Meeting Marie...

One thing all adoptive parents will wonder when traveling to the RMI is will we meet the birth father?? Of course this question lingered in my thoughts as I met Elina and her children, but I wasn’t ready to ask about him, yet. After all, this is a maternal society and he might be in the picture and I just didn’t know about it. When the time was right I would ask.

Shortly after the adoption Elina gave me Rickson’s vaccination record. It was a small, yellow, water damaged piece of paper. On the front of the sheet it had two lines. One said mother and had Elina’s name. The other line said father and had one simple name… Marie. The name Marie was crossed out. I took the record and examined it back at the hotel. Did it really say Marie or was I reading it wrong? Had the water damage blurred the words and it was really a man’s name like Marty? Or could it be Marlin or Martin? Another adoptive mom and I studied it together. No, it was really Marie. Probably just another woman’s name from the hospital that had been crossed out and the form reused for Elina.

I really didn’t think about it again until a few days later when I went to Elina’s house. Chase and I got out of the car and walked up to her property. The door to her house was open and I watched a man inside making doughnuts. Upon seeing me, this man stepped halfway out of the door, keeping one eye on his cooking and the other on me. He had a cooking utensil in one hand and held his free hand out to me. Then with a giant Marshallese smile he said “Hi, I am Marie” (pronounced Maury - as in Povich).

He looked just like Rickson…

The Beautiful Flag of the Marshall Islands and what it Represents

The deep blue background represents the Pacific Ocean.

The white and orange bands represent the Ratak (Sunrise) and Ralik (Sunset) chains, respectively.

The customary symbolism of orange as the color of bravery and white as the color of peace are also recognized.

The star represents the cross of Christianity, with each of the 24 points signifying a municipal district of the RMI.

The four main points represent the major centers of Majuro, Kwajalein, Jaluit and Wotje.

Is that you, Elina??

Today as I was working and standing in the hospital Operating Room, my phone rang. Expecting it to be a work call, I casually answered the phone. You can only imagine my surprise when on the other end I hear my name drawn out “Laurie (sweetly pronounced with a Marshallese accent) I miss you…Laurie”. I shouted, “is that you, Elina??” And it was. Oh, sweet Elina. Thank you for somehow finding my cell phone number, for calling me at two in the morning your time, for finding a phone to use and calling me from across the world. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect day…

The Raw Emotions of a Six Year Old...

I guess you had to be there to understand. I guess you had to experience it firsthand to understand how it changes you… We have been home now for 2 ½ months. Tonight we decided to watch our DVD that I put together with all our photographs. Halfway into the video I heard sobbing coming from the floor. Chase was face down covering his eyes and sobbing. I picked him up and held him and asked him what was wrong. He said he misses them… He misses the Marshall Islands. It really affected him, too. That place, the people, the experience…it will never leave us. I love my oldest son and I love his tender heart.

Family History

Last night we were able to Skype with Elina and Kim. While we were talking Rickson fell asleep in my arms. I asked Elina if she was able to see that he was sucking his thumb. He has really taken to this and we don't even need a pacifier anymore. She laughed and said that she sucked her thumb, too. After some clarification due to the language barrier, we all laughed when we realized she meant she HAD sucked her thumb when she WAS a baby... she doesn't suck her thumb now. As we were talking Alia (the three year old) fell asleep in Elina's arms just as Rickson had done with me. She was sucking her thumb. I can't wait to tell him he sucks his thumb just like his birth mother and youngest sister, too!

We also talked about how he is such a happy baby all the time. He is always smiling and laughing and doesn't cry much at all. I asked Elina if the four older children had been like this, too. She said that Alia was very happy as baby, but Nickson (the oldest) is just like Rickson. (Maybe it has to do with the rhyming names). This made me smile because of all the kids, Rickson just melted my heart every time he smiled. When he smiled his face lit up all those around him. I will never forget that smile. And now, I have a reminder of it every time Rickson smiles. I now know where he gets it. I can't wait to tell him one day that he smiles just like his oldest brother. I imagine he will grow to have a similar demeanor, too. I love finding out the details... How blessed we are to have a family history!

Life goes on...

As the days have turned into weeks I find myself falling back into a routine. I am feeling less overwhelmed by walking into Target and seeing all the choices. I do not feel as guilty when I think about buying a picture frame for Rickson’s room or tell someone about how I like the paint color we picked for his nursery. I realize this is okay. When I first returned I had so much guilt for the things we are able to do here in America. For thinking about decorating rooms when they only have plywood walls.

But my life must goes on, and so must their’s…just in a very different way. I am adjusting back to the American way, while they continue in poverty. I stay in touch and find out that they went for three days last week without food. Elina could not feed her family. On the fourth day they finally were given some rice from a neighbor. I continue to smile and see friends and family and enjoy our time together, but I have a sadness in my heart that I keep to myself. How is it that they are starving? That I am over 7,000 miles away and can offer little help? That I go to the grocery and buy whatever I desire when they are longing for a spoonful of rice? So I can help, I can send money and I do. But how is that ever enough? The oldest son can rarely go to school because they struggle to find money for the bus fair. They cannot afford the school lunch program so he never eats when he does make it to school. There is no hope for so many in the Marshall Islands. Their story is not the exception, but the rule.

Please pray for them, this family that I love…

A whole new world... but another never forgotten

We have been home now the same amount of time we were in the Marshall Islands. In just four weeks in America, Rickson has gone to Kings Island Amusement Park and ridden a Merry-Go-Round. He has made several trips to the Kenwood Mall. He has been to three Cincinnati Reds games, watching one from a suite. He has seen fireworks and tried on a Halloween costume. He has been to church in the air conditioning and fallen asleep in my arms as we sang praises in a language still new to him. He gets a bath every day in warm water from a sink. He smells like sweet baby lotion. Rickson has been introduced to a carseat and stroller, bouncy seats and play mats, light up toys and rattles. He has already seen a doctor three times for well-baby check-ups. He has felt a cool almost fall like breeze on his face. The experiences and opportunities will be endless.

Yet I cannot stop thinking about the world we left behind. A world Rickson will never know first hand. As the weeks turn into months, his memories will fade. My infant son will not remember what it was like to live with his birthmother and love her. He will not remember her bathing him in that day’s rainwater. He will not remember the intense heat and bugs that always surrounded him. He will not remember the lack of toys or fancy entertainment and how that didn’t matter. He will not remember his birth brothers and sisters holding him and kissing his cheeks. He will not know his birthmothers love from his own memory.

That is my job. My job to make sure that he knows about that wonderful place. That he feels all that love. He may not have his own memories, but I hope I can do my very best to create them for him. I hope the thousands of pictures I took captured some of the love in his birth mother’s eyes. That my stories will feel like his own. That maybe he will remember how it felt to be held in his birthmother’s arms. Together, this love will never be forgotten…