Today, Rose is working on a scrapbook, carefully placing her pictures from China. Her tears are turning to smiles.
We’ve been seeing more grief from Rose the past few days. It’s hard. And the hardest part is knowing there is no way I can fix it–and as a parent I want nothing more than to protect my child from her pain and sadness.
And yet, perhaps, one of the bigger mistakes we make as adoptive parents is trying to “fix” our adopted child’s grief–to deny it, to cover it up, to take our child’s mind off it, to minimize it, to distance them from it.
Instead, we need to allow our child to experience it, and to find a way to live with it. That is easier said than done.
Last year, an adoptive parent sent me an e-mail asking when her son would quit feeling grief. She felt sad and personally responsible. She said that she was giving him a life full of love, laughter, happiness, good food, an amazing education, and even Disney vacations. And yet, there were times he still cried for the orphanage he had left behind. She couldn’t understand how he would miss an orphanage that was dirty, overcrowded, lacking food and toys.
To answer her question, I think we need to imagine ourselves in a similar situation. Pretend we suddenly became movie stars and were whisked off to a beautiful castle in another world, complete with a personal trainer and chef! We had maids, butlers, a race car, entertainment, horses, doting fans, and even big screen TVs in the bathroom (with continual reruns of Oprah and Grey’s Anatomy)! We were even given a new, perfect family.
How would we feel? Would we become homesick? Would we miss our loved ones?
Some parents might argue that their child didn’t leave loved ones behind, didn’t have a family, didn’t have anyone who loved them–and in addition, their child experienced abuse and neglect. I would gently suggest that even in families (and orphanages) where children have experienced abuse, they still have love for their parents (or caretakers). Children who are taken into protective custody in the US still cry for their abusive parents at night, because along with the bad memories there are good ones.
And even in a “bad” orphanage, there was almost certainly someone that our child felt connected to. It may have not even been an adult, it may have been another child.
Our kids miss their previous caregivers, friends, familiar surroundings, language, foods, and culture. And they always will.
It isn’t our job to help them forget, but to allow them to remember and to support them through those memories. To help them heal from the bad ones and hold on to the good. To validate their feelings, yet keep them moving forward into their new lives, filled with an abundance of life and love.
Not to replace what they left behind but to build on it.
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Ann Henderson currently finds herself wife to one and mom of nine, including a son now playing non-stop baseball in heaven. Several of her children are adopted
(which I *highly* recommend to anyone interested in adopting a black or biracial child, or is related to one, or is a teacher, or social worker, or just someone who likes a good read), so I am well aware of the importance of doing Hannah and Olivia”s hair. Out of respect for them, I do their hair (as well as I am able, again, I am still learning) far more than I do my own. Sometimes I get . . . impatient. Annoyed and frustrated are not the words I want to use, so it”s more like an impatient feeling, kind of like, “Dang, I don”t even have time to do my hair, much less my 2 year old”s hair!” But, I make time because I don”t want to embarrass my girls when they look back at their pictures. Sure, embarrassment is not the worst thing in the world, but I want them to look back and see that I made the time and effort to help them embrace who they are.
by Russell Moore, adoption is identity. It tells us who we are in the Lord.