Today I should be blogging about the unique Shabbat experience we have had in Utah. Today I should be writing a scheduled post about Yom HaShoah. Today I should be working on my new informational site about Judaism. Today I should be hanging out in the beautiful home of Kevin's mom, trying to learn some Armenian.
Instead, I am sitting in a corner, updating my blog about the chaos one adoptive parent's choice caused in my family's life.
As most people reading this have alreay heard, an adoptive "mother" put the boy she adopted from Russia just this past September on a plane and sent him back to Russia. Consequences -- I might add that I believe not only this one case led to them, but a series of events in the last several years -- include Russia halting all adoptions to the United States. I shall not write about the general reaction I had to the news. Others have done a much better job than I would have.
There are families and children who are now hurt over this, being separated, not knowing what will happen.
But it also hits home. It hurts my child.
By the time P came to live with us, we were deeply involved in an international adoption. While I would have liked a longer period for P to be the new kid in the family and cocoon some more, it wasn't meant to happen -- much like in the case of Craig, who arrived a short three months before the twins' birth. Because of the once again unique situation we found ourselves in, we had to plan a summer activity for the boys that they could do without being with us constantly. As Craig and the twins were going to go to camp in Hungary for the better part of July, we, as a family, decided that P will join them and after the Jewish camp they will go to an arts camp in the city where P used to live, and where his friends and family unit siblings will also attend. The logistics were going to work the following way: I'd take the four boys to London, where my brother would take over and take them to Budapest the next day while I'd fly on to LA.
Can you see the point that caused a huge melt down for P?
"If I don't behave well, will you just send me back? Will you not pick me up?"
I think this act of an adult has elevated disruption trauma to a whole new level. What had been something to look forward to now became something to be worried about. Something as simple as going away for camp with brothers and cousins is now a scary thought. I'm afraid that P would stress through the actual camp, so it might be time to change our plans once again.