I rec’d an e-mail today. “T”, my intermediary in Russia sent me a scan of a two page letter from my youngest’s (EB) biological grandmother. At least I think it is from her. The letter is signed kisses-Baba (Grandma).
I sit at the computer with all my concentration centered on those lines of ink on paper. I can‘t read Cyrillic. I stare hard at the monitor, as if I‘m trying to inhale, digest or melt into the words. I know the translation will come in a matter of days yet I’m impatient. I crave some sort of connection, I can only imagine what Baba feels, what “V” (EB’s birthmother) feels. What would it feel like to have your child on the other side of the world, another family calling him son?
EB doesn’t seem to crave the connection as I do. He does smile, snuggle into my chest as I tell him that Baba “N” has written him a letter and show him the screen. He then slides off my lap and goes on playing dinosaurs.
I know what yearning feels like. I know what it felt to have him on the other side of the world, unable to fulfill his needs the way I knew only I could do to satisfaction. How does it feel to have a child you held in your arms for a year, a child you fed at your breast, just disappear from your life?
Are my letters an offering of some sort? Am I trying to stick a band aid on a broken heart? There are times I dream of going back to Vladimir to meet EB’s biological family. Isn’t it presumptuous of me to think that my physical presence could be a balm of some sort? That the “laying on” of my hands could heal them? Am I trying to “fix” these people?
Sometimes I want to take EB with me to Russia. I certainly won’t be able to take him back when he is of an age to be drafted into the Russian Army. That was the very first admonition of the officer at the Embassy. “Do not bring him back here after he is 16 years old. Do not let him come back until he is an older man.” How can you keep a grown man, a man in his late teens, early twenties from traveling to his birthplace, to his roots? I feel, that if I take him too soon it could be damaging. I mean, I talk to these people in letters translated by a third party. How can I discern their personalities, intentions and reactions by these disjointed interactions? But how can I force him into waiting until he is a man my own age, possibly with a young family of his own, to see his birthmother and birthfather again. What of his biological Grandmother? She will not be living by then, I know it. When we first gained contact with them, EB carried a picture of his “Baba” in his pocket until it fell apart.
Am I projecting MY feelings onto these people (including my son)? Am I?
I sit at the computer with all my concentration centered on those lines of ink on paper. I can‘t read Cyrillic. I stare hard at the monitor, as if I‘m trying to inhale, digest or melt into the words. I know the translation will come in a matter of days yet I’m impatient. I crave some sort of connection, I can only imagine what Baba feels, what “V” (EB’s birthmother) feels. What would it feel like to have your child on the other side of the world, another family calling him son?
EB doesn’t seem to crave the connection as I do. He does smile, snuggle into my chest as I tell him that Baba “N” has written him a letter and show him the screen. He then slides off my lap and goes on playing dinosaurs.
I know what yearning feels like. I know what it felt to have him on the other side of the world, unable to fulfill his needs the way I knew only I could do to satisfaction. How does it feel to have a child you held in your arms for a year, a child you fed at your breast, just disappear from your life?
Are my letters an offering of some sort? Am I trying to stick a band aid on a broken heart? There are times I dream of going back to Vladimir to meet EB’s biological family. Isn’t it presumptuous of me to think that my physical presence could be a balm of some sort? That the “laying on” of my hands could heal them? Am I trying to “fix” these people?
Sometimes I want to take EB with me to Russia. I certainly won’t be able to take him back when he is of an age to be drafted into the Russian Army. That was the very first admonition of the officer at the Embassy. “Do not bring him back here after he is 16 years old. Do not let him come back until he is an older man.” How can you keep a grown man, a man in his late teens, early twenties from traveling to his birthplace, to his roots? I feel, that if I take him too soon it could be damaging. I mean, I talk to these people in letters translated by a third party. How can I discern their personalities, intentions and reactions by these disjointed interactions? But how can I force him into waiting until he is a man my own age, possibly with a young family of his own, to see his birthmother and birthfather again. What of his biological Grandmother? She will not be living by then, I know it. When we first gained contact with them, EB carried a picture of his “Baba” in his pocket until it fell apart.
Am I projecting MY feelings onto these people (including my son)? Am I?
3 comments:
What a powerful post.
Yes, perhaps you are projecting some of your own feelings. However, I think that is an expected thing, a natural occurrence within the circumstances.
I can only imagine I will have many a conflicted feeling about my daughter-to-be not having any solid way to trace her family of birth should she decide.
Thanks for the post.
Thank you for sharing such a meaningful post with us. I think the feelings you have are probably ones that all adoptive parents will feel at some point.
What would it feel like to have your child on the other side of the world, another family calling him son?
It feels devastating. But that's not your fault. Be the mother you would want for your child if the roles were reversed. That's all you can do.
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