Orphanage Visit

Patrick here. Today was one of the hardest days of my life. We went to visit the orphanage and meet Jemma's foster parents. 

Things started out well. We went to the breakfast buffet, and took Jemma to point out which foods she likes. She enthusiastically chose corn on the cob, and wanted to start eating immediately, not quite grasping the concept of putting food on the plate and returning to the table. We also got her a banana, chicken sausage (a favorite from yesterday) and some fried rice. We set her up in her high chair and witnessed a sight we had not yet seen: a little Chinese girl with healthy appetite. She tore into the corn as if she were a cartoon character, and double fisted the corn and banana. She grabbed my fork and tried to spear a piece of sausage, and nearly succeeded -- not bad for chubby little toddler hands. After Baba helped secure the sausage, she had no trouble maneuvering it to her mouth. But I was most impressed by her fried rice inhalation technique. She moved the plate up close to her mouth, grabbed a spoon, and literally shoved it in her mouth, stopping only briefly to push some stray grains back onto her plate.

We were encouraged to see her "good eating amount" come to fruition, and saw it as a sign that she was growing more comfortable with us. We hoped it would be a harbinger of the rest of the day's events. We were in good spirits when we stopped by the hotel room to put on her coat and thick red pants, which I'm pretty sure formerly belonged to a chimp from the China National Space Administration.

As we were leaving the hotel room, Jemma got sad. I'm not sure what she was thinking, if she had any idea, but clearly she was anxious about going out again. In the van on the way to the orphanage, she sat on Jaclyn's lap as always, and got very sleepy. She dozed off just as we pulled up to the front building, which resembled an old school, and had statue in front of a mother holding two children's hands.

As we waited anxiously in the lobby, I took a moment to  write down the words which were inscribed above the doors to the outside world,  in Chinese and English: "Respect others, honor work, grow stronger, and protect the community."

The orphanage director and nanny met us and led us to an office down the hall. We asked if the foster parents were coming. The director said no, that she thinks it would be too hard for them. But we pressed on and asked if she could please just ask the foster mother; it would be her choice. Jemma at this point was quite content and happy to stay with us. She was friendly to the orphanage workers, but didn't cry or want to go with them.

The director gave me Jemma's scrapbook, which chronicled her stay in the orphanage with pictures and anecdotes written in Chinese. She seemed happy in all of the pictures, and was smiling in most of them. I found myself wondering why they had apparently sent us every picture they had of her not smiling, thus exacerbating one of Jaclyn's greatest fears. (Actually, it just occurred to me: all of the pictures showed her engaged in fun activities with someone who loved and cared for her. She's not smiling in the ones were she was forced to stand alone for the purpose of taking a picture.) I found myself doubting a little, wondering why were taking her away from a loving home in her native culture.

Then a head poked in the door and called out, "Jieyun!" Jemma Jieyun leapt out of Jaclyn's lap faster than I'd ever seen her move and ran into the arms of her "Mama." It ripped my heart of my chest to see my wife, who I think is the greatest mother in the world, so flatly rejected. I felt like a mockery was being made of all of our efforts, and our early successes.  The girl we now saw, reunited with her Mama, was not the girl we had known. The glimpses we had seen of her personality didn't scratch the surface. This girl was a confident, rambunctious, and talkative toddler.  And again, I thought, what are we doing? Why are we taking her away from this happy place, from her own culture, from people who know her personality and can actually communicate with her?

I had to remind myself, and I keep reminding myself, that everything we saw was good. She was able to attach, and has healthy mental model of a family unit. Her needs have been met. And the mockery that was made of our early efforts was really the prize we can expect after a long journey. It was also a sobering reminder that we have a looooong journey ahead.

When it was time to go, I had the unenviable duty of prying the child away from her mother and whisking her into a van with strange people who did not speak her language. I think I went through all five stages of grief over the course of a couple hours. But again, thanks to the council of good friends, I know that was probably a good thing. Now we're able to put a face to Jemma's grief. Hopefully we're better equipped to help her through it.

Thanks again to everyone who has been praying for us. You've pushed us through one of the hardest days we'll face. We were shocked by how much Jemma loves her foster mother, but I know it pales in comparison to the way she'll feel one day about her Forever Mama. After all, she's the best mother in the world.