The Shadow-gloom and Weight of the Sacred

The laws of international adoption seem to change so often and so rapidly that, when you're in the process of adopting, it's hard to know what the next step is. I'm not sure how it works now, but I know that from even 11 months ago when our adoption was finalized, there have been a lot of changes. We made two trips to Ethiopia. The initial visit was in October 2009. Because we made this initial visit and saw our daughter, we were able to obtain a certain visa (I could have told the name of the Visa this time last year) that would allow the Queen Bee to become an American citizen upon landing in the United States. Our departure flight from Ethiopia to Vienna left early in the morning on October 11, 2009. As adoptive parents, Gretchen and I have a lot of days that are special to us. The day we received (and accepted) our referral for our daughter. The first time we saw her. Our Court date--we weren't there for the court date, but it's still special. And, of course, our embassy date in Addis Ababa where we all three went for an interview with an embassy official--the last of the bureaucratic process before custody was granted to us. Though I wouldn't consider October 11 special as in good, it is certainly a day I'll probably always remember and recognize. I thought that today I would share an entry from my journal that I wrote at the end of our first trip to Ethiopia.

October 10, 2009
7.17 am
I wonder if the Queen Bee will miss us? Will she recognize that we're gone? I kind of hope not. In some ways, at least, I hope not. I feel like the next few months I'll do nothing but recognize her absence and its not a fun thought. I'm pretty sure that's all I'm going to do over the next two months: miss my daughter!

7.30 pm
Waiting in Addis. It's raining. A little thunder, too, but the electricity has stayed on. Our flight is at 4.00 am (maybe 4.30, I can't remember exactly now). We're supposed to check in a little after midnight. I'm not sure why it's so early to check in, but we don't mind. It's better than checking in at 2.00 am. We'll spend more time in the airport, but we've been in the guest house since noon. Since we couldn't visit the Queen Bee this afternoon--theorphanage is closed Saturday afternoons--we stayed in our room. Packed. Read. I finished On the Road today. It's always cool to read a book in a week's time, and this one is a favorite of mine. Gretchen actually read two books this week: Agatha Christi's And then There Were None and Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.

It's such a hollow feeling waiting here. I can't decide if I'd rather have flown out earlier today or if I enjoy this reading, writing, thinking time that I've had. Seeing my daughter for two times a day this past week was such a powerful experience. It was as if we'd always done it. Tomorrow we won't see her at all. We won't see her again for two months. The good thing is that we both feel so good about the orphanage. It's a clean, fun place with good facilities and a loving staff. Our daughter is in good hands.

The Queen Bee was pretty cranky this morning. We wanted to see the smiling, laughing girl we'd enjoyed on Thurs. and Fri. But, that didn't happen. She was really tired and we just let her fall asleep. She slept for 25 minutes or so. She woke up very easily and, briefly, she was full of laughter and joy. But she wet her diaper, which then leaked on my jeans. Gretchen took her for a diaper change and she was cranky upon her return. She doesn't seem to handle change well. If Gretchen leaves the room, she cries. When the nanny brought her to us and then left, she cried. I think seeing someone leave maybe scared her a bit, put her on edge. She cried more than we would have liked, but there was no way we couldn't enjoy our time with her.

8.11 pm
My mind is racing through thoughts. It's a gentle mania. I think I'm going to do such and such a thing when I get back to Vienna. Before I really develop the thought my mind moves on. I think of words to write poetry, but pulling my poetry book out of my bag seems like too much work. It's like what happens to Dean Moriarty in Mexico. Or the last visit to Denver. It's like Leaves of Grass happening all at once and I'm about to catch fire and be the poet or maybe I'll just implode from the pressure, the weight. When they write my headstone, it will be blank so as to represent the quiet mania that rested anonymously on my shoulders.