming to
adopt a child from HERE??
Plastic slippers.
Flickering TV screens. Oriental rugs. Old drafty windows. People with Down
Syndrome. Cerebral Palsy. Cleft Palate. Deformities. Mental illness. Hidden
from society, where only the perfect are welcome. Discarded. Unwanted. Alone.
Day after day here, never leaving this building.
She sits in a ball pit
with colorful toys surrounding her. The six month old baby with the sweet
little hat that makes her look like a little old lady. Her eyes crossing. Cute.
Now where is Masha?
But wait. This is an
Eastern European mental institution. They only take ages 4 and up. A second
look. There is no freaking way.
There is no way in heaven
or hell that this can be…..she is almost eight……
I drop to my knees, grab
the tiniest baby hands and stare into the eyes of the eight year old trapped in
a body no larger than that of a small six month old infant. What in the name of
God….
“Masha. It is Mama. Mama
is here”.
I manage to say these
words while the room suddenly fills with caregivers. People in white coats.
Women weeping. So many crying women. I ask permission to lift her out of the
ball pit and she immediately rests her weary head against my shoulder as if to
say : "You have finally come. I assume this is what kids like me do with
ladies like you.”
I tell her : "Hi
beautiful princess” and a caregiver behind me bursts into tears. “Princessa
Masha!” she exclaims, now crying so hard that I am worried for her for a
moment.
We are asked if we will
accept the referral of this child. We accept.
And as we
spend a month daily visiting her in the only home that has cared for this
beautiful small girl after she aged out of the baby orphanage, we learn about
the reality of the imperfect people in this country. Beautiful people. Tucked
away as far from society as possible. Out of sight. Out of
mind.
We walked among angels.
The souls that live out their lives under these conditions have left their
indelible mark on mine. Their faces. I see their eyes. I still see their
eyes.
I saw the children in
their "bedridden" room in their beds alone, begging for some attention and love.
The small guy with his hands tied in a cloth. I saw the old building that needs
so much work. I saw the older children with CP scooting on all fours down the
hall, too old for adoption and no hope of a life outside of that
institution.
I sat on those couches
with some of the teenage girls who brushed my hair...and held my hands...and got
hugs and kisses... I called them Princess V., and Princess I. (and all the other
beautiful names of all those sweet kids) I went on this adoption trip with some
rings and necklaces, and the girls wore them proudly. They learned some
English....but I hope that most of all they learned what love is. My heart broke
leaving them.. Every day when I got Kori from her room, I blew kisses at the
children there and I said my "pryvet" to each and every one of them there. The
smiles were priceless.
------------------------------------------------
When we got to the
institution after court, the director's assistant ( who was in court with us to
represent the institution) was very happy and told the director that we had
passed court.
We went upstairs and they
brought Kori to us. While playing, we noticed that a number of children were
being walked down the hall in nice outfits. Maybe it was a holiday?
One by one the children
were being photographed. We stood, we watched. We were amazed. Kori's
adoption had made them realize that people DO want these kids and permission was
granted to list them. Every single one that was legally available. They were
being photographed for their adoption listing. I wish I could have gotten video
of this. The excitement. The joy. It was contagious. As the pictures were
being snapped, we stood there and clapped and yelled: "Horosho!" (good) along
with the caregivers. Random caregivers stopped by and showed us their little
ones and asked us to bring them home too. Doors were being opened and the joy
on the faces of the caregivers was wonderful beyond words.
-------------------------------------
Within
24 hours of Kori leaving the mental institute she had a seizure. It is common
for European mental institutes to sedate some of the residents, and although no
one could say for sure, it was suspected that Kori's seizure was related to
sudden withdrawal of
sedative medication. After a day or two without the drugs, while still in
country, her tiny nearly eight year old body could not handle the sudden change
and she began to seize. An ambulance was called. The EMT's called hospital
after hospital, trying to find one that would agree to take Kori and treat
her.
They were turned down at
four hospitals. She was not wanted. Finally, after negotiations, the last
hospital relented and decided to admit Kori.
Sometimes
adoption breaks a Mama's heart so badly that the words cannot come for a very
long time. Sometimes what is seen and experienced is so gut-wrenching that it
takes time and distance to begin to heal the pain. Sometimes.
-----------------------------------------------
It would be twenty minutes before the ambulance would get there.When the ambulance finally arrived the seizure was over. Kori was lethargic and weak. The EMT ladies placed her on the bed and undressed her. Apparently her temperature was extremely low. They gave her several injections and then the yelling began. One of the women argued loudly with our facilitator. I could tell it was about Kori’s condition. I am sure this was a shock to them.
A seven year old child with Down Syndrome who weighed 16 pounds and looked exactly like a 7 month old infant. Her eyes infected. Her teeth so rotten that the smell was noticeable even from a distance. Her legs limp and stick like.
I experienced first hand
the disgusted look the EMS people gave my little girl. The way they left her
barely clothed on the bed. The way they spoke the words: "Down Syndrome'',
spitting them out with anger and repeating over and over. We were unfit
parents and she should have remained in her institution. Five hospitals
refused her medical care. My facilitator held her hand out for 200 hrivna bills
more times than I can count at the hospital that finally admitted her. That
money was paid to the doctor, to the nurses, as "incentive money". One nurse was
especially horrible to Kori and caused her pain on purpose. My facilitator met
her in the hallway and handed her a 200 hrivna bill in exchange for humane
treatment for my daughter.
---------------------------------------------
I used to say I could
never go back. After she had a seizure in the city, and we witnessed first hand
exactly how poorly people with Down Syndrome are treated, I thought I could
never ever set foot in that country again.
On days like today
though, all I want is to go back. To sit on that couch in the hallway. I long
to hold the children I came to love while I was there. I want to tell them they
matter. Oh, how they matter. I want to simply walk the halls and make eye
contact with the forgotten. I see you. And you. And you. And you. Who will
see? How can I make people SEE?? See these amazing spirits, these survivors,
these quietly fading people?
The baby "princessa"
has been home a year.
Yet, my heart is still somewhere in that mental
institution. It wanders the halls, looking for a way to reach, to comfort. And
that is fine.
Because I don’t seem to really need a heart here. It seems that money and material goods are considered enough around these parts, here in this country we call home. We stuff ourselves and we indulge, while people right under our very noses are in need of our help. Our love. Hope. I want to walk those halls, one more time. If it only shows one person that they matter, that they have infinite value, then it is worth it.
Kori Maria.
You are very much worth it.
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So very much worth
it.
P.S. Please do not
remove any of these pictures from this blogpost. You may link and share but do
not remove the pictures. Thank you.
