Table for Two, For Just a Little While Longer

Many of you have noticed that it has been almost a week between blog posts.  While I would like to tell you that the delay in writing is due to the fact that we have been having too much fun to slow down, it is unfortunately the opposite case.  We have simply been too sad to write. 

Just five short days ago, we thought that everything was moving along according to plan.  We had spent a week with Katya having fun and being a family.  We went to the movies and a musical.  We took numerous trips to the market and tried lots of new restaurants.  We walked to several great parks, and we had a wonderful afternoon of swimming in the hotel pool.  On this last point, for those of you who have travelled to Ukraine, we must admit that we are living in the lap of luxury in Donetsk – the Donbass Palace Hotel.  The hotel is fantastic.  I can’t say enough great things about it, even though we chose it primarily for its internet connection (an essential for Stephanie due to many late night conference calls for work).

We have dozens of great photos with many beautiful smiles from Katya.  Each day she was with us, she seemed to come more out of her shell – trying new foods and learning new words in English. Unfortunately, Katya’s smiles turned to tears on Monday afternoon as she realized that the next morning we would go to court and her life would change forever.  As we were packing up last minute gifts for caretakers and friends, the reality became too difficult for her and she completely shut down.  There were no words, no eye contact, and no explanations – just silent tears.  We literally watched her retreat inside herself little by little.

We have always known that Katya was conflicted regarding adoption.  When we first hosted her in December 2009, we asked her about her interest in coming to America permanently.  We learned at that point that she loved Ukraine and felt a strong sense of obligation to stay here and ultimately care for her mother.  However, after returning to the orphanage, Katya began to express an interest in adoption, finally telling us that “yes, I want to come”.  Expressing this to her orphanage director last week was not difficult.  Writing the all-important letter attesting to her desire to join our family was also easy.  But a court, with a judge – now that is reality.

We will never know Katya’s deepest fears because she can’t yet express them.  All we know is that from the minute we showed up at the courthouse on Tuesday morning, her tears returned, and she refused to speak.  The judge was so nice.  He saw how upset she was and took a five-minute recess to let her compose herself.  But there was no turning back.  She never stopped crying.  She never said “no”, but she certainly didn’t say yes.  She simply didn’t say anything at all.  The judge granted us a two-day extension so she could think more, and we took Katya back to the orphanage.  As we were leaving, I caught the faintest glimpse of a smile – the first I had seen in many, many hours. In her mind, she really was home.

The next 48 hours were excruciating.  We tried to occupy ourselves, but our thoughts and our conversations always travelled back to Katya.  We needed to know what she was thinking and, if her answer was “no”, we needed a say a proper good-bye.  We met with her yesterday morning at the orphanage.  She didn’t even look like herself, with her hair braided up in a different style by a friend.  She rarely made eye contact with us and her hugs were perfunctory.  We asked her again if she wanted to be adopted.  Again, she couldn’t bring herself to say “no”, but her body language was definitely not a yes.  We realized that despite the tremendous love that we have for her, Katya is simply not meant to be our daughter.  We told her then that we loved her, that she would always have a special place in our hearts, and that we would always be there if she needed help.  We told her that we cherished the special memories that we had all made together, and we wanted her to remember our happy times and not the tears of today.  And then we each hugged her one last time.  Watching her walk down the long hallway back to her room was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do. 

As I am writing this many hours later, I had thought the tears had finally ceased, but they haven’t.  I know in my heart that as this door closes another will open.   I know that there are so many children who need love, just as we do. I believe that our family will grow soon.  But, I guess for just a little while longer, we have to be content with our table for two.