Fight or Flight.....or Both

Tizi is home.  Getting her home...rough.  In an earlier post, I commented on how seamlessly Tizi had adjusted to Marc and I and to her leaving the orphanage.   As wonderful as that was, I knew that something would be coming.  I didn't know what and I didn't know when.  But I found out at the airport.

We'd had a busy last day in Ethiopia.  The Embassy had lost some of our paperwork from the day before, which required a trip back and more signatures.  From beginning to end, adoption moves as it's paperwork moves.  All we could focus on was our Friday night departure, so to Embassy we went.  We had a wonderful farewell dinner with our dear friend Alemu and our new friends, the Walkers, traveling with their son, Noah, a baby almost the same age as Tizi, from the same region as Tizi and arriving at Jane's House near the same time.  It seemed fitting that they be traveling companions on their journey home.

By the time we went through security, checked-in, went through security again, Tizi was restless.  We were innocently standing in the "yellow line" waiting to board, when it hit.  At first, I didn't know what was going on.  It started slowly and erupted into this kicking, pinching, hitting, lunge biting into my chest program.  The fact that I couldn't put her down, the fact that she felt trapped and likely the fact that she was responding to the previous two days of life change, just caused Tizi to meltdown tantrum.  Conveniently, she chose the very spot where all 350 passengers waiting to board  the flight, could watch us.  Part of me was hurting for her, while the prideful part was thinking, "Nice, I'm going to be spending the next 17 1/2 hours with these people, nice."  The hurting part of me was thinking, "Let it out Baby!  You have just left your safety, your known, your world.  That's worth screaming about.  That's worth a fight!"

Tizi had several more meltdowns as we traveled.  A teenager returning from a mission trip made some really loud, rude comments about Tizi's behavior.  As much as I agreed with what he said, it caused me to reflect on the number of times that I had voiced the obvious in my frustation.  In being the recipient, I was reminded, it doesn't help either party much.  We were balanced by a beautiful woman sitting the row in front of us.  Each time Tizi would start winding up, she'd look back at us and give this gentle, hang in there kind of smile.  I also reflected on the number of times I've done that for someone.  Thrown them that lifesaver of encouragement.  I loved that woman.  As we were departing our flight, she leaned into our seat and said, "families are a treasured gift."  With that, she left.  Perhaps she was an angel.

On our flight from Washington DC to Grand Rapids, I took on an entirely new approach.  I went in expecting the very worst, figuring anything less then that would be bonus.  As Tizi and I boarded the plane, I introduced us with flat out apologies.  Our seats were behind Grandpa and Grandma.  Grandpa had a huge cup bandaged to his right ear.  This was so not good, but I needed to ask.  In asking, I learned that he had just had some complex ear surgery, hearing aid device implant in San Jose.  To add to this, because of weather, missed flights and booked hotels, this dear man had spent the previous night sleeping in Denver Airport for his post-op recovery.  While his story was unfolding, I'm breaking into a sweat looking for the furtherest seat from him for Tizi and I.  He says, "Don't worry about a thing.  I'm just going to turn this thing off.  I'll never know you're there."  LOVE HIM!!  What?  You can just turn yourself off?  How wonderful would that be.  His generosity marked me.  Apparently, Grandpa married equally cool Grandma, because in what would be Tizi's last meltdown of our trip, Grandma leans over the seat and hands me a plastic, empty Mento's container and says, "Here dear.  I have six children of my own.  I know just what you're going through."  LOVE HER!

I've put the Mento's container in with Tizi's other keepsakes from her time in Ethiopia.  In the years ahead, when we go through her things, I hope to share with her that even at our very worst, God throws out distractions for us to grab onto.  Not in order that we may let go of the task at hand, but more so to make it through the task at hand.  Tizi did that.  She held tight to her container, and in the end, our plane arrived at it's destination.  Mission complete.

In my running, I've had the opportunity to cross several Finish Lines over the years.  Some have held a great deal of significance to me, but not one came close to the Finish Line that greeted us at the airport.  This Finish Line consisted of the very hearts and souls that had journeyed with us, that had carried, lifted and encouraged us along the way.  This Finish Line is treasured in my mind and heart.  Prior to leaving to pick up Tizi, I told a friend that when we arrived in Grand Rapids, I would crumble to the ground.  She reminded me of this as we were greeting each other and said, "you didn't crumble."  What she didn't know is, I had.  There was nothing left of me.  It was only in her holding me up and gently, lovingly passing me along to the next person who did the same, that it wasn't seen.  I was at the Finish Line and there was nothing left to give.  As I've had a few days to think on this and replay our airport welcome in my mind, I've come to realize that the ending of "Our Journey to Tizabit" as well as the beginning of our new family, reflects the very fabric that is our world.  This Finish Line Tizi, is what life is all about.  And to those that were there for us, please know, wherever your journey takes you, I hope to be there for you as you were for me, to meet you at the Finish Line!

Departure

We are preparing to leave Ethiopia.  Tizi is taking what will be her last nap here.  We are packing up our things.  This leg of our journey is nearing it's end.  We have had Tizi with us for 48 hours.  Both Marc and I are amazed at how remarkably she's handled the transition.  How does she do that?  Let people that she has only seen briefly , scoop her out of her safe little love nest and plunk her into their world?

I have spent much of our time together analyzing myself;  am I doing this right ? will this scar her? am I reacting with a Mother's love?  am I loving enough?   I need to stop doing this because in doing so, I'm spending much of my energy trying to get it "right" and as our other three kids will tell you, I don't always get it right.  They will also tell you,  in not getting it right, I still love them with the core of my being, and that is the love I feel towards precious Tizabit.

She melts my heart each time she calls me "mama." (granted, she calls every passing female age 12 and above "mama" but I don't care, I'm convinced she's using a different inflection when she's referring to me :)) She makes Marc and I laugh when she laughs and countless times we are telling each other to look at something beyond adorable that she is doing.  I tried to recall today where I was at emotionally when the older kids were 48 hours old.  I'm pretty sure I was highly drugged with the boys as I remember nothing and for Josie, we were bound tight, lying in bed and I was taking in her every move.  That's what this feels like.  This time of taking in every piece of Tizi and learning to know the miracle that she is.

Because of the shortness of this trip, I have kept my watch set on Michigan time.  I wanted to be able to look at it and know what Levi, Jake and Josie are doing.  Josie has kept her watch set on Ethiopian time since our April 20 trip and has stated that it does not get changed until Tizi is home.  I don't know how she does it, referring to a time zone seven hours ahead of ours, but she has kept us current on the exact schedule of Tizi and Jane's House any time we ask.

I cannot wait until we  have all watches set to the same time zone and can all be living in said zone!  Our family has been in pieces.  We've been able to be with Tizi, but never wholly, always in part.  She's known of us, but nothing beyond that.  We've been pieces to each other.  Not only can't I wait until each of our pieces fit into place, but I can't wait until we are all looking at the same watches, in the same house, living same lives.  See you soon Levi, Jake and Josie....we're coming home!

Tizi is "In the House!"

On the Christmas morning when Levi and Jake were three and a half, Levi came to the stairway, looked down into the family room and yelled, "Jake, It is true!  It is true!  Santa did come!!"  I feel like that today.  It's one of those things when you think you prepare, you dare to anticipate, but until it really happens, you hold back from truly celebrating.

Celebrating we are!  It is true!  It is true!  Tizi is ours!  The transition went beautifully as she slept through most of it, including the coffee ceremony.  Tizi was blessed at Jane's House by a team of caregivers that loved her as their own.  They are women that are called to love and let go, again and again and again.  Mulu is the head caregiver and I asked her how she does this, this falling in love and saying goodbye.  Her reply, "It very hard. Very sad. Do it because hope.  Hope God to give them families and better life.  This very very hard."  Mulu, Esther and I cried together and circled around Tizi, hugging her and crying more.  Esther stayed with Tizi the first week of her hospitalization.  She has two daughters of her own and showed me her phone; it included pictures of her beautiful daughters and of our Tizi.  They describe Tizi as "God's miracle baby. She not to live, but she come back to us."

Their words alone make me cry.  Thanking them was inadequate.  The gifts we left, weak.  They know Tizi far better then we do.  They love her in a deeper way.  We left with a promise to continue to grow the love they began in Tizi.  We left believing more fully in hope.  We left forever changed by their willingness to make a difference in the name of love and hope and God.  We left believing that every effort does make a difference.

Journeys

We've completed the first leg of our journey to pick up Tizi.  Tomorrow we leave Washington DC for Addis Ababa.  This trip already feels so different.  This trip doesn't include Levi, Jake or Josie and it doesn't include the level of anticipation that we traveled with the first time.  This trip is much about reflection.

In reflecting, I'm amazed by how much we've grown and changed and learned through this journey.  When you read this someday Tizi, I don't want you to feel that you are the only child we journeyed to and I don't want you to feel that the journey was in any way a negative thing.  In the past year and a half, it has become clear to me that we've journeyed to meet each of our children.  It's also clear that the journey itself is what prepared us for the much anticipated child.

When I look back at our journey to meet Levi and Jake, I hardly recognize Marc or myself.  Much went into the planning of those two.  What started as four, quickly became two and it was at that time that I first began to consider how fragile and delicate and miraculous new life is.  It was a Friday afternoon and we were seated in our specialist's office.  He shared that we had two heart beats, but Baby B's wasn't strong and he didn't anticipate much.  We were sent home and were told to come back again Monday morning to see where we were at.  I remember little about the week-end, but still clearly recall the Monday morning meeting.  As he was testing, I focused on his face trying to prepare myself for what he was going to tell us.  He said, "well, it looks like we've got ourselves a fighter!"  and that fighter, that Baby B, our Jake, took hold of life and held on tight.  Marc was thrilled to learn we were having multiples, which surprised me as he is the baby in his family and up to that point, had never babysat a day in his life, but apparently the more the merrier to him.  I on the other hand was a bit freaked.  I didn't know enough to realize exactly what I was freaked about, but I did know enough that two babies would drastically change our world.  At 20 weeks I was put on full bed rest, thankfully in our home.  We began to meet twice weekly with our doctor to monitor the babies growth.  I'm pretty sure I was a model student.  What they said, I did. Somewhat surprising, because by all accounts, I'm not the best rule abider, but I did know that as much as having two babies scared me, it was two babies that I wanted to have!  It was during that time, that waiting and growing babies that I learned the lessons of giving things up, of allowing others to serve me and the important lesson that just because you slow your life down, it doesn't mean your life stops.  Sadly, I haven't always claimed what I've learned during that waiting period, but what I did learn has changed my world.

Because we were at the doctor so often and were given every detail about our babies from head circumference to femur length, we chose not to know the gender.  There is something to be said about the element of surprise.  As sick as I was when Levi and Jake arrived, I knew all that had gone into preparing for them, into journeying towards them, had been worth it.  Marc and I were not natural at parenting, in fact, in our clumsiness and anxiousness, we began a new leg in our life trek, this time as parents, but the journey itself, did much to prepare us for what lie ahead.

The journey to meet Josie looked completely different then the boys.  We were told by our doctor that unless we did the fertility program again, we would have no more children.  Because of my pregnancy and because I didn't carry multiples well, we decided that was okay and felt really grateful for what we had been given.  My doctor expressed concern about future regret, but we felt confident in our decision.  We expected our family complete at two.  It was in our journey to Josie that we learned my oldest brother was diagnosed with terminal cancer and given two weeks to two months to live.  We knew nothing of Josie at the time.

Our family went into a tailspin.  We were devastated with a grief that paralyzed, but believed in miracles and hope and healing.  There are six kids in our family and during Rick's sickness, we each took on our childhood roles, but in adult versions.  Each of us had a task that reflected the individual personality.  I still feel comforted when I look back at that time and recall those personalities.

I  remember the very place where Tom would sit, right along side Rick's head.  I still see how he would touch Rick's forehead when he spoke to him.  I hear Donny's loud, but optimistic voice.  His voice never sounded too loud, it just sounded hopeful.  At the time, Deborah lived in New York and on her first trip home, as she floated into the house (she floats, our Deborah) Rick took her in his arms and said, "now our circle is complete" and having her home with us, made that true.  Russell, as the family baby, had always had Dad and Mom and five additional co-parents.  He carried his heart heavy and burden deep.   It was during that time I remember thinking, "good, our family does death together, that works for me."

Little did I know that as we were helping Rick prepare for heaven, Josie was in the midst of all of it. Our journey to Josie felt like it took exactly 80 days.  The number of days from Rick's death to Josie's birth.  It was the days prior to Josie's birth, when she was immersed in a love system so strong that it believed in Lazarus type miracles that Josie grew.  I'm convinced that Josie's personality is much about those that surrounded her during those difficult months.  Our journey to Josie was saturated in love and hope and grief.  Our journey to Josie taught me lessons on holding on and letting go.  It taught me that in life there is death and in death there is life.  Our journey to Josie still holds as one of the dearest, saddest, sweetest times in my life.  Our journey to Josie, brought us Josie.

So you see Tizi, God has gifted us with journeys towards meeting each of you.  Your journey has been recorded in more detail and covers more miles, but carries with it the same amount of gifts.  Gifts that teach me that life is in the journey.  Gifts that remind me that hard times and times of rejoicing both need to be there, for without one, the other doesn't feel the same.  Your journey Tizabit, has in itself been a beautiful gift, a gift that is dearer because of the journeys gone before.  Your journey allowed our entire family to take part, to walk together.  Your journey Tizabit brought us to you!!

Reality

OH MY WORD....WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A TWO YEAR OLD IN OUR HOME!!  Funny how reality takes a hold of you, isn't it?  As sad as some of the pieces of this puzzle are, it has hit us that we need to prepare our home for Tizi.  She is coming!    It's something I've been holding back on, the preparing of our home.  It felt safer to wait it out and see it there will really be a baby at our "finish line."  I think she'll be there.  Our finish line is in sight.  Marc and I fly to Ethiopia to pick up Tizi on June 10 and return with her on June 15.  

Earlier this winter, Josie and I were laying in bed doing our pre-bedtime reading.  I can still see and feel this scene so clearly.  I was laying there reading to Jos and out of nowhere, my chest grew tight, my heart began to race and I shot upright in bed stating, "I can't do this!!  We can't do this!!"  (earlier that week we had sent out money that really sealed the adoption commitment, so obviously that was rolling around in my brain)  Anyway, I was heading right into a panic attack until Josie simply and firmly spoke, "MOM, YOU ARE FINE!!  Don't you trust God?" (I'm not sure if she even looked up from our book.) It was like I was in slow motion.  Her words sank in and I said, while trying to get some oxygen back into my lungs, "Okay, right.  I'm going to be fine, right Jos?  I can do this, right?  Oh yeah, trust God.  Good idea."  (we like to practice role reversal in this house) It took a bit, but I pulled it together and have so often, since that night said to myself, "It's going to be fine Mary, you can do this, don't you trust God?"

And with blind trust we move forward.  Today, we ordered a car seat, got the crib down from the attic and started setting up a room for Tizi.  As all of this is going on, Marc happened to be looking through the mail and said, "Guys, this is not good."  (I'm thinking some monster bill came) He goes on to show us that he received his AARP card.  All true!!  As we prepare our home for baby, Marc becomes eligible for AARP.  I knew God had a sense of humor, I had no idea it was twisted.

 Again, we thank you for sharing in our tears over the past several days, but we also thank you for sharing in our laughter and there has been much to laugh about.  Now, if you'll excuse this short entry, I need to get off the computer as Marc wants to check if there are any eligible AARP discounts on car seats. 

Heartache

Adoption holds within itself, many hidden surprises.  The greatest for me has been the degree of heartache involved. It's not always a bad ache, sometimes it's a love bursting kind of ache, but at other times, it's an ache with a grief so heavy, I don't know where to go with it.

Emmebt, Tizi's birth mom was scheduled for her last US Embassy hearing yesterday.  The idea of three meetings with the birth mom is hard for me to justify.  It feels like pulling a scab from a wound that is trying to heal itself, and then repeating it three times over.  When we left Ethiopia, I said to anyone that would listen, "It's going to be an issue getting Emmebt to this third hearing."  At the time I felt it more as a logistical struggle.  It hurt me that Emmebt would need to again tell those in authority that indeed she was agreeing to adopt her baby to the VanDam family.  It frustrated me that we needed this final step completed before we could pick up Tizabit.  But playing by the rules is part of this program, so play by the rules we must.

If only the issue had been logistics and only the frustation, the rules.....on May 28 we received a phone call that Emmebt's eight year old son had died over the week-end.  Her only child besides Tizabit.  Her only child living in Ethiopia.  I picked up the kids from school and told them what had happened.  The combination of emotions in their eyes, along with the question, "Now what Mom?" was the end.  I simply said, "I don't know what, but I do know this, we need to pray for Emmebt in a fierce way.  We need to pray that she is in a place surrounded by people that can love her through this horror.  Because we know that she recently relocated, we then need to pray that if she is not in company with those that love her, she is in contact with those that SEE her...really see her."

I kept thinking back to our brief time with Emmebt and remembering what I was able to see in her.  I wonder if those around her notice that she places her hand near her mouth when she feels shy or uncertain.  I hope they see how bravely she makes eye contact with strangers, I loved that about her. I wonder if they notice she drops her eyes when she is thinking or when you are really looking at her.  I pray that they see her gentle touch.  I'll never forget it.  When we first met Emmebt, we gave her a photo book of Tizi and our family.  When we handed it to her, she held it like a treasure.  She looked at our interpretor and he told her it was hers to keep, and then the most beautiful moment, that gentle touch.  She took her fingers and on the front cover, which was a picture of beaming, beautiful Tizi, she brushed her fingers over Tizi's face again and again and just beamed.  She brushed them like she was touching Tizi herself.  We were lost to her for a period of time and it still holds in my heart as one of the only, truly private looks we were allowed into the beauty of who Emmebt is.   I need others to see that in her.  Since that time, I have taken our own book, a duplicate of the one we gave Emmebt and I've practiced that "Emmebt brush."  It's something I need to give to Tizi someday.  It's something I need to save for myself.

So with this new piece of news, we grieve heavily for Emmebt.  We now claim another piece of the heartache of adoption.  At dinner last night, we were discussing what would happen next.  The Embassy date was missed, the finalization of the adoption was in question and our return trip was unknown.  Levi summed it up when he said, "It's about Emmebt now."  Immediately, each of the kids agreed, as much as we want what we want when it comes to getting Tizi home, Emmebt is left with nothing and that cannot go unnoticed.  It was then that I saw how far we have come.  When Emmebt missed her first court appearance and we were delayed for two weeks, we were frustrated and accusing, not considerate of life outside of our convenience.  In Levi's words and through the kids' responses, it humbled me to see where God has grown their hearts to see into the hearts of others.

When we heard of Kedir's death, we immediately put in a request that Emmebt's Embassy appointment be waived because of her personal tragedy.  Tonight we learn that our request is granted.  With this news, we will begin making plans to return to Ethiopia to collect Tizabit.  But now, we plan with heavy hearts.  The birth mom that has gifted us with her beautiful baby, has gifted us with all that she has left in this world.  My heart aches.

It aches for Emmebt and it aches for all of the Emmebt's I've missed in my world.  How often have I bothered to really see people.  As grief-filled as Emmebt's story is, this stories is playing out everywhere.  The time, the love, the energy it takes to care about someone is such a scary thing.  It makes the good, greater and the hurt, deeper.  I've learned that through Emmebt.  There are so many things I want to do for her and say to her, but in the end, it's mostly stuff that will perhaps make me feel better, it's mostly stuff about me.  I'm not sure if I'll ever meet up with Emmebt again, but I am living like I will and when we do meet up, I want her to know that because of her, I really tried to see people.  That because of her, I tried a little harder to look outside of myself.  If I ever do see Emmebt again, I want to show her this family of ours, that shared a piece of her heartache and grew into different people, hopefully better people.

Goodbye.....

We arrived home safely last night after 26 hours of travel.  All went smoothly, thank you for your prayers.

Prior to leaving Addis, we were allowed our final goodbye visit with Tizi.  We took that time to hold her when she would allow us to, play with her and soak her in.  Tizi is in a good place at Jane's House.  She is loved fiercely by a staff that adores her.  She adores them back and I understand why.  I adore them too.  They touch and coddle and cluck at each of the children as we do our own.  The minute a cry is heard, it strikes me how quickly staff come running.  While we were visiting the orphanage, the entry gate was left open slightly.  I went over to push it shut saying we didn't want any escapees and Levi said, "Why Mom? They won't leave.  They love it here."  He's right.  Even with the gate opened, exposing a world outside of their own, none of the children rushed to it.  They were home.  They were safe.

It's knowing that, realizing that Jane's House is currently Tizi's home, that causes me fear. The beep of our driver came announcing we needed to leave and collectively we all groaned.  It almost sounded staged to the point where the staff laughed at us.  We each said goodbye to Tizi and we each cried.  Tizi continued as if it were any other day.  I wonder what she thinks of us or who she thinks we might be.  Our goodbye held great significance to us and meant little to Tizi.

Mula, the head caregiver, so graciously tried to connect Tizi to us and to encourage Tizi to let us hold her and love on her throughout our time together.  Often Tizi would connect, but her choice of love still comes from her caregivers. They are her "mama", they are her safety.  This is what we are going to be removing Tizi from and as much as I long for her to be with us, I feel fear and sadness knowing what's in store for Tizi.

We made it to the airport and as I looked at Marc and the kids, their eyes were sad and hollow.  We talked, but it was about Tizi.  I talked about what Tizi will feel when we take her with us.  Will she scream?  Will she hate it? Love it?  Will she be afraid?

Mula describes Tizi as a "happy baby, she love play with her friends. She happy," but in the same sentence, Mula said, "Tizi have moods"  (oh oh...know what that's about!)  Our family knows "moods", as passionate as we are, we have our moods!  What if she has a "mood" her entire trip home?  Yikes, I need to close that subject in my mind!  The kids kept telling me to stop being negative.  I don't feel negative.  I feel the reality that we are taking a two year old baby from her safe nest.  I feel the reality that this will be Tizi's second great loss in her short life.  I feel the truth that someday we will need to walk Tizi through her grief and her loss.  I feel scared.

On the airplane, Jake fell into me in his sleep.  I leaned back into him and breathed him in as I no longer get the privilege often, and I smelled Ethiopia.  I smelled it to the point that I breathed in his hair again, just to make sure. (for those who have been there, you will know the smell) It wasn't a bad smell, but it is  distinct.  It smells like their spices, their car exhaust, their people and their wind. Blended together, it creates the smell that links me to Ethiopia.  I've noticed it also on the babies at the orphanage.  When I hold them, it's not Johnson and Johnson that I smell, instead they all smell a little spicy with a touch of something sharp thrown in, they all smell like Ethiopia.  It struck me, that in 10 short days, our bodies had permeated this world, this smell.  I wonder what our world is going to smell like to Tizi?  I wonder if our first shower home will wash this smell from us.  I hope not.  This smell is owned by Tizi, I want us to own it too.

God unraveled our hearts on this trip.  At first, I felt it like a slow thread pull.  As we stayed longer, the pace of the thread pull quickened and as we sat in the airplane and all I had time to do was think, I could only visualize our hearts, raw and open with a heap of raveled thread laying along side.  What to do with these unraveled hearts?  That's the question we need to live out until we are joined with Tizi again.  Josie continued to say, "I don't want to be here. I want to stay in Ethiopia." But "here" is where God has us.  "Here" is where God wants us to be.  In knowing that, I want to do "here" right.

I'm not sure how to do that or what it will look like.  As we got closer to home, the kids started to reconnect.  I could see it and hear it.  They began talking about school, about their sport schedules, about their friends.  They talked about how different our home life was from Ethiopia and about how they would explain Tizi's home to their friends.  How will we connect these two worlds?

Tizi doesn't know this, but she impacted each of us in a way that left a hole in our hearts.  The hole weighs about 21 pounds, with beautiful black eyes and a smile you long to see again and again and again.   This pint size hole has managed to weigh us down in ways I've never imagined.  It's caused us to think and see our world differently.  I hope that this weight, this hole in our hearts is not quickly filled with our world.  I hope it remains open and tender and willing to see and take in the people in our world that will be blessed by Ethiopia's impact, by Tizi's impact.  Maybe that's exactly why we needed to come back to our "here,"  our world, empty handed.  Maybe God needs us to practice and strengthen our hole-filled hearts so that we are ready to receive Tizi's love. Maybe God needs us to be more willing, more open to pass along His love.  It seems our "here" is exactly the place we need to be.