Initially I thought to comment, Well that went fast, when I realized it was time to recap the year that just started five minutes ago. But then as the past year came into better focus, I knew that the quickness of its passage was less about its days and moments, and more about the fact that the years--they are really moving. I love growing, I love getting older, I love my grey hairs and tiny little wrinkles left from smiling, I love change. Bring it, 2012.
But first, for the short and sweet in the record book, allow me to recap 2011.
We began the year as we always do, on a ladder with paint brush in hand. (Myself, that is. Not my kids.) My kids were elbow deep in homeschool, and in a bin of dry rice and beans at the time, and we were eight months into our wait for our baby to be referred to us, from Africa.
This was a path that I somehow knew I would walk, at least in the years after I became a mom, though I never could have predicted our story thus far to present as it does in this moment. While waiting for our referral, we began learning of so much corruption surrounding the situation in that particular country, and eventually we made what felt like the only ethical choice to make, given the circumstances, and we brought our paperwork back home. I know with certainty that even now, had we stayed the course in spite of our concerns, we still would not have had our baby home today, and if we felt waist-deep in a terrible situation at the beginning of the year, without going into detail, we would have been up to our eyeballs by now. Even our own agency, who we once had so much faith in, has not emerged with clean hands, and it leaves me feeling just sick for the babies and children who are involuntarily growing up in the center of this cold and dirty hurricane. In this way the world appears uglier than ever to me, having joined the scene ready to help a child or children as we could, and then having witnessed such an unfolding. It left me feeling hopeless for the kids at the center, and so very sorry for the well-intentioned adoptive and birth families caught in the swirling periphery.
I am sorry to say that I came away from this once-exciting time to experience a grief I hadn't known before- a miscarriage of sorts, only for which there are no pre-determined parameters for how one should expect to feel after spending the better part of two years preparing for and dreaming about this very real baby that would join our family, only to walk away with empty arms. Adoption is not just a thing that people decide to get into, but something we get into with our whole hearts and with our kids and families and friends and finances. We create space in our homes and excitedly count down until this little person who already feels like one of us, comes along to finally be one of us. The process, then, of giving away the toys I had saved, the blankets and clothing I had collected and telling each and every person of our turn of events left me mournful and exhausted. The winter went long, and it felt dark and sometimes lonely.
I journaled a lot through that time, and searched to find the silver lining day after day, because it was the best of my options. And I opened myself up to the possibility that I could somehow come out of this experience with greater breadth, and build something from all the little pieces.
By the grace of God, I met a friend of a friend very soon after that, who somehow got me instantly, right where I was, and sat with me in the space where I chose to work through our adoption into its roots. My sadness for everything that had ever failed was palpable, then. I saw all of that emotion and heartache, some of which I had carried with me since I was my own little kid, and I picked it apart and allowed it to become something new when it was ready. I had grown into a better mother for all I had learned, and a better self for what I now understood. The process, the preparation, the loss and the disaster we witnessed was what we simply had to endure for all that could come out of it and still is yet to come.
And just like that, Spring arrived.
We were okay. We were all okay. We were built for these sorts of deep life lessons-- a whole Master's Degree, really, on what fear and disappointment and love are all about. How thankful I am to have come through all of this with a heart open to possibility, though it was no picnic at the time.
It was Mother's Day before I knew it and I was the mom of three amazing little kids, and we spent the morning on a hike, and laying in green grass, absorbing the sunshine. I will never forget that Sunday morning, because I think it was one of the most perfect, ever, in my book. I hired our wonderful babysitter for a few hours a week, beginning last Spring, to give me the occasional break that I didn't know I could (should!) grant myself and my kids. I became more familiar with poetry and bounced along on positive, super-fun music. We had kitchen dance parties in the afternoon and at night, just the kids and I, or the kids and I and Kevin and Sant and Leslie-- all through the house with the music blasting.
I threw caution to the wind and painted on all sorts of canvases, and put hardwood floors in our house and painted a few walls more.
We plastered art all over our walls, and we didn't apologize for the mess.
We hiked,
and we drove,
and we celebrated.
I felt that I should meet my inner perfectionist, somewhere in all that, and shake her up a little bit. The world was not perfect, and I was not perfect. The world was ugly and messy and dissapointing, and I needed to stare into all of that to understand that it was somehow part of something beautiful. And so with each opportunity, to this very moment, I am asking myself what I can do with the beautiful messiness, and who will still love and accept me should they walk right into it with me.
And the answer, of course, is this little, solid group of friends and family whom I have intentionally placed around myself, like a group of fluffy pillows to pad my falls. I am blessed. Not lucky, as I tossed out there in my last post. I believe, actually, in neither luck, nor coincidence, nor accidents. I am here and happy and more whole than ever because I chose to experience awe and gratitude, again and again, for all of the blessings that come my way. I am following my intuition as best I can, always chasing truth and what is real, and facing the hard work as it shows up, so that I can continue growing into the best version of myself-- all of those failings, and all of that messiness included. There is more work to be done.
I added to my inky collection last summer, the word that hums through the undertones of my life, and five little birds in flight, for the five of us- Kevin and the kids and I, making this journey together.
We traveled a good deal this year, down to Indianapolis to spend some days with these little buddies of ours while their Mama delivered their new baby,
and with these buddies of ours (also speaking of new, third babies) to Wisconsin Dells for a fun vacation.
We did the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee this year with family,
in a mountainside cabin with a view and a settling energy I will never forget,
and we found ourselves floating down a river in bright yellow innertubes.
Kevin and I took a trip to Vegas for our eleventh wedding anniversary,
and we experienced Utah and Arizona, where we hiked through quiet and still, rocky caverns.
I collected twenty-three pages of favorite quotes this year,
and finally figured out a layout and an atmosphere that is comfortable to me, here.
We saw the Dalai Lama speak in person over the summer, and I attended a fantastic monthly Buddhist meditation class. Each Kevin and I did something we said we would never do again, and spent the last six months settling into churches we both love, each of us supporting the other with where we need to be. We've gotten involved with a monthly soup kitchen, and we've met more new friends who have turned out to be icing on the cake.
We've created bonds with our homeschool buddies and taken lots of day-trips. I bought an iPhone, I conquered every version of Angry Birds, I took the kids to see lots of plays and musicals this year.
Kevin and I saw U2, which was hands-down, the best concert ever (even if I failed to bring my real camera).
I read this year. I read and read and read and read,
and it was one journey inward (and backwards and forwards) after the next.
We said good-bye to friends, both very real friends and quasi-real,
and we watched quietly the sun set,
the silkworm dangle,
and the Autumn breeze blow.
We hosted the holidays again,
and counted ourselves so blessed for full tables and full bellies.
We enjoyed the glow,
remain present,
and bring nothing but hope, bravery, possibility and love to the year ahead.
