Meeting Our Children
Jake &
Lena Sulhoff
To those of you who do not know, Staci and I have been pursuing adoption for
about three years. We settled on Colombia, S.A. because of our personal ties
there from summer camp in the eighties and the country’s adoption-friendly
procedures and infrastructure. We applied for a single, healthy little girl
between the ages of newborn and three, but we firmly stated that if they
were to find such a person and she had a sibling who was younger than our
natural-born son, then we would welcome them both to avoid separating them.
We got The Call at home at about 7 P.M. on Friday, June 6th, 2003. There was
a little three-year-old girl, Angie and her big brother, Giovani. Giovani
will turn six in July. They needed a home. We had one.
11:09 p.m. June 26, 2003
Our air is electric.
There are moments in one’s life that are marked by certain sounds and
phrases. “You may kiss the bride”…”Dad, I asked Jesus into my heart”…and
whatever is the first thing you say to your newborn baby, slime, tears,
screaming and all…
Today I heard the sound that living memories are eternally made of.
The social workers literally sprung them on us: we were there…at the “entrega,”
the interviews with the attorneys before the actual first personal
encounter, when…
The trip thus far had been a wild roller coaster of emotion. I could
actually feel Delta Flight 299 pulling me inch by inch towards an
inescapable destiny. One I had chosen but would never be ready for. I had a
panic attack. Yes, a real, honest, panic attack, on the plane about 20
minutes before we landed in Bogotá. My perfect, self-centered life to be
changed eternally and dramatically by decisions I actually had a part in
making. It was finally settled. The fine line between genius and insanity
had been pole-vaulted across, and I wished I could have felt more confident
of the side on which I had landed.
The busyness of the airport in Bogotá, the excitement in Caleb’s eyes and
actions, (how are we ever going to get all those bags in one little Toyota…)
all these things cleared my mind and helped me to focus on the now, which
was just what I needed. The journey through the airport was astonishingly
pleasant and smooth. We were greeted outside by several hundred foreigners,
(to me!) and one little guy frantically waving a sign that had “Sulhoff”
correctly spelled on it. The trip to the B&B where we were to live for the
next month was uneventful, if you’re used to Central-and South-American
driving habits. Our driver, David, is the son of our liaison here in Bogotá,
and well-versed in English. Kind and gentle with a great bedside manner, he
answered all our questions about the dangers and cautions we were to expect
during our stay in Colombia. He gave us great confidence in our hosts and
Cascade/CHI, the organization we had been working with for so long.
The B&B we are now enjoying is exquisite. Upon arrival, the entire staff
greeted us. We were treated to room temperature Cokes (as is the custom) and
a weird new kind of juice that was fantastic, even if it did have tomatoes
in it. We were shown the biggest, most nicely appointed room in the place,
and allowed to settle down to a couple hours rest before fantasy ended and
reality began.
This may all sound melodramatic; let me assure you, it is not. It is as
real, if not more so, than your coffee at breakfast or your meeting at 1:00.
It is forever. It is life-quaking in a way that is literally unimaginable
until you are at its doorstep, and even then you are sure that the Matrix
will dissolve, and you will be safe in Kansas again. Insanity is rocking the
boat of a perfect life. For what reason? Does anybody know? The only
possible explanation that works for me is the concept of a blind obedience
to God, the Author of All Plans. And even at that, what if I am wrong? WHO
IS GOING TO BAIL ME OUT OF THIS ONE? MOMMY!
My night was exhausted and sleepless. I’m sure some sleep occurred, but all
I remembered was the being-awake parts. Six o’clock came eighteen years too
early, and Kansas was nowhere in sight, but for some reason I was O.K. with
everything… I mean, what else could I be at that point… besides, suddenly
Staci was having problems: simple stuff, like breathing, parasympathetic
nervous system operations and walking were all challenges for her, and since
I could relate from my experience twelve hours earlier, I drew my strength
from her weakness and dragged her on out to the car. Caleb, of course, had
already been in the car waiting for (what apparently had seemed to him)
several hours and so off we went to our self-described end of the beginning.
AND SO there we were at the “entrega;” at an amazingly clean and friendly
facility in the middle of a small potato-farming town about an hour out of
Bogotá.
This is the half-way house for both the children and the parents. The
children have been removed from the foster family, and the prospective
parents have been removed from their comfort, and it is here that the
long-awaited first encounter occurs. For about an hour, questions had been
asked and answered, typed and corrected, confusion abounded and abated, and
all the while, for me, anyway, it was all just a distraction from The
Thought: what will we do when its time? I had a billion questions I wanted
answered before I was to meet The Ones Who Might Or Might Not Accept Me As
Their Parent. I was calculating how much time I could buy with discussion
when…
They sprang them on us.
“Buenos Dias, Mommi… Buenos Dias…” a microscopic
voice was saying… I didn’t even look up, so absorbed was I in my thoughts,
when I heard Staci crying. “Mike,” she said, “Mike…”
My two children, born just for me, were standing there, hoping beyond hope
that I might accept them as my children. “Buenos Dias,
Buenos Dias…” Staci was crying, which dismayed Giovani. She quickly
dried her tears, picked him up and held him as if to never move again. And
there I was alone in a crowded room with my daughter Angelena.
Lena started to “Pfuf…” a tiny, uncertain distressed little sound that marks
the tape eternally. I placed her on my lap, fought back my tears, and armed
only with the Language Of Love I explained to her that everything was
finally going to be all right. As it turned out, I didn’t do real well with
the tears part, but she didn’t seem bothered by it even a little. Grown
adults were standing everywhere as I heard a little voice say “Poppi,” and I
realized someone was talking to me. In fact, they both were. It was as if
they felt that if they didn’t stake their claim quickly enough, someone else
might suddenly show up and take us away. Poppi and Mommi just sat there and
took it…
Hermanito Caleb gave Giovani his Hot Wheels, and Angelena her FAO Schwartz
little white lamb. Never has a stuffed animal been so thoroughly absorbed by
a little girl. Once it was ensured that these gifts really were for them,
ownership was not merely implied; it was firmly stated.
But before the Hot Wheels were even opened, Giovani wanted to show us a
picture of his casa. Apparently, I thought, he had a photo of his foster
home that he wanted to share with us. It was then that he pulled out the
small, well-travelled photo album Staci had made for them months ago and
sent to the agency. The casa he pointed to was his new casa: the one at
Turner´s Corner, USA… “Listos… Estados Unidos…”
Giovani was packed and ready to really go home.
This is not fiction, and I am not a writer. This is really what happened to
me today.
We then retired to the little conference room and had cake and Coke(!) and
jugo de naranja (the juice of the orange). Giovani ate two pieces of
chocolate-cherry cake, and Lena, between demands of “Mas! Mas!” demolished
one huge piece of cake all by her little bitty 22- pound self. Giovani and
Caleb were carefully comparing notes on important life issues like Hot
Wheels and Jan Sport backpacks. Giovani dragged him by the hand everywhere
he went, and behaved with manners worthy of Buckingham Palace. Caleb
couldn’t stop laughing.
I guess we did O.K., because they let us go, and they even let us take our
kids with us. About halfway back to Bogotá, after uncontrollable fits of
laughter, Lena fell asleep on my lap, with her head melted into my neck.
Giovani leaned over the seat and kissed me on the cheek.
We got to the bed and breakfast just in time for lunch, and it was a good
thing, too, because Lena was about to dry up and blow away like the little
guy in the old Atlas body-building advertisements. She ate twice her weight
in beef tips and rice, with about two liters of water on the side. Neither
child made an inappropriate move or gesture. Giovani always announced his
intentions and asked for permission. He consolidated the dirty plates. I was
at ease with the two of them as I always have been, and continue to be, with
Caleb.
The most profound part of the day, however, was almost missed. After eating,
yet still at the table, Staci called my attention to Lena, who was quietly
and busily picking up every grain of rice on the table she could find, and
storing it tightly in her left hand. She performed her task with great
concentration, thoroughness, and reverence, oblivious to the fact that we
were watching her intently. She held Staci’s hand with her right hand on the
way back to the room. Once safely in our suite, I searched until I found a
little Motrin cup, and finally I persuaded her to place the rice grains she
held in her hand into the little cup. I then placed the cup on the low shelf
over her bed, ensuring that she could get to it if she needed it. This
seemed to relax her. And the Sulhoff family finally went to sleep. Together.
And so life begins…
Love,
Mike, Staci, Caleb, Giovani and Angelena Sulhoff