Maximilian and Philip
won’t spend this Christmas at home. We had anticipated this would be a painful
Thanksgiving as my Mom is not physically with us—but could not anticipate how much
more excruciatingly painful it would end up being. When a few days ago Lisa
posted that she had been demanded to come up with $4,000 in order for her
adoption to keep on processing I thought I was mistaken in my belief that both
she and I were working with the same agency. I thought how happy I was to be
dealing with a much more understanding, much more caring, much kinder one—and
still hold the people who run and operate it in my highest regard. Yet,
unfortunately, the agency’s Board of Directors has now a much harder approach.
They are the ones who set the rules—and even the agency’s director is bound to
abide by those new rules . . . whether she likes them or not.
It was made it very clear
to me that I wouldn’t travel until all fees were paid up. That was not all,
though. I couldn’t even have the chance to try. The U.S. Consulate in Sofia
holds the visa interviews only on Thursdays—and they are booked solid for
December 13. That included the slot already reserved for us. There is another
family with already finalized adoptions as well. They are bringing home two
little girls who are medically fragile. Apparently their court date was a
little after ours—but their agency fees are already paid. I was asked to give
my slot to them.
On one hand, it is
wonderful that those two little girls will see a doctor sooner. On the other
hand, though, the emotional damage to all my children will never heal.
I was allowed to see
Maximilian for the first time for a brief moment over two years ago, in August
2010, when I was on my first trip for Stephen, and had hand-carried my
commitment letter for Philip and for him. The bonding between that little boy and
me was instantaneous—and reciprocal. At one point Stephen held my hand—and
Maximilian reached out to hold my other hand. That was almost two years and a
half ago. How much should a child wait? I saw both Maximilian and Philip in
December 2010 when I picked up Stephen. They knew I’d return for them.
By that time our decision
to move out of state had been already made. Unless at the very last moment our
local homestudy agency in Southern California agreed to approve for two more
children immediately after Stephen’s homecoming we would leave California. It
was a total leap of faith. My license to practice law is from California—and
California does not have reciprocity with any other state. Personally I don’t
regret the move at all (I love RI!)—but Catherine does miss her parochial Young
Adults group where she was an active participant and leader since her Youth
Ministry time. Gerard and Warren pretended to be really enthusiastic about the
colleges and grad schools on the east coast even though they’d have rather made
it all the way within the UC system from junior college, where they had had
their first class at the age of 10, through actual college with no ACT or SAT
and then to grad school with priority for admission. Yet, they didn’t mind the
ACT exam and the need to do extra well in college due to the ferocious
competition later on in order to enter graduate school. The road trip was too
cold for my Mom—and the very first place we’d get acquainted with in RI would
be RI Hospital. That was her first hospitalization in April 2011.
Through no fault of our
own many issues delayed the processing. I make it clear that none of those
delays is attributable to any adoption agency. Despite how desperate I was to
move ahead, there were some things I couldn’t handle any faster. The packing
was not ready, judges wouldn’t excuse my presence in San Diego, finances didn’t
come together, the house I rented in RI was not yet available, fingerprinting
and medicals needed to be redone—and the list could go on and on.
When I finally traveled
on my first trip last May Maximilian and Philip couldn’t have been any happier.
I was told that for a long time Maximilian had kept on asking about me—but then
had stopped asking, obviously thinking we had just forgotten about them. They
had no idea of how many tears we were shedding. They had no idea of how much we
were struggling against all odds to make it happen. They had no idea that their
Grandma had sacrificed her mobility and eyesight for the sake of the adoption
expenses—not only for them, but for all her younger grandkids, first from Haiti
and then from Bulgaria. They had no idea that Catherine, Gerard, and Warren
wanted to avoid any barely avoidable expenses for the sake of having them home.
They didn’t know that even if not everything had worked out as expected, we had
moved from one end of the country to the other in a desperate, faith-filled
attempt to have them home the soonest we could.
One of the caretakers in
Bulgaria told me that since I had arrived Maximilian was a much happier child.
They expected to be home
for Halloween. Maximilian was going to be a knight and Philip was going to be a
pirate. Yet, I had not taken into consideration that the courts would close for
one month and a half for the summer.
When the court finally
reopened, because Maximilian had turned 10 in August his presence was required
in the courtroom. Even the judge was surprised to hear how very well he spoke.
When after the hearing Toni asked him whether there was anything he’d like her
to tell me, he replied, “Please tell mom that I love her.”
Since they first met me,
this will be their third Christmas away from home, where they belong. I failed
them. I feel I have failed all of them. Can you imagine what Christmas will be
like without my Mom being physically here with us any longer and with
Maximilian and Philip being across the ocean only because I couldn’t gather the
fees on time? Worst of all, I don’t even have the luxury of trying at least.
For many years since she
was a girl Catherine has been taking care of the Thanksgiving dinner. Now the
twins do the turkey, and the three of them make the younger ones participate
pouring something, mixing something, doing something. Yesterday Catherine’s comment was, “I messed
up everything!!!” Things couldn’t have
been worse—even some canned food was wrong, and the entire dish needed to be
thrown away, and—to crown it all the yuckiest thing also happened: we found a
dead mouse on the kitchen floor next to the door to the backyard. Yuck! Yuck!
Yuck!!!!!!!
Once again I want to
stress that I don’t blame Victoria, Carla, or Toni. Even if Victoria is the
director, I do realize that she does regret this change in
policy. Yes, I did count on paying part of the large amount of my still
outstanding fees after my pick-up trip. Nevertheless I was not expecting them
to do for me anything that I’m not ready to do for anyone else. The majority of
my clients are immigrants with no status. Actually, with the exception of our
fellow parishioners and the Reece’s Rainbow community, they are much more
loyal, much kinder, and much more appreciative than most U.S. citizens typically
are. Yet, they could vanish into thin
air from one day to another—but I have always trusted them with my fees all the
same . . . and they have never failed me. On the contrary, sometimes I feel I
have “too much on my plate” and I have been the one failing
them—but then I have also taken the initiative to plead ineffective assistance
of counsel against myself on their behalf—and am proud to have had both the
courage and the integrity to do so. In California I used to do bankruptcy law—which
means that obviously my clients were not the most solvent people—but, once
again, I always trusted them as well . . .and only once in many years had one
client who betrayed my trust.
We are literally
destroyed, disheartened, devastated, distraught. It feels like I’ll never see
my two new sons again. We don’t even dare voice it, but it feels the same to all
of us.
I don’t know what else to
offer in exchange for your help now: legal advice, etiquette consultations,
personalized online books with your kids’ very own stories (or eventually
printed, if you’d like to pay some minimal printing costs), help with you
future fundraisers, help for all the waiting children—anything I can do for
anyone. Please feel free to ask—after Maximilian and Philip get home . . . if
that ever happens because at this point I’m afraid I’ll never be able to hug
them again.
I’m posting again the
link to the videos from my first trip. Please watch how very much we cried on
the day of my last visit. We cried our hearts out in Bulgaria then. All of us
here have been crying our hearts out over many months. I didn’t want Catherine
to use her tripod for the Thanksgiving pictures. I didn’t want to be included. I
didn’t want to get scared of how I looked. Now I’m at a point at which I have
no more tears left. On top of everything, there is something I will never be
over about this horrible Thanksgiving Day: with so very much going on I
couldn’t just cry only for my Mom.
The
videos are unlisted, and the links are as follows:
- Fourth day visit (this is very nice, yet very long one--so you may want to skip and go to the latest ones)
- Philip with photo book. Greeting new family members through video.
- Family photo books. Learning the names of family members.
- Last visit, May 11, 2012
- First video of last visit, when Maximilian was told that I'd need to go back to U.S.
- Last moment of last visit (everybody crying).
- http://youtu.be/K9uLH_3KnF0
- http://youtu.be/xqFWcMdSc9w
- http://youtu.be/YmcPOCRCDzY
- http://youtu.be/tP9J_BPouec
- http://youtu.be/cedswW_GixA
- http://youtu.be/-4-8Khcuq5g
I know that time is limited for everyone---but those videos are really worth seeing!!! Tissues will be needed.
And these are fourth and fifth day pictures from my first trip:
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These are fourth-day pix
(Thursday, 05/10/12). No words are needed.
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Mommy keeps on getting more and
more kisses.
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They look so thin and so tiny. Why
couldn't I smuggle them in my carry-on luggage?
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I don't look so nice in this
picture--but the moment was one I did want to preserve.
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The fifth and last day started
with some nice smiles. . .
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When we started telling Mximilian
that after that visit I'd have to go back so as to work on the second stage
papers and return for him and Philip.
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We cried and creid together. I was
not much comfort because I was crying as well.
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And we kept on crying, and crying,
and crying. . .
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I'm not sure what Kolinka told
him, but for some time that wonderful, heartfelt smile of his was back on his
face.
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We took some pix with all the
staff members who are close to our boys.
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Pavletta, she other social worker,
is wiping some more tears.
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More group pix. Maximilian is
really close to Domka, the lady in white standing right behind him--to the point
that in one of my early visits he had asked whether Domka could come to U.S.
with us as well.
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And that awesome smile is back on
his face. . .
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. . . until the moment of the
final good-bye arrived.
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Why couldn’t I just bring them
home?
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As the final moment was
approaching, Philip ran up to me, hugged me, and burst into tears as well.
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Philip decided that his brother
and his mom shouldn’t cry any more. Still in tears, he started pushing
Maximilian’s chair towards the door. As staff members accompanied them along
the corridor, I could still hear them sobbing. Please watch the videos.
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Please pray—and, putting
my stupid pride aside, please try to help.
God bless,
Lillian Godone-Maresca
http://themiracleiwitnessed.blogspot.com
