Tomorrow marks 2 years since I first met our youngest daughter. I look back on pictures, and it just seems like a dream.
Of course, I look back on pictures from 2 months ago when we were with her, and that seems like a dream, too.
Rob and I kept fairly quiet about the adoption right up until we were submitted for court back at the end of July. I guess in part it was self preservation. We have been through the ringer a bit since October, 2010.
But now, at the end of a weekend of family celebration, and on the eve of the anniversary of meeting Sitota, I feel like documenting some things. I should mention that it's been an exceptionally long time since I've blogged about anything, and I might have a lot to say. And my grammar will be off.
Since being submitted for court, Facebook has been instrumental in keeping family and friends up to speed on our progress. Immediately and rather intensely, people started responding to posts. Some people I expected, sure... but a bunch of people that I never expected were linking into our story. They were supporting and encouraging.
In Ethiopia I emailed our nearest and dearest with updates. We met other families. OTHER FAMILIES in the same place at the same point. Different stories brought them to Ethiopia... to adoption... but we quickly connected and the support from those connections was and continues to be... fuel. When I drop low, these are the people I reach out to- who propel me back up. They know. We can whine forever and they will tell poop jokes and quote bible verses and simply say, "Yes, I know."
I kept posting on FB from Ethiopia. And we were high on every moment we got to be with our daughter. And we were exploding with wanting everyone to know it. And when I posted this picture:
people liked it and commented on it and even shared it. And every time I shared a photo or posted something when we were in Africa there was a swell of support- captured in comments and "likes." We saw people connecting in one way or another with our story. And we felt encouraged. More than that, compelled to continue sharing.
And then we came home. And I continued to process on FB. Jetlag and remembering but soon PROGRESS! and more progress... and people kept clicking.
And I went to the brick and mortar school one day and other moms were asking me about our trip, and asking if we had news and their expressions were excited and their eyes were emotional and their words were empathetic.
And packages arrived. Gifts with notes, "I'm so moved by your journey."
And then things stalled out. Progress halted. And I whined. A lot. And FB felt it.
But our families and our friends swelled in support. Emails and photo bookings (fundraising) and checks. A "Celebrate Sitota" party that included questions and long emotional answers and generosity that bubbled up and overwhelmed me. The room got painted, the furniture assembled. Phone calls. Texts. Emails. More texts.
And words and actions made me believe that this was a story that was supposed to be told. That people opened up to hearing about it. That along the way people were anxious to check facebook- to hear news- to see progress.
I spent this weekend with most of the Carew side of my family. We were celebrating the marriage of my eldest nephew, and his wonderful bride. Sitota and 1 of my nephews were missing- and we did miss them, but we celebrated our family in a way that we haven't in a long, long time.
Aside: I had this image of my father sitting the the back corner of the room. Rejoicing for my nephew. Rejoicing for our adoption. Rejoicing for the celebration of our lives that manifested in a bunch of people with no dance moves shaking up the dance floor, and a game of pickle with a dinner roll... his glory.
The weekend wasn't about us- but it was. The bride and groom chose to shine a spotlight on Clay's Creations for Africa. Instead of wrapping up jordan almonds for the guests, they gave Clay a very generous donation. And they displayed his cranes beautifully in the entryway to their reception. It took my breath away... excuse the crappy phone photo...
Over the past 3 days people asked questions and wanted to talk about Sitota. And when we hugged goodbye they said things to me that brought the heat to my eyes. And they held on tightly. They knew, I guess, what I needed.
And the check, quietly slipped into a jacket pocket, and the nephew who looked at me and said very deliberately, "I think what you are doing is amazing," and the other nephew who said, "Bring my cousin home" and picking up of the hotel tab, the many many many words and symbols of encouragement have landed me here.
At home. With 3 of my Punks nestled into their beds, and another sound asleep 6,718 miles away.
And with words pouring out and tears streaming down.
Utterly thankful for this trip, and for all of the people who hold us up each day.
Amaseganalo,
Meg
Of course, I look back on pictures from 2 months ago when we were with her, and that seems like a dream, too.
Rob and I kept fairly quiet about the adoption right up until we were submitted for court back at the end of July. I guess in part it was self preservation. We have been through the ringer a bit since October, 2010.
But now, at the end of a weekend of family celebration, and on the eve of the anniversary of meeting Sitota, I feel like documenting some things. I should mention that it's been an exceptionally long time since I've blogged about anything, and I might have a lot to say. And my grammar will be off.
Since being submitted for court, Facebook has been instrumental in keeping family and friends up to speed on our progress. Immediately and rather intensely, people started responding to posts. Some people I expected, sure... but a bunch of people that I never expected were linking into our story. They were supporting and encouraging.
In Ethiopia I emailed our nearest and dearest with updates. We met other families. OTHER FAMILIES in the same place at the same point. Different stories brought them to Ethiopia... to adoption... but we quickly connected and the support from those connections was and continues to be... fuel. When I drop low, these are the people I reach out to- who propel me back up. They know. We can whine forever and they will tell poop jokes and quote bible verses and simply say, "Yes, I know."
I kept posting on FB from Ethiopia. And we were high on every moment we got to be with our daughter. And we were exploding with wanting everyone to know it. And when I posted this picture:
people liked it and commented on it and even shared it. And every time I shared a photo or posted something when we were in Africa there was a swell of support- captured in comments and "likes." We saw people connecting in one way or another with our story. And we felt encouraged. More than that, compelled to continue sharing.
And then we came home. And I continued to process on FB. Jetlag and remembering but soon PROGRESS! and more progress... and people kept clicking.
And I went to the brick and mortar school one day and other moms were asking me about our trip, and asking if we had news and their expressions were excited and their eyes were emotional and their words were empathetic.
And packages arrived. Gifts with notes, "I'm so moved by your journey."
And then things stalled out. Progress halted. And I whined. A lot. And FB felt it.
But our families and our friends swelled in support. Emails and photo bookings (fundraising) and checks. A "Celebrate Sitota" party that included questions and long emotional answers and generosity that bubbled up and overwhelmed me. The room got painted, the furniture assembled. Phone calls. Texts. Emails. More texts.
And words and actions made me believe that this was a story that was supposed to be told. That people opened up to hearing about it. That along the way people were anxious to check facebook- to hear news- to see progress.
I spent this weekend with most of the Carew side of my family. We were celebrating the marriage of my eldest nephew, and his wonderful bride. Sitota and 1 of my nephews were missing- and we did miss them, but we celebrated our family in a way that we haven't in a long, long time.
Aside: I had this image of my father sitting the the back corner of the room. Rejoicing for my nephew. Rejoicing for our adoption. Rejoicing for the celebration of our lives that manifested in a bunch of people with no dance moves shaking up the dance floor, and a game of pickle with a dinner roll... his glory.
The weekend wasn't about us- but it was. The bride and groom chose to shine a spotlight on Clay's Creations for Africa. Instead of wrapping up jordan almonds for the guests, they gave Clay a very generous donation. And they displayed his cranes beautifully in the entryway to their reception. It took my breath away... excuse the crappy phone photo...
Over the past 3 days people asked questions and wanted to talk about Sitota. And when we hugged goodbye they said things to me that brought the heat to my eyes. And they held on tightly. They knew, I guess, what I needed.
And the check, quietly slipped into a jacket pocket, and the nephew who looked at me and said very deliberately, "I think what you are doing is amazing," and the other nephew who said, "Bring my cousin home" and picking up of the hotel tab, the many many many words and symbols of encouragement have landed me here.
At home. With 3 of my Punks nestled into their beds, and another sound asleep 6,718 miles away.
And with words pouring out and tears streaming down.
Utterly thankful for this trip, and for all of the people who hold us up each day.
Amaseganalo,
Meg
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