Bethany’s Hope: A Journey in Helping Our Daughter Heal and Find Love Again

This blog story is just a snippet of our time and journey of healing. We continue to peel back the layers of our daughter's wounds in order to facilitate healing, but we are sure much farther along than when we first realized what was going on. We aren’t naïve anymore in believing that a few short years will undo all the neglect, loss and possible abuse she endured, but we do have faith that God will complete a good work in her.

When we realized what was going on with our precious girl we had to re-learn how to parent a wounded child. Much of it was not only different it was foreign to us. Remember we had already parented a birth daughter for seven years. We weren’t “green” in the parenting department, but Bethany’s issues quickly showed us that all traditional parenting was an absolute failure in helping her. Some quick examples are that we immediately quit all time-outs and did time-ins. For months she was literally linked to me by a jump rope so as to always be connected to me. We did bottle time daily for well over a year. We played baby with her and re-parented her through many of the moments she missed when living in the orphanage.

We played a game where she would climb under one of my husband’s big shirts, his silk pajamas from China to be exact, and I would pretend I was pregnant with her. I would pat her head and sing songs to her, as I did to my birth daughter, and when she was ready out she would pop through the shirt, and we would move to the rocker where I would rock her, sing to her and bottle feed her t. I know it sounds weird and believe me there were times I would think how bizarre this whole thing was, but she absolutely loved it and needed it. It was one of the big things that ended her severe jealousy toward her sister being born to us, and her not being my birth child.

Thinking back, there is so much that we did to nourish her healthy attachment to us that goes against traditional American beliefs of teaching early independence. One day she fell down and hurt herself. We made a big deal of scooping her up and kissing her “owies.” She would never come to us for comfort so we always had to go to her, but when going to her she would scream, “Don’t touch me. I don’t want your help!” One day she screamed this at me and started running away from me. I calmly looked at her and said, “You must be remembering a time back in the orphanage where you felt that no one cared about you. You might have fallen down and no one came to comfort you. You might have been sick and no one came to hold you and care for you, but you don’t live in an orphanage now. You live in a family where people care for each other and love on each other when they are hurt or sick. So what are you going to do?” She stopped midway up the stairs, thought a few seconds, and turned around and ran into my open arms. That was the beginning of her truly allowing us to comfort her, and now she comes to us if she hurt or sick.

We used jelly beans, Skittles and Starbursts to reward her when she willingly came to us. We practiced spilling water on many occasions everywhere we went because one of her trauma triggers was spilling. I am still not sure what might have happened to her, but each time she would spill she would scream in sheer terror. So, in order for her to learn that spilling was normal, we all practiced spilling (we made it seem like a true accident). We did “baby bird feeding,” which is feeding candies or sugary treats ONLY if she is making good eye contact. We would call her to us, look in her beautiful eyes and say some loving remark, and quickly pop a candy in. We kissed each and every sweet and sugary treat to show that mommies love had filled it before we offered it to her. We did not allow her to self-feed candy or any other sugary treat. It all came from mom or dad to begin with.

I send this information because I passionately believe in equipping adoptive parents, and supporting those who are struggling. During the last two years we have seen four disruptions of adopted children within the families we know. None of the disruptions are children adopted from China, but it breaks my heart just the same because when there is a disruption everyone loses. Honestly, I can’t judge or even criticize any of the families who chose to disrupt. It was a gut-wrenching and hideous decision to have to make and each family made it only after exhausting every avenue and every chance of helping their children heal. In the end, they simply had to re-home the child to give them all a chance to heal and progress. It has been so sad.

Anyway, I thank you for the blog and I hope many parents will find information, support and even a wake-up call if need be from the information found within. Thanks again!

Here is Neurogistics webpage: http://www.balanceyourchildsbrain.com/

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When our daughter was handed to us on October 15, 2002, she was very sick. Unlike all the other children who were awake and looking around, our daughter was out cold. She hung limply off her nanny's shoulder.

When she was handed to me I realized how hot she was and I knew we were in big trouble. I was not a first-time mom so I knew fevers weren't necessarily anything to worry about, but my little one was really burning up.

When we got back to our hotel room and I took her temperature I finally tossed the thermometer aside when it got to 105. We had taken many medications with us so we started her on Advil and Tylenol piggybacks. We also had to strip her, something I had not wanted to do immediately, and put her in a tepid bath.

While she was in the bath tub, she gave me a small smile -- a smile which would hold us through the next few days of our nightmare into the world of third-world medical care.

To fast forward, we spent two days going back and forth between the Nanning hospital for IV fluids, and fighting to get us out of Nanning and into Guangzhou, which had the western SOS medical clinic. We had taken our older daughter to China with us, and we were deeply worried about our new daughter being sick with Rotovirus.

The second day our daughter Bethany was with us she started vomiting every bottle we tried to feed her, as well as having severe diarrhea.

She was so dehydrated from the vomiting and diarrhea that we simply could not keep up with getting enough fluids into her. The three bottles of IV fluids given at the hospital, and lots of prayer saved her life.

Our agency did get us out of Nanning early, but not until after they recommended we reconsider adopting our daughter. We thought about that recommendation for a split second and then emphatically said no. She was our girl, sick or not, and we were bringing her home with us. We arrived in Guangzhou just days after meeting our daughter. We spent the duration of our trip hunkering down with a sick child at the White Swan, and checking in with the SOS clinic daily.

By this time, our girl's diarrhea had become bloody with severe intestinal cramping. She had the worst diaper rash I have ever witnessed, which neither of the two different creams we took with us would alleviate. Thankfully, the SOS clinic gave us something that worked. She also had a double ear infection, throat infection, and fever blisters all over her little mouth. She was one sick little girl.

Although the SOS clinic was far better than the hospital in Nanning, we didn't find out what was creating her illness until we reached home.

After reaching our home city, we immediately drove our older daughter home to her waiting grandmother, and headed to our local hospital for testing, again not something I would have chosen to do so soon.

Within a day it was discovered that Bethany had Shigella (which is like E Coli).
It wasn't just normal Shigella or the broad spectrum antibiotic we took would have killed it, but it was Super Shigella. The only antibiotic that it was susceptible to was Cipro, which was not being used with children. Of course we didn't have any choice but to use it, so we did. She was well within a week's time, and we settled in to become a family of four. But, it was not to be so easy.

What I now know is that our girl was displaying many early RAD signs. She was clingy (who can blame her after what she had been through), demanding (again good survival skills in an orphanage), and generally moody and melancholy. I didn't expect her to immediately be a happy smiley baby. I knew enough about post institutionalization to know it would take time for her to trust us, but I didn't know enough about early signs of attachment and trauma to see that her behaviors were indicating a real serious problem that hugs, kisses and reassurance would not heal.

I had already started attachment parenting. We started the family bed, which was a miserable failure due to her inability to sleep. I carried her virtually everywhere, which she insisted upon through screaming if I put her down at all. She did not go into any other childcare situation. I bottle fed her with eye contact. I rocked her nightly to the same lullaby music she still listens to at night. I bathed with her. I rubbed the same lotion on her that I wore. She was with me virtually 24/7, but it wasn't enough. Looking back now we needed the help of professional intervention, and I needed a whole lot more support to keep doing this work, even when I didn't see results.

Fast forward three years. Right before her fourth birthday, Bethany turned and looked at her big sister, Kendall, and said: "I hate myself." All the years of struggling with her very controlling and fake people-pleasing behaviors came to mind and I knew that our daughter was not securely attached. It was my greatest fear and yet it was what the Lord had called into my life. I would be lying though if I didn't admit that I was terrified.

I had read about the Romanian orphans. I had watched the "Dateline" specials. Heck, my brother worked as a social worker in a residential care facility that was filled with Russian adoptees who had RAD. I wasn't uneducated in this area. The problem was that the symptom lists I had learned about were for older kids. Our daughter was only three, and she didn't display those symptoms. Yet.

I called my husband and told him that we needed to find help for our daughter. He agreed and we made an appointment to see an attachment therapist who was local. We saw him for six months and realized that we were not getting anywhere, except that he was making her PTSD worse due to her incredible fear of men. On the homefront we
were busy learning all we could about post-institutional issues to help our daughter heal.

It was also during this time we started an adoption ministry at our church. It was focused more on the "We're home, now what?" premise. We wanted to explore adoption parenting from a Biblical perspective. We had been through too much confusion and faulty parenting advice to not follow God's calling in starting this ministry. We saw too many parents bring home struggling children and try to apply traditional parenting practices, which were failing everyone involved. We wanted to seek wisdom, apply what the Lord taught us and grow in the area of Biblically parenting the adopted child.

While researching RAD for another parent I came across the web page "Attach-China". I read the parent testimonies and every single question I had ever had about anything our daughter was struggling with was answered. Our daughter's inability to sleep through the night and her ever-present night terrors were all classic signs of the PTSD she suffered from. Her controlling behaviors such as hoarding food in her mouth, needing to be in charge all the time, and her extreme jealousy of any of my time being directed off her, were all symptoms of her insecure attachment. There were other red flags, but it would take a long time to list them all right now, but each
one of those symptoms was listed within "Attach-China"'s webpage. I cried as I read these testimonies because on one level I was scared for our family and our girl, but on another level I knew I wasn't crazy. We weren't alone! There were other families and other Chinese girls with these same issues.

I started pouring through information about attachment and PTSD. I read everything I could get my hands on, and I started calling every place I knew to get the help we needed. We paid special attention to adoptive families who had traveled this path ahead of us, and we learned from their victories and mistakes.

We realized that our daughter would need interventions that were not typical. From other adoptive families we learned of a neurodevelopment program in Oregon that was treating adopted children with RAD, as well as other conditions. We made an appointment to fly over and have her evaluated. Even though she had shown no major developmental delays maybe we had missed something. We also learned of a Christian attachment/trauma therapist who worked in Portland, Oregon. I looked at my husband and said, "I don't know what the checkbook says you make the decision." He replied, "You're going." We made an appointment to see the therapist, Dr. Kali Miller.

Our daughter was diagnosed with moderate anxious attachment (insecure) and severe Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD). She also has some sensory processing issues, which showed at her neurodevelopment evaluation.

We came home from Dr. Miller's office and started bottle feeding her again during a daily snuggle time. Instead of milk we gave cooled hot chocolate. We also started co-sleeping with her again, which we had tried when we first came home. We pulled back into our family and really limited our outings and our visitors. She just couldn't handle any extra stress in her life, and we needed to learn out how to therapeutically parent her. When we re-introduced the bottle, with eye contact, she would take a few swallows and erupt in rage. She had made great eye contact when
we first came home, but I remembered that it was mostly on her terms. Now, I was asking her to make eye contact on my terms and she didn't want that. I had to hold her while she kicked, screamed, spit and fought through the rage that she was feeling. The first few times it was well over an hour before she stopped raging and started crying. It was exhausting work, but each time she would cry she would say to
me: "Mommy why did she leave me? Mommy I must have cried too much." So many times I cried right along with her as she entered into the pain within her heart. I didn't want to see my daughter hurt like she did, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. The only thing I could do was show her that this time she would not be alone. I
would walk this path with her no matter what.

I was homeschooling my oldest daughter, Kendall, at the time, and one day I had a homeschool mom's Bible study meeting. Our discussion was about grace that night, and the leader asked if anyone had shown their child grace recently. I raised my hand to speak and calmly told my story. That same day during our daily snuggle/bottle time, while I had been telling my daughter how much I loved her, she had matter-of-factly looked up at me and said, "I don't love you. I hate you!" Her hatred was very real and very true, and it was expressed during a time of intimacy. Although I was taken aback I felt the Lord tell me, "It's okay, I've got her," and only through His strength I was able to look her in the eyes and say, with love and acceptance in my eyes, "That's okay sweetie, I have enough love for both of us." After I sent her out of my room I went into my closet and sobbed. It was the moment when the magnitude of what we were dealing with first hit me, and I felt my heart rip into pieces.

To facilitate bonding our daughter was kept very close to me. She slept with us on my side of the bed. For the first six weeks she fought to get away from me in her sleep. It was so strange to have a sleeping child kick and moan in her sleep, while trying to scoot as far away as she could get from me. I didn't get much sleep during those first six weeks, but after the initial difficulties she learned to snuggle in to me. In fact, she would sleep with one leg over me at all times, as if she was afraid I would get away otherwise. She slept like that for over a year. It was only this Christmas that we moved her to a mattress beside our bed, which is where she still sleeps today.

For approximately six months I heard my daughter scream over and over again that she hated me, and each time her outbursts ended with me holding her while she raged. Each episode ended with more of her pain coming to the surface. She cried, "I hate my birthmother, she hurt me and when I hurt I want to hurt other people." My heart ached for her, but each time my only job was to stay with her and allow the Lord's love to flow through me to her. It was hard work, and even though I knew I was never alone myself I felt so isolated and scared.

After about six months, instead of screaming she hated me she began screaming, "I don't want you to love me; love hurts." Again, these snuggle times ended in more rages and more holdings where the pain she was holding onto came flooding out. The holdings no longer lasted over an hour. They lasted around 30-40 minutes.

Outside of snuggle time she was starting to have some really good days. They weren't the good days of old where you never knew if she was being real or not, but these were genuine. We started to see real smiles and hear real laughter from her. They didn't come often, but they were wonderful to see just the same, and we cherished every one of them.

The whole time my daughter and I had been flying back and forth, every two weeks, between Idaho and Oregon to see our daughter’s attachment therapist. A year into this, Bethany started coming into snuggle time saying, "I want mommy's love." She was also making great eye contact, and she was draining her hot chocolate bottle. In fact, there were many times when I would look into her eyes and see the baby that I knew wanted nothing more than to be loved. Her eyes were soft and trusting like a small baby’s would be in a mother's arms. It was very different from the dark rage filled eyes I had seen looking up at me six months ago.

The journey through attachment has been long and hard. We have learned so much about how neglect affects children. Without having a sensory rich and nurturing environment while living at Pingnan, our daughter’s ability to process sensory stimuli has been compromised. Without had any one caregiver to bond with she has learned not to trust those around her, and with the introduction of the severe neglect she suffered her brain development has suffered. She reads everything as a potential threat and reacts accordingly.

These behaviors are not just a choice for her, and they aren’t just emotions she is feeling. They are hardwired into her brain and cells through pre-verbal cellular memories and neurological impairments stemming from the neglect so prevalent in so many orphanages worldwide.

Because of all the challenges she faces we intervened in ways which are not typical. She started a neurodevelopmental program two years ago. At her evaluation we discovered anomalies in her tummy crawling, her hands and knees creeping, and so many other developmental areas that we were never informed about. To this day she has creeped and crawled over 120 miles, and through what appears to be silly interventions of fetal patterns and other infant patterns, we have seen wonderful improvements. She no longer rejects the love I pour into her, but runs to me for comfort and hugs.

We also had her neurotransmitters tested last year via a urine test, and that her brain chemistry was way off. It was described to me that her brain chemistry showed as if she had consumed 40 cups of coffee with nothing to eat. In fact, the practitioner we work with said Bethany’s brain was never chemically ready to attach. It is no wonder she had explosions. We started her on targeted amino acid therapy and we saw immediate improvements.

The biggest area we saw her improve was in the area of sleep. She was so hypervigilant that she had not been able to sleep well since she had come home from China, which was over four and half years ago. During her third year she had so many night terrors I could count the number of times she didn’t wake screaming on one hand. Sadly, nobody knew how to help us because nobody knew what was going on. Once we started her on the supplements for the amino acid therapy she started going to sleep in five minutes, but what was even more encouraging was that she stayed asleep through the whole night.

We continue to peel back the layers of her wounds from her early beginnings. We continue to fly back and forth between Idaho and Oregon for bi-weekly therapy. We hope one day soon to be able to drop down to once a month. Bethany is almost finished with her neurodevelopment program, and she will be beginning neurofeedback to target the anxiety she still struggles with. We do therapeutic parenting in our home, and we try to educate as many people as will listen that parenting adopted children is very different than parenting birth children, whose beginnings don’t include trauma. We know because we have done both in parenting our girls. Bethany’s struggles stem from living in inadequate orphanage conditions, and those challenges take an entirely different approach.

Our daughter has made tremendous strides in healing. She no longer tells me she hates me. She will say, “I can’t push mommies love away,.” During nightly prayers she thanks God for sending her a mommy who will always love her. She is beginning to make connections with others in our family. She is not fully healed, but I have faith that He who began a good work in her will not finish it until it is completed. I am sure she will always have trauma as a part of her history and she will always have rejection and loss to work through. But, I see how far God has brought her through the interventions and the help of the powerful team of professionals He put together. I know He has a plan for her just as He had a plan for Helen Keller.

She was recently the “Star of the Week” in her kindergarten class, and for the question what do you want to be when you grow up, she put “I want to be a Dr. Kali and help children who hurt.” I couldn’t ask for anything more.

MeDenne Jones

For more information about attachment disorders or Post Trauma disorders in Chinese
children see attach-china or a4everfamily.org.

Special Needs by Surprise: Denying, Accepting and Owning

As I begin to write this, strong images sift through the memory. For some reason, the first one is of me sitting alone in the waiting room in September 2001, wondering and fearing the results of the diagnostic on my sweet but odd 6 year old from China. . At some level I knew the answer: at another I continued to want to be in denial. After 2 ½ hours, the specialist and assistant came in, cheerfully bearing clipboards, as though it was just another day of data crunching—one more client to go before the end of the day. “Well,” the head of agency began, briskly and efficiently.

It was clear that she was happy that no doubt had been removed. “We just weren’t sure whether to call it autism or asperger’s, because of the issue with whether or not she used her pointer finger to point out things to others. But based on how she interacted with kids in the special school—her lack of understanding of how different they were—we can clearly call it autism.” I must have stared at her, blankly. “High functioning autism,” she added. She may have said more—but the rest was mostly a blur. And the remainder of the day was spent with internal wheels spinning. Inside was a voice saying, “but they said…but they said….”

They had said. I had asked for a healthy child between 10 and 14 months. They got the age part right. They -- the CCAA officials -- had said she was healthy.

“He had said.” I had met the male, aloof orphanage director in Guilin just after my daughter was handed over, at 14 months and 13 pounds. Through a translator, I learned from him that “she probably stares at her fingers because when children scratch themselves too much it is our practice to bind their hands.” I had found this idea barbaric but felt she had plenty of time to recover from such treatment. But in fact, in the photo of my first embrace, I am looking at her face and she is far more interested in exploring the fabric of my blouse with her fingers. And in fact, textures—of carpets especially—were the most entrancing part of adoption for several months to come, as far as she was concerned.

“She had said.” The female director of my agency, who often took trips from my state to her native China to facilitate adoptions—using the opportunity to visit with her parents in the process—was blasé when I expressed my concerns about a baby who refused to give eye contact. “She’ll catch up in two months, three, max,” she said with absolute certainty. What did I know? I told myself. Her agency had already placed several hundred children from China successfully. I agonized over whether to accept the placement. Several factors affected my decision. I was exhausted and confused. The agency director was so certain. I was on my own. Finally, and perhaps most important of all—I knew I could not have lived with myself had I left a needy, half-starved child behind in China. I went ahead with my decision. Later that week, though, other parents looked at me uneasily. And as Josi attempted to crawl on a bed over towards another adoptive infant, the mother came over to snatch her child away. My heart sank, but without a specialist to confer with, I felt I had no choice but to carry on.

I went home to a baby shower, friends expressing congratulations cautiously as Josi chose to stare at the lights overhead. A few years passed. Josi received early intervention from the state. Specialists scratched their heads and cited institutionalization. I found a friend whose adoption had inspired mine. “How long did it take, would you say, before she attached?” Oh, about two days,” she responded. My journey towards that goal, meantime, stretched endlessly. I would hold her and her body remained limp, like a sack of potatoes. She was unresponsive to hugs and kisses. She couldn’t walk and had no language. Over and over, I heard the mantra, “give her time.” Alone in my apartment, I waited—played with her—saw slow results, or none. When I sang and held her, I began to get some eye contact and with bouncing, some laughter. For a long time, I will confess—I was concerned about me, and equally about myself. Why me? I wondered.

I wondered until the day I was invited to a Christmas party for the state early intervention agency and met family after family dealing with retardation, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and permanent invalidism. My stubborn self-pity remained but began to shrink. These were biological children. The families hadn’t asked for these diagnoses but had to live with them.

When she was two, sick of people telling me she would learn to speak on her own and knowing it was untrue, I finally hit upon an idea. As she was crawling and babbling, I got down on the floor and began imitating her babbles. Slowly, surely, she began to realize that I making a connection. She began to repeat my imitations. There was no miracle of real word formation, but she was starting to get it. A few months after that, I withheld milk, making clear that she had to make a noise with her mouth in order to get it. After some crying, she produced a single syllable that I realized was an effort in the right direction. Within 4 days the syllable was recognizable as “nalk.” With speech therapy at 4 and 5, she began to sound like other kids.

It wasn’t until she entered summer camp, post kindergarten, that I encountered a special ed teacher who hinted at the source of the problems. That’s when I went to a local agency known for the diagnosis of autism and got my results. Josi’s school was surprised to get them and insisted on its own evaluation. The same findings were reported. But the services available were only related to speech and language. They had no social skills groups, and that was the need most apparent to me. Josi could cooperate with others and could learn at her grade level, but was unable to make friends. A diagnosis at 2 or 3 could have made a difference. But then, my child was supposed to be “healthy.”

The years have passed and my daughter is now 12. In many ways Josi has made huge strides. When I tell a few trusted individuals about the diagnosis, they express surprise—“I never would have thought that.” She is in a regular middle school classroom, excels in art, and participated in her school musical. She no longer qualifies for special services. But a boy recently expressed interest in her, while asking “why do you act so funny?” She responded with The Diagnosis—and the friendship faded. I suppose she will always be “seemingly normal”—until poor judgement skills and social awkwardness surface.

In the meantime my own perspective has evolved. . In the first years after diagnosis, my adoption agency would refer potential families to me and I would secretly delight in bashing their services to the hopeful adopters. At one point, I heard, they were sued by a group of families for lack of a formal orientation program dealing with the possibility of special needs in adopted children. The suit was reportedly successful. I belong to a yahoo group that rates agencies and see mine still criticized from time to time.

But the truth is that resentment and even revenge don’t change the fact that life must be lived on a daily basis. Josi’s affection for me, cooperation, and companionship are huge assets in my life I couldn’t do without. Would I wish for a different child? To me, that’s no longer a question to consider. The most important decision points in our life pass in a moment and cannot be reclaimed. We move on. We must decide to be happy by creating new expectations for ourselves when others have given us the wrong ones.

The American Kidnapper

Wednesday, August 22, 2007.I looked up from my stir-fry, American style, hoping the view in front of me had changed.

No dice. It was the usual back of Mei Mei’s head as she surveyed the restaurant dining area while refusing to look at me. She was hoping to find her two orphanage sisters who had been adopted at the same time and if they couldn’t be found, well, the wall was preferable to her new parent.. To the left was a happy group of five couples with the adorable babies they had waited more than two years to claim; to the right, local Chinese families glancing my way, doubtlessly wondering what torture I had inflicted on a cute, 7-year-old girl to cause such alienation. MeiMei’s plate stayed almost untouched as I continued the charade of pretending to eat, unconcerned, and she continued her contempt and rejection.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. At the Civil Affairs Bureau ceremony the day before, every one of 12 families had seemed the happy family, the perfectly united adoptive family, except mine. Sobs started during the fingerprinting. Sobs continued during my oaths to take care of her. Tears flowed as the passport photos were completed, the eyes red-brimmed between the pigtails. In fact, MeiMei only stopped when the director of the orphanage appeared to soundly scold her: “you are the smiling girl—you are always so happy. You must not cry now and bring shame to us!” As a result, a girl who at least was prepared to show her true feelings to her new adoptive mom was transformed into a stoic semi-adult, refusing to speak to any and all.

Every night that week, my own self-talk would come back to haunt me as I would drift off to sleep. “She’s older: she’s seen so many get adopted; she’ll surely appreciate the fact that she was taken in before it was too late.” I had been naïve—worse than naïve—willfully ignorant. Of course she had attachments. Of course they mattered. And of course—no one had really thought to obtain her consent and understanding over the whole of idea of being adopted.

For the first time I saw adoption in a new light. For one person, it meant adding to a family to enrich it and hopefully give a child in need a better future. For the other person, evidently, it meant being kidnapped and taken away from all she had ever known—and worse, kidnapped with the consent of her “real family”—the orphanage director, the preschool teachers, the nannies she had known since one day of age. And the kidnappers were strangers, looked different from anyone she had every known, and spoke only the most primitive forms of Chinese. Why in the world would she have consented? This business of “America”—it can only be an abstraction when one is seven.

Thursday, the day for visiting the orphanage arrived—one I had promised and now suddenly wanted to take away. We wrapped presents for her friends and I had MeiMei label them. One, two, three presents—all for her favorite nanny. Suddenly I had unreasoning jealousy. She must be some nanny, I thought. After a 2 ½ hour drive we found ourselves at a large, well maintained orphanage building. All the rooms were larger than those in my little condo at home and seemingly cleaner as well. A flock of children came running to greet MeiMei as a minor celebrity. She handed out my candy and my gifts, all the while ignoring me. I was clearly secondary to the entire event of the Returning Orphanage Star. I capitulated and fell into the role of paparazzo, camera at the ready, although the hardest photo of all to take was MeiMei and the nanny together—one dissolving into tears, the other trying not to. The watching children stared at me and my older daughter. Clearly I was persona non grata, there to remove their favorite friend. With effort I managed to smile and ask a few perfunctory questions. Then I hightailed it out of there, eager to start our new life away from all that was holding MeiMei back.

The days remaining in China passed quickly, and I was only too glad. We went home and I tried to ease the way. We would find Chinese speakers in stores and restaurants; I got their numbers and would call them when MeiMei seemed down. I enrolled her in a school with several Chinese-speaking children. I had MeiMei send letters in Chinese to friends back at the orphanage and she did so—but the letters were always about school, as though her new family simply existed as the school transport system and nothing more. For months my daughter and I found ourselves entertaining a house guest—one stubbornly refusing to speak English, eat what we ate, play as we liked to play, bathe when we liked to bathe, and recognize the possibilities of family.

It is hard to pinpoint where real change began. It may have been the major birthday party we threw her in November, complete with magician. It may have been the day, late that same month, when in a Helen Keller-like moment for me, she tried her first word—“juice” and I rewarded her. It may have been due to the undeniable physical delight of having her first ski lesson over Christmas, or being encouraged to call other kids from the orphanage to keep the ties going. It may have been my refusal to react when MeiMei was cold and rejecting. It could have been emerging patience that I wasn’t aware that I had. And finally, it may have been the Mandarin-speaking therapist who gently, carefully managed to explain, “when we love people we must tell them that we love them, or they will not know.” I only know that in early March, as I went to turn out the light, saying “Good night; I love you,” that I heard the same words spoken in return—freely and happily for the first time by the little girl in pigtails.

Today, as we approach April, there is still work to do. But MeiMei is the one who comes running into my arms every morning for her hug when I say, “I’m missing something.” She is the one who buries her head in my neck and kisses it at bedtime, insisting that I not leave. She is the one confidently trying English right and left, and the one who at last is not afraid to call me Mom. MeiMei is still learning who is the Big Boss and who has to take a second or third seat in the family. But at least she is finally in the game.

And as for those other American families we met in China who felt sorry for us—and as for the orphanage staff—they are not here to see our small miracle of change, but it no longer matters. Each child’s heart has its own timetable and its own path to follow—one to be watched, understood and respected. As former “kidnapper,” I am coming to terms with MeiMei’s ways of coping and steps towards acceptance. Both kidnapper and kidnapped are co-discovering and co-inventing family, and that’s what matters most now.

Emily's Story

Few stories garner the rage of the adoption community more than disrupting an adoption -- whether while still in China or after returning home. Many critics of such families are long on passion but short on experience. They lash out and attack families, proclaiming that "God meant this child to be with you," all the while failing to envision the pain and struggles the family is enduring in making their decision.

I hope that Emily's Story will help bring compassion and understanding to any future dialog regarding disruption, and that rather than being critical of others facing this terrible decision, we in the adoption community will be supportive, or at least silent.

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After “Sarah” (all names are fictitious) (age 13) was born, we adopted Katie (age 5) at 10 months from China. “Bethany” (age 4) joined us 2 years later at 19 months of age, again from China. Another year later, and we adopted “Emily” (age 7), again from China. Emily spent several years in an orphanage (which by all accounts was a “good” one, if there is such a thing), and then two years in a foster home. She experienced all forms of abuse and neglect during her seven years in China, but we didn’t know this until long after she arrived home. Her referral gave only glowing behavioral reports.

Our first two adoptions, while characterized by typical adjustment and attachment issues, had immensely positive outcomes and the girls integrated well into our family. Over the long haul, the insecurities that were initially present with Katie and Bethany have diminished with time, patience and parenting that promotes attachment.

After Katie and Bethany’s adoptions, we continued to feel that we would like to parent one more child through adoption. When we became aware of Emily last year, she had been overlooked many times with several different agencies due to a medical condition. After researching older-child adoption, reading attachment books, speaking with families who had adopted older children, and taking online courses, we decided that we had love in our hearts and room in our home for another child and that we would bring Emily home. In fact, from the online Yahoo groups, very little was ever shared about the struggles, adjustments and challenges of adopting older children who have lived for a very long time without love and consistency; the overwhelmingly positive older child adoption stories gave us a false sense of security that all would be well, even though the books we read and professionals with whom we spoke said otherwise. We have since learned that many, many families have stories similar to ours, but few are willing to be open and honest, because of the extreme flaming, judgment and criticism on public forums.

At that time, our biggest concern was her medical needs. While we expected emotional and attachment issues, we never dreamed the impact this decision would have on our entire family, or just how paramount attachment issues can be in an older child, particularly as they affect younger children in the home. We assumed our parenting experience, love in our home, and knowledge of adoption and attachment issues would be enough – how wrong we were.

Emily arrived home and we had a two-month “honeymoon” period with near-perfect behavior – too perfect, in fact. I cringe, when looking back on journal entries from China, about how happy she was, or how she was bonding so well. You don’t attach in 2 weeks while in China, but her initial behavior made it seem as though she was no different from any other child her age. Again, we were so wrong.

Nearly three months after bringing her home, it was as if someone flipped a switch. The rages began…three and four-hour daily rages characterized by a primal, guttural screaming from the depths of her soul, and by aggression -- kicking, hitting, biting, spitting, throwing objects, attempts to punch windows, glass, you name it. This was the beginning of a downward spiral over the next few months. We sought help from our pediatrician, psychiatrists and attachment therapists. We felt hopeful that seeing the therapist would equip us to help Emily heal while keeping our entire family intact.

As therapy progressed, so did Emily’s behaviors. We would address one issue and peel that “layer of the onion” away, only to discover two or three new layers. Ten months of our family’s life was filled with aggression, hostility, defiance, attacks on our youngest two children, sexually inappropriate behavior, self-harm, lying, and the list continues. Emily was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) and Oppositional Defiant Disorder. One characteristic of RAD is false, charming behavior in public. So at school or church, Emily seemed just lovely and delightful. A few friends couldn’t believe our stories, until they walked in on a rage and witnessed it firsthand, or observed video that we started taping to document the daily dramas. I vividly remember one Sunday when Emily had been kicking and spitting on her sisters in our van, all the way to church. She lunged at our son with a pair of scissors from a back pack, and yet, as soon as we pulled into the church parking lot, she smoothed her hair back, opened the van door and smiled pleasantly at the other families in the parking lot, greeting them as if she was so happy. We were stunned.

My husband and I have always felt strongly about commitment – commitment to a marriage, to our children. We have also been (and still are) passionate about adoption and helping children who have been wounded. But as our home life spiraled out of control, we started realizing there was something more at stake than just the life of one little girl: that the psychological and physical safety of our other children, namely the youngest two, was now in question. It was becoming increasingly evident that it would be close to impossible to provide Emily what she needed AND maintain a peaceful and safe home for everyone else.

Trying to manage the issues occurring in our home seemed, at times, hopeless. How do you hold a raging child for 3 or 4 hours while two preschoolers are running around, needing mommy, and sobbing in fear and lack of understanding over why their older sister is breaking things and trying to hurt mommy? How do you read stories, play with, and rock your preschoolers while a very ill 7-year-old roams the house, leaving a path of destruction, and hurting the other children repeatedly? How do you assure your children that home is a refuge, when life at home is filled with violent events that you would never allow your children to witness on television? How do you explain to a 4-year-old why big sister tried to choke her with a seat belt, pushed the 2-year-old down the stairs, or smeared urine and feces all over the bedroom? How do you explain to your other three children that our family is a safe place, when Mom and Dad are sporting bruises and scratches inflicted by the 7-year-old?

And so, as we sat in the therapist’s office, we asked her the question that I’m sure therapists and social workers hate to be asked. “If this were your family, what would you do?” After a pregnant pause that seemed to last an eternity, she responded by saying, “You are losing ground with the other three children faster than you are gaining it with Emily. I think you need to seriously consider all options and what is in the best interest of the entire family.”
We spent about a month on our knees before God, seeking direction, exploring the depths of our souls as parents, as Christians, as adoption advocates. We stripped away our selfish desires for a peaceful home and easier parenting roles, and we realized that while we were personally willing to sacrifice for Emily, our family dynamic did not lend itself to giving her what she needed to heal. We could not possibly give to her the amazing amount of time and attention that she requires and still give to the other three children what they need to feel safe and secure and to have a normal childhood. All medical professionals involved agreed that Emily needed to be in a home with no other young children, and that what she needed was parents who can devote to her 150% of their time, resources and attention to her. We could not do that, without sacrificing the well-being of the other three.

We were blessed to identify a family who was at a different stage in life, who has different home circumstances, and who can give Emily a shot at becoming a whole, healthy individual. We believe they can provide the most potential for her wounded heart to heal. After spending time in one another’s homes, Emily moved to their home a little over 9 months ago. While I wish I could say that she is doing significantly better, she is not, which confirms for me the decision we made. But I do know that if she has a shot at healing, it will be in her present circumstances. As for our other three children, they all have had to work through the trauma of Emily living here -- the youngest girls are still afraid, nearly a year later, of Emily coming back to “hurt them.”

For those who would crucify my husband and me for our decision, I wish they would take the time to envision a daily life filled with what I have described here, and then some. So much occurred in our home that wouldn’t be appropriate to even share on a public forum, since doing so would compromise the privacy of Emily and our other three kids. We have tried to be open with our story (not online, but in real life), so that we can hopefully provide support and encouragement to other families who struggle with severe post-adoption issues; they do exist, regardless of what the rosy reports on yahoo groups are!

And YES, we wholeheartedly believe in adoption, but realize more now than ever the need to get these babies out of orphanages and into homes long before they lose the capability to trust and love.

Empty Eyes

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Her eyes were so vacant, void of emotion. I had no idea what that meant, no idea why she showed no reaction to her surroundings. Was it her way of shutting out the pain and loss she may have endured? Was it a reaction to the neglect and deprivation she had experienced? Was it the months of crying with no response or was it something much deeper that had caused her lack of reaction to life?

Each day she would suck her fingers, flick her other hand and just stare. She was only 9 months when we adopted her. We were told that we were lucky and that she would have no affect from her life in the orphanage. We expected crying, possible rejection, anxiety. We were not prepared for a daughter who had no response to us, no reaction to the many new experiences she would have and did not cry to let her needs be known.

She was in a world far from where we were and one, which we would later learn, would take an enormous effort to pull her from.

Once home, we brought her to the doctor. He had no experience with any children who were adopted internationally and had little concept of post-institutionalized issues. He suggested that we give her time and that she would be just like all the other kids adopted from China “beautiful and smart”.

Frustrated, we sought a second opinion. We were told she had no muscle tone and had developmental and gross-motor delays and would most likely have some lifelong issues, however, he too said there was not much more we could do.

Life went on as best as it could. We continued to seek therapy for her and did everything we could think of that would help. Slowly she opened up and began to show another side of herself. She began to cry for what she wanted and I would respond. She woke nightly screaming and making sure I was close by. Once she had me, she would not let me go. Each night for many hours, she would scream in terror. Screams that I was not familiar with and nor could I relate to. I would hold her, rock her and once asleep I would place her back in her crib. Instantly she would awake and scream and the cycle would repeat.

Finally we began to sleep with her. She would wake nightly, crying and searching for us. She would crawl up onto me and sleep to make sure I was still there. This made her feel safe and I allowed her to feel as much security as I could give her.

Each day she healed a little more. Transforming into a new little spirit! She began to sit up, then crawl, then walk. She began to sleep through the night with us, waking with only a few nightmares. She gave up her daytime bottles and found joy in trying new foods and best of all she began to trust and understand what it felt like to be loved.

Her eyes began to reflect this newfound trust. Deprivation had robbed her of all the basic rights children are born with, the right to feel safe, to be comforted and most importantly, her right to be loved and feel loved.

She is not fully healed after almost 2 years of being home and we are not sure if she ever will be. She has been forever changed from the many months of neglect and lack of stimulation. She does not feel sensations in the way that we feel them. Her brain has failed to internalize life as most children know it and therefore she still needs extra sensory input to feel and process sensations.

Through this experience, she has been our biggest source of learning. We have learned to listen and watch for what she needs. We have learned to let go of everything we thought we knew and open to all things we did not understand. We now appreciate just how crucial love and security is. We no longer take this all for granted. We know now what lasting impact our behaviors have on others.

Her eyes are now usually lit with curiosity and laughter and a cute little naughty smirk. However once in a while that familiar glaze reappears and she retreats back into her safe world within. A protection from whatever it is she feels may be her threat. It is in those moments that we remember just how long and hard this journey must have been for her and still how far we have to travel as a family.

She has lost so much in her little life - Her birth family, her culture, and her homeland. I was prepared for these losses to be a part of our daily lives. I never expected her to lose trust in people and lose her ability to process properly due to lack of sensory input and neglect. These losses are ones we struggle to understand and find impossible to justify.

Leaving a Child in China

My husband and I had to leave behind a disabled child in China. This is what it was like for me. It’s not an account of hope or courage, only a piece about the emotional fallout.

Everyone assumes that we’ll visit her when we go back to China. Why wouldn’t they? They watched us spend 18 months putting together the paperwork for an adoption. They listened as we gushed with excitement over her match photo when it arrived. They know that we were so devastated by what we found in China that we cut off all contact for several days while we grieved. And they know that we send money (a lot of it) to the orphanage every year to help pay for her care.

The truth is that I’m afraid to see her.

My best friend understands, but for the wrong reasons. She adopted on the same trip we did and saw everything that happened. She has her own tragedy, having adopted a child with an unrecognized genetic syndrome that will require lifetime care. “I understand why you don’t want to see her,” she told me. “It was awful, the whole thing, and it took you a long time to come to terms with it. Why would you want to put yourself through that again?”

But I’m not afraid of what I’ll feel. I’m afraid that my face and voice will terrify her by awakening dim memories of the week she was taken from her foster family and delivered into our hands. I fear that memories of fever, being drugged for medical tests, and adults sobbing will echo up from our shared past.

Infertility is a hard wall to come up against, but there are even harder walls. The child who had been chosen for us was an eighteen-month-old toddler with profound motor problems and the neurological development of a six-month-old infant. We only learned that after crossing a continent and an ocean, after being the last breathless couple in the travel group to be handed our baby, after caring for her and completing the Chinese portion of her adoption. We learned it only because our seasoned agency rep kept suggesting (quietly but insistently) that we consider taking advantage of any medical testing we could before moving on to Guangzhou and the trip home.

I was angry for a long time, in ways I didn’t even know I could be angry. I was resentful with people who had told us that all orphanage kids had delays and that they’d catch up in no time. I was furious that her pre-adoption health report contained outright lies, listing skills that she is just now learning at 4 years old. I was incensed when I found out that the orphanage only had the resources to check on foster children once a month. I was livid when, upon our return to the United States, the Provincial government in China refused to allow us to find her a consulting specialist because it would involve sending copies of her medical records outside China. I was disgusted when the orphanage continued to contradict it’s own information in the quarterly updates we received. I was frustrated with the members of the adoption profession and prospective parents who didn’t want to us to speak very honestly or often about the experience we had (or any other issue that might challenge the state of future adoptions.) I was profoundly unhappy every time I read about one more couple that had the courage, youth, energy, love and resources to bring home a disabled child…because I didn’t.

Worst of all, I battled my husband because he didn’t grieve the same way I did, and resented my new daughter for being perfectly healthy, achingly beautiful and the object of everyone’s adoring attention. Every time she unwrapped a gift I felt like I was watching her unwrap something with another child’s name on it. Like a phantom, my first match child was with me for months. But she was invisible to everyone else. Since you couldn’t see her in family photos, I didn’t take any. I couldn’t hold her so I tried to make my 17 month old walk everywhere instead of riding on my hip like she wanted to. In my mind the healthy child was a usurper, taking something away from a child who needed it more than she did and but who would always have far less.

It took four months for my phantom baby to re-cross the ocean and go back to her orphanage. I remember staring at my reflection in the glass top of an end table one day and realizing that the child in my home hadn’t committed a crime by being healthy and beautiful. She had suffered a loss, no less than the rest of us. She deserved better than she was getting; after that day I worked harder to give it to her.

Deep wounds leave a scar. Here is one my daughter and I share, unbeknownst to her: sometimes I look at her, my perfect girl who is so lovely that hearing comments about her beauty has come to seem an everyday thing, and I wonder if that beauty is a consolation prize. Did the adoption office in her city look for the most attractive child they had available in hopes that the substitution would better appease the sad, angry American couple who had spent that last three days weeping openly in taxis, hospital halls and a civic office? In a country known to take great care in matching children and parents, is she my child because the information contained in her file made us compatible or because the photo clipped to the front promised perfection?

If I were still engaged in the need to blame, it would be hard to find a rightful doorstep at which to lay it. Our home study agency was well versed in international adoption and warned us of potential health risks, as did our large and experienced adoption agency. People who’ve met the orphanage director under better circumstances have said time and again that he is devoted to the children in his care and does the best he can with limited resources. Even then, her foster mother worked hard (as she does now) to provide loving and conscientious care. The type of brain damage she sustained often occurs during birth but I can’t find it in my head to follow the path back that far. It’s one set of people too many on a road that winds between adoption professionals, orphanage staff, the adoption community, the Chinese and American governments and my own family. I just had to let it go, all of it, every shred of blame.

I don’t believe in the red thread. I believe in the money that flows between our household and her caretakers. That’s our destiny together. Someday my daughter will have to figure out for herself how deeply this girl she’s never seen is woven into her adoption story. For now, there’s a picture on the refrigerator, and a name, and a story that begins (ironically) “Mommy and Daddy couldn’t take care of this baby…”

Seven Nights and Six Days

I appreciate Jackie Lantry for contributing this story about her son Jack. As I look through the thousands of faces in my research, the older children are the ones that haunt me the most.

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“I wondered if they were going to throw me away.” Zhou Jun was talking about his birth parents. At age 9 they took him to a train station in Urumqi, China, gave him a few cents and told him an uncle would pick him up at the next stop. “Did your mom seem sad when she put you on the train?” “No” he said, she just seemed normal.’ “What about your dad?” “No, he seemed normal too.” “Didn’t anyone question why you were traveling alone?” I asked. “No,” he said, “people were nice to me, some gave me food.”

“What happened when you got off the train?” “There were people everywhere,” he said. “Everyone was grown up, they all looked very busy, like they knew where they were going. I walked up and down the platform looking for my uncle. It was difficult. Everyone was so tall and I was short.” When he realized no one was going to meet him he tried to reboard the train. “If I could retrace my steps, perhaps I would find my parents.” He no longer had a ticket. The Conductor wouldn’t let him back on. When the other passengers realized he didn’t have a ticket, their attitudes toward him changed. They were no longer helpful, they were dismissive and scornful.

“At that moment I realized my intuition was correct, my parents had thrown me away. I was on my own now.” In one train ride he went from a person with standing in society, to a beggar child. Chinese society treats beggars with disdain.

Zhou Jun wandered around the station for hours. He was alone with hundreds of people, noises, and smells swirling around him. It got cold. It got dark. He slept on a bench. He ate out of garbage cans. “I cried for 7 nights and 6 days. After that, I never cried again.” With his childhood gone, he joined up with other abandoned kids. All of them were living on the streets, eating what others threw away and sleeping wherever they could. Occasionally the authorities would try to round up the street kids, but he always eluded capture. One day a man told him to go to the police station, that they would help him. Exhausted, nine year old Zhou Jun went with the man to the police station.

Children of all ages, rounded up from all parts of the city, were warehoused at the “children’s jail.” It was a dank, fetid place. What little he had to eat was horrible. There was a lot of work. Locked up at all times, a small dusty yard surrounded by fencing and wire was his only connection to the outside world. He used to stare at the rooftops and dream of being able to climb to freedom. There was talk of running away, but no real hope of actually doing so. The older kids would tell the younger ones “if you ever get out, you must run. Do not stop running until you are at the train station. Do not look back, only forward. Do not waste one second of possibility. It is so crowded at the train station you can easily get lost. No one will find you there.”

One day the bosses told a group of kids to move some old mattresses out to the street. Under heavy supervision the kids pushed and shoved the smelly, stained mattresses out. Back inside, Zhou Jun noticed the door. Someone had forgotten to lock it. His heart began to beat faster. He remembers sidelong glances between he and the other children. Suddenly a group of kids jumped up. Charging the door, they pushed it open and tumbled out onto the street. He remembers hearing kids yell (“run, run,”) and frantic screams (did someone get caught?) His mind was racing. Do not look back, do not look back, do not look back. He didn’t stop running until he got to the train station.

With no food, nowhere to sleep, no place to wash his face or go to the bathroom, life on the street was better than life in children’s jail. A station worker recognized him from before and took pity. Occasionally the worker took Zhou Jun home with him. He was able to sleep, eat, and play with the workers young son. Returning to the train station each morning, he would wander all day. Other workers would give him food. One day the man who befriended him told Zhou Jun that he must do something about his situation. He could not live forever between the streets and the train station. “Please, please do not take me to the children’s jail” Zhou Jun begged. The man was kind. He arranged for Zhou Jun to go to an orphanage.

No fingers. That was the first thing Zhou Jun noticed about the orphanage worker. He had no fingers. “Take off your belt” the worker said. Zhou Jun took it off. The man took the belt and with a powerful snap brought it down hard across Zhou Jun’s head. “You must understand who is in charge,” the worker said. It was October 14, 1997.

“On that day I was erased. I was given a new identity.” Zhou Jun was stripped of his ragged, filthy clothes. He was washed and clothed in hand me downs. All children at the orphanage are given the sir name of the orphanage director. Zhou Jun, homeless and unsure of his age or date of birth, officially became Wang Jun, age 9, birth date 10-14-88. His birth year was a guess. He had no idea what year he was actually born.

At first the orphanage was better than the street, but certainly not good. The older kids ran the show. You had to try to fit in and at the same time fly under the radar. Be there without being seen. Wang Jun was lucky, he learned quickly. He was able to stay out of the way and avoid trouble. For the first time in many months he had a bed, food and clothing. Each day had a routine. He got up, cleaned himself and his corner of the dorm room. He then went to a cafeteria and ate. He went to school. He came back to the orphanage after school and did homework and cleaning. After a simple dinner, he studied and then went to bed. In winter they got up extra early to shovel snow off the cities streets. Eventually, he became a group leader at the orphanage. He started a small business venture. Wang Jun organized the little kids into teams. Each team would scour the neighborhood for paper and cardboard, gather it up and bring it back to the orphanage. Working together they would tear it down, bundle it up and take it to a junkyard. They were paid by the pound. Money earned bought videos the kids could watch on the orphanage TV.

He remembers learning Chinese songs, poems, and cultural dances. Americans and other foreigners would come and watch him on perform on stage, watch him sing and dance. They would smile and clap their hands. They seemed happy to watch him. They liked his performances. Afterward, the foreigners would pick up babies and leave the orphanage. They took the babies to America, to grandparents, aunts and uncles, to brothers and sisters. They took them to schools and bedrooms and warm clean clothes. They took them home. Once gone, he would never see the babies again. I asked him if it bothered him to see others get adopted. “No, I knew they wanted babies, not older kids.” In China once you turn 14 you are taken out of the adoption queue-you are no longer eligible, you “age out.” Wang Jun was careening toward his fourteenth birthday.

The adoption agency sent out its spring newsletter. Spring being a season of hope, of all things being reborn. This newsletter focused on special needs kids. It featured pictures of kids waiting for “forever families.” Older kids are difficult to place, almost as difficult as kids with medical issues. They come with unknown amounts of baggage-some if it legitimate, some of it imagined by prospective parents.

We got the newsletter and were charmed by a couple kids. One, a little boy who was deaf, was so darling. Another, an older boy was perfect-no problems, just age as his special need. We decided to inquire about the little boy.

A few days went by before I got a phone call from the agency. “Sorry,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “The little boy you are interested in has been put on hold for another family. They have all their paperwork completed, so it’s pretty much a done deal.” I was disappointed but OK. We had experience with this, sometimes it just doesn’t work out. We knew it had been a long shot. I was just about to hang up the phone when I asked, “I know there’s probably no chance, but just for the heck of it, how about the older boy, I think his name is Wang Jun? I’m sure he got snapped up. He has no big problems, just his age. I bet he got put on hold quickly too.” I was preparing myself to listen once again to the “Sorry, he’s on hold too” speech. “Actually no one has come forward for him. We think his age frightens people.” My heart skipped a beat. “Really? Could you send me his information?” We got the information via overnight mail. After reading about him, it occurred to us that time was of the essence. We had a very short time to get all our paperwork in order and go get our son.

It was a typical September evening at the orphanage. Wang Jun had gone to school, done his studying and daily chores and was ready for bed. The kids in his dorm were in their beds waiting for lights out. A worker came to fetch him. “Come with me, the director needs to talk to you.” Wang Jun climbed out of bed, padded down the hallway and through the door. He stood in front of the director’s desk. “Wang Jun” he said, “in two weeks you will be adopted. You are going to live in America. You cannot tell the other children.” Wang Jun stood very still, he didn’t smile and he didn’t move a muscle. “I did not want the director to think I was not grateful. My heart was pounding. I was afraid the director could see it pounding inside my body.” Calmly Wang Jun said, “OK, Goodnight.” He turned and walked out of the room. Again he padded quietly down the hall, around the corner and through the door. He shut the door and glanced behind to see if anyone was watching. No one was there. Wang Jun jumped up and down while pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! Yes! He whispered urgently. He went into the dorm. He woke all the kids and told them the news.

It was September 16, 2002. Wang Jun, aka Zhou Jun walked into a room and saw a very tall man. The man reached down and put his arms gently around Wang Jun’s shoulders. “We’re going to call him Jack, if that’s O.K. with him” the man said. That night Jack and his father stayed in a hotel. Jack took a hot shower and ate in a restaurant. The next day they flew out of Urumqi. He is now Jack Stephen. He is now an American; he is now a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, and a grandchild.

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Jackie has provided the following response to several comments from readers:

Jack has adjusted very well. It was not without some difficulty, but I don’t think it was anything greater than one would expect under the circumstances. He had to be “taught” how to connect to a family in the beginning. He did not understand why we treated our younger children the way we did (the typical American fawning over little ones that we all do.) He felt we were spoiling them. He kept himself at arms length for a long time -- in fact, it took my sister (who observed from a distance) to notice that he was quite envious of the hugs and kisses we gave the little ones. She suggested we start hugging and kissing him -- despite his protests. It worked like a charm. He warmed up right away. There have been some difficult times and issues, but overall it has been a good match. He will start an intensive 2 year english language program in the fall and then he is off to college. It is odd to have a child for 5 or 6 years and them see them off into adulthood-but that’s my issue, not his.