Every Saturday and Sunday morning just after we wake up, my son and I play "Russia”. Playing Russia involves me telling my son the story of the first time I laid eyes on him in an orphanage in Ivanovo, about four and a half hours northeast of Moscow and how, three months later, he became my son and we became a family.
There are some terrifying moments along the roughly one year road to adoption. And international adoptions add a certain “je ne sais quoi” frisson to the whole process. I spent that whole year a little out of step with my heart beat: best behaviour so the social worker would write a good home study; fingers crossed that Ontario approved me as a prospective adoptive parent; toes crossed that I would be granted permission to bring a child from another country to live in Canada. And what of my finances?
Then there was the whole “Russian” element to deal with. I don’t speak the language. And my knowledge of the country and its government was sketchy. Was everything above board? Would the KGB be watching me? Was the health report I got about a prospective child worth the paper it was written on? And would I be able to bear a separation from my child while the process crawled along?
With many international adoptions these days, you visit a child, get to know him, state you want to adopt, and then have to come home without the child while you await a court date. For me it was a three month wait. Three months in which to worry about the child that as far as I was concerned was now my son. I will never forget the day when I called friends that I had met through the adoption process and who were in Ivanovo adopting their daughter from the same orphanage that day. I called to congratulate them, but also hoped to hear about the laughing little boy I was waiting to go and claim and about whom I had heard nothing in just over two months.
Their hesitancy on the phone made my heart stop, and the adoption coordinator confirmed my fears when she took over the phone and told me my son was very, very sick and was in isolation. And there was absolutely nothing, nada, zilch, zip I could do about it – except cry and pray, both of which I did for the next week until it was confirmed he was out of danger.
And now we’ve just celebrated our third Family Day together – the anniversary of adoption day. He’s still enthralled by the story of when Mummy came to meet her little boy. It’s a very happy little story filled with long car journeys, building towers from blocks, sitting on his very own potty and receiving his first stuffed toy, the now very grey looking chick “Cheep”. One day, mummy will be able to share her behind the scenes fears, but for now I’m just thankful that he’s here, he’s mine and he’s healthy.
This touching story was contributed by Jo, an urbanmoms.ca member and mother to 4 year old, Alexei, pictured above.
Hi Nicole. Yes, I was single too but found that support came from many people in many forms. I’d be happy to talk all you want. Email me at jlangham@apexpr.com.
Thanks, Jo. I am thinking about international adoption but as a single woman in her mid-40s I am not sure I can handle it all on my own. Do you know of anyone who went through this journey solo? I couldn’t tell by your article if you have a partner.
Congratulations Jo and thanks for your beautiful story! I was adopted as a toddler and still love to hear the story of where I came from. I also love to hear how wonderful it was to be “chosen”. However, I often feel sad thinking about all of the other children who didn’t have the opportunities I did, especially now that I have my own kids. You and Alexei are lucky to have found each other!