About six months ago I had contemplated sitting down to pen a
(long over due) blog update that would reflect on our first six months as a new
family of 3. I asked Jen what came to
mind and what would she might want to include in this update. Here was her response:
“And they lived happily ever after”.
Now, admittedly this came with a bit of tongue and cheek, but sitting down now with our one year mark fast approaching her words have come to feel that much more compelling.
One year! It is hard to believe. I often hear this sentiment in the context of a new born, but I can’t believe how fast time has moved (and is moving). I also can’t believe how much Sash has grown over these past few months, both literally and figuratively. That little boy who bounced through the orphanage doors with that nervous smile, and who could fit right under Jen’s chin? Now he is standing past mine.
“And they lived happily ever after”.
Now, admittedly this came with a bit of tongue and cheek, but sitting down now with our one year mark fast approaching her words have come to feel that much more compelling.
One year! It is hard to believe. I often hear this sentiment in the context of a new born, but I can’t believe how fast time has moved (and is moving). I also can’t believe how much Sash has grown over these past few months, both literally and figuratively. That little boy who bounced through the orphanage doors with that nervous smile, and who could fit right under Jen’s chin? Now he is standing past mine.
These last few days I have found my mind wandering back to the streets of
Krakow, Poland. For those who followed our blog throughout the physical journey
a year ago, you might recognize these streets as marking the final leg of my
journey home (I left two weeks before Jen and Sasha to return to work and get
things prepared).
Following an overnight trip over the border to Poland, and a long day visiting Auswitzch and Schindler’s Factory, I had just said a difficult goodbye to my wife whom I was now leaving behind to return to Izmail and bring home our son on her own. She likely will never know this, but this was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. All I remember is that everything was a blur. I was emotionally and physically exhausted and yet unable to sleep even after being up for more than 24 hours. With Jen racing back to the Ukrainian border I now had to settle in to a train station bench (a symbol of my frugality) to await my final trip to the Warsaw airport the next morning.
Unfortunately for me the Krakow train station is located at the back end of their central mall. Security guards patrol this shared space and apparently frown on having patrons using the benches as beds. For every time that I started to nod off I would wake up abruptly to a wooden stick knocking loudly on the bench (or locker, or wall… pretty much wherever I tried to move to find a few hours of much needed shut eye). Eventually I gave up and decided to make my way back to the only other place I knew in this foreign city… the Old Town Square.
For those who are familiar with Krakow, the Old City (Rynok Glowny) that sits at its center is a wonderfully preserved (13th century) medieval aged district that is still sectioned off by pieces of the old fortress walls. To get to the famous square you pass through a gate before finding yourself immersed in a sort of fairy tale image of days gone by. Patrons fill the cafes, restaurants and bars while artists mingle about on the spacious cobblestone plaza. Music plays from every direction, carrying past you and then lifting up in to the open air. From the middle of the plaza one can sit by a series of fountains and simply gaze up at the wide-open sky or wonder at the massive medieval style buildings that greet you at every corner of the square.
From this vantage point your eyes wil eventually settle on the gothic towers of St. Mary’s Basilica, a momentous piece of architecture that literally and figuratively towers above everything else as it points straight to the heavens. For careful eyes, if you look upwards enough you can spot a shadowy figure standing motionless near the top of the tower. Every hour this figure raises a trumpet and plays a song from this ominous perch that simply stops you in your tracks. I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It immerses and overtakes every part of this square. It is something magical to experience, and as I sat there under the stars with my back against one of the fountains and my soul being enveloped by the sound of this trumpet, the events of the entire past few months and the past few years came flooding back with a series of overwhelming feelings and emotions, confirming a conviction that life as we knew it was about to change forever… this was the beginning of our Happily ever after.
Entering through the massive fortress gate and in to the presence of the old court yard where a castle looms to your left and the cathedral tower dominates your view to the right, you actually feel like you have entered a fairy tale. It left me feeling like this story, the story of our adoption where three lives would eventually come together to form a family, is so much bigger than me. There is a verse in Ephesians that talks about how God has named every family on earth, a verse that anticipates the movement of uniting a people from every corner of the earth. This captures the vision that I felt in this moment. A dream that was years in the making has become a reality. We have a son. Our son will be coming home. The work that had started two years before was now coming to fruition. And yet in this all, and perhaps more importantly, I had this distinct feeling that the real journey was just now beginning, that this happily ever after was simply a moment before the turning of the next page.
The adoption process is a bitter sweet process in which emotions run high, feelings rarely have time to be truly processed or dealt with in the moment, and yet remains enveloped in a surreal sense of joy that pushes through all of these obstacles to form the strength that you need to get through it. This is a strength you don’t realize is there until you collapse on that bench so many miles away from familiar surroundings and craving anyone who can speak even a fraction of English. I can only imagine what Sasha was in store for in coming to Canada and having to adjust permanently to his own foreign environment. To this end I could now emphathize.
As we approach the one year mark as a family of 3, the whole adoption experience (or the process of it anyways) has come flooding back. The onslaught of emotions that came with collapsing on the Krakow bench has had a full year to sit and formulate. These past few days brings up a new memory of where we were standing only a year ago. Booking our tickets. Setting foot on Ukrainian soil for the first time. As I write this I can picture the two of us going for an adventure and getting lost on the streets of Kiev with a determined intention on finding the toilet museum (we found it, and then were promptly in need of a washroom). Our appointment date is now two days away, which means we are three days away from meeting our son for the first time (which means re-living one of many sleepless night and that terrible road leading up to Izmail).
Following an overnight trip over the border to Poland, and a long day visiting Auswitzch and Schindler’s Factory, I had just said a difficult goodbye to my wife whom I was now leaving behind to return to Izmail and bring home our son on her own. She likely will never know this, but this was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. All I remember is that everything was a blur. I was emotionally and physically exhausted and yet unable to sleep even after being up for more than 24 hours. With Jen racing back to the Ukrainian border I now had to settle in to a train station bench (a symbol of my frugality) to await my final trip to the Warsaw airport the next morning.
Unfortunately for me the Krakow train station is located at the back end of their central mall. Security guards patrol this shared space and apparently frown on having patrons using the benches as beds. For every time that I started to nod off I would wake up abruptly to a wooden stick knocking loudly on the bench (or locker, or wall… pretty much wherever I tried to move to find a few hours of much needed shut eye). Eventually I gave up and decided to make my way back to the only other place I knew in this foreign city… the Old Town Square.
For those who are familiar with Krakow, the Old City (Rynok Glowny) that sits at its center is a wonderfully preserved (13th century) medieval aged district that is still sectioned off by pieces of the old fortress walls. To get to the famous square you pass through a gate before finding yourself immersed in a sort of fairy tale image of days gone by. Patrons fill the cafes, restaurants and bars while artists mingle about on the spacious cobblestone plaza. Music plays from every direction, carrying past you and then lifting up in to the open air. From the middle of the plaza one can sit by a series of fountains and simply gaze up at the wide-open sky or wonder at the massive medieval style buildings that greet you at every corner of the square.
From this vantage point your eyes wil eventually settle on the gothic towers of St. Mary’s Basilica, a momentous piece of architecture that literally and figuratively towers above everything else as it points straight to the heavens. For careful eyes, if you look upwards enough you can spot a shadowy figure standing motionless near the top of the tower. Every hour this figure raises a trumpet and plays a song from this ominous perch that simply stops you in your tracks. I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It immerses and overtakes every part of this square. It is something magical to experience, and as I sat there under the stars with my back against one of the fountains and my soul being enveloped by the sound of this trumpet, the events of the entire past few months and the past few years came flooding back with a series of overwhelming feelings and emotions, confirming a conviction that life as we knew it was about to change forever… this was the beginning of our Happily ever after.
Entering through the massive fortress gate and in to the presence of the old court yard where a castle looms to your left and the cathedral tower dominates your view to the right, you actually feel like you have entered a fairy tale. It left me feeling like this story, the story of our adoption where three lives would eventually come together to form a family, is so much bigger than me. There is a verse in Ephesians that talks about how God has named every family on earth, a verse that anticipates the movement of uniting a people from every corner of the earth. This captures the vision that I felt in this moment. A dream that was years in the making has become a reality. We have a son. Our son will be coming home. The work that had started two years before was now coming to fruition. And yet in this all, and perhaps more importantly, I had this distinct feeling that the real journey was just now beginning, that this happily ever after was simply a moment before the turning of the next page.
The adoption process is a bitter sweet process in which emotions run high, feelings rarely have time to be truly processed or dealt with in the moment, and yet remains enveloped in a surreal sense of joy that pushes through all of these obstacles to form the strength that you need to get through it. This is a strength you don’t realize is there until you collapse on that bench so many miles away from familiar surroundings and craving anyone who can speak even a fraction of English. I can only imagine what Sasha was in store for in coming to Canada and having to adjust permanently to his own foreign environment. To this end I could now emphathize.
As we approach the one year mark as a family of 3, the whole adoption experience (or the process of it anyways) has come flooding back. The onslaught of emotions that came with collapsing on the Krakow bench has had a full year to sit and formulate. These past few days brings up a new memory of where we were standing only a year ago. Booking our tickets. Setting foot on Ukrainian soil for the first time. As I write this I can picture the two of us going for an adventure and getting lost on the streets of Kiev with a determined intention on finding the toilet museum (we found it, and then were promptly in need of a washroom). Our appointment date is now two days away, which means we are three days away from meeting our son for the first time (which means re-living one of many sleepless night and that terrible road leading up to Izmail).
Sitting in the middle of Krakow in the Old City Square I had began to imagine my hopes and dreams for the coming year. Creating new traditions around a mix of Canadian and Ukrainian holidays and meals. Coming up with creative outings and planning future family trips. Introducing Sasha to our brand of Winnipeg football...
Not far removed from these dreams were those deep-set fears. What kind of family would we be? What kind of father would I be? Could I even be a father? How would Sash connect with our two pups? How would we function financially, spiritually, emotionally when things settled in with his new home and our new family? How would Sash cope? Would he survive the transition? What would the addition of Sasha mean for our extended families? Our issues of depression and anxiety are well documented on this blog, and as a new parent it was a scary thing to begin to think of the role these struggles would have on the idea of parenthood. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that the fairy tale experience of that old square was quickly filtered with more than a bit of (healthy?) fear and trembling.
It is easy to get lost in the fairy tale atmosphere of the Krakow square. It is equally easy to get lost in the fairy tale notions of adoption. Sitting in that old square with the sound of that trumpet flowing over and through me… I could have stayed in that moment forever. Yet the sun would come up, and the time would come for me to catch that train and continue the journey home. The time would come for the highly charged emotions of the adoption process to settle in to a comfortable routine and, yes, even the mundane where the romantic notions meet up with a stubborn boy who shuts down around any given corner, subtle attachment issues, post trauma issues, fights over parenting styles, choices and methods, the energy required to keep up with parenting responsibilities. These are the parts of the story that fairy tales often manage to overlook.
I cherish that final night in the Old Krakow Square for what it taught me about living in the moment, a memory that encourages me to keep pushing to see the magic in the routine and to not lose sight of those incredible spontaneous moments that can catch us off guard. We came home with a 12 year old who still lives in the mindset of a 9 or 10 year old child (at least on this side of the ocean). This is a wonderful thing that I hope he never loses. Growing up is overrated, as I always say. He is experiencing everything for the first time. I can’t count the times when teachers, camp counselors, friends and family have remarked about the wonderful energy and excitement that Sasha brings to the activities he has been involved with. They remark about this energy with a sparkle in their eye that suggests he has ignited something long lost inside of them about their own child hood. He leads the way for others in jumping in with both feet. Indeed, he sees things with a fresh perspective that others his age have long since lost.
Having his own room was a source of wonder and pride. Having collections of remote cars or pokemon cards is a source of enchantment. Riding a go-cart is the thrill of a lifetime. Participating in his first week of summer camp is an opportunity to be cherished. He gives himself to every activity that he engages in with a sort of infectious excitement that reminds me of what I sometimes forget. There is his first hockey game, his first time on skates and toboggans, his first time on a waterslide. We have watched him learning his first English phrases, and together have celebrated our first mothers day, our first fathers day, and have generally been figuring out on the fly what it means to be first time parents. The wonder of adopting across cultures from an orphanage is that it provides you with the vantage point of catching up on some of the spirit of those younger years that we missed out on. As the year moves forward we are seeing some of this slip away as he matures and is shoved in to puberty
Sash: “Guess what, I met a friend at camp. Her name is
Emily, and she is soooooo cute…”
Us: “That’s nice Sasha... wait, what did you just say!?”
Us: “That’s nice Sasha... wait, what did you just say!?”
Happily ever after… until dating comes in to the picture.
As our first “Gotcha Day” (the day that he became officially and legally ours) quickly approaches it remains a surreal feeling to consider that a year ago today Jen and I took our first steps on to Ukrainian soil, the official start of our journey in meeting our new son Sasha. I often say that it is crazy how much things can change in a year. Yet at the same time it feels as if nothing has changed at all. We continue to feel privileged, but honestly it is as if this is how life has always been. It is hard to remember life without Sash wreaking (wonderful) havoc on our house and lives, and without question we wouldn't change a thing. As Sash will continue to grow and mature in to the 14 year old teenager that will greet us on September 12th of this year, my hopes and dreams will continue to be centred on the new opportunities this affords us in the coming year. Routine is about to become much more common place as Jen returns to work and the school schedule resumes for all three of us. However, if this past year has taught me anything, it is that no matter where this journey takes us we must keep our eyes open. While growing up is optional, aging pushes forward. Even as that 40th birthday looms over my head (which I am honestly quite distraught and afraid for) Sasha keeps me young. He has reminded me over this past year that I never need to lose sight of that childhood magic that can make even the mundane feel like a fairy tale experience. A magic that make the routine feel like that old Krakow square.
Happily ever after begins with finding that fairy tale vision in the moments of today, no matter how challenging or mundane, no matter how ordinary things feel and become. And happily ever after is about finding the hope that will wake us up tomorrow with a new found encouragement to embrace the possibilities of those fleeting moments that are still yet to come. The kind that can stop us in our tracks if we stop and take notice. The journey continues, and I can’t wait to see what is around the corner in year two. An interest in wood-working and a talent for mechanics have met with a love for the sport of basketball (he went to basketball camp this summer). He also continues to demonstrate an interest in drawing and water sports (I guess we need to book a trip to the Dells)… and of course a LARGE interest in t.v., for which he has declared his future plans to be a professional t.v. watcher. He is already excited to relive last years Halloween (you mean I get to walk around to houses and they will give me free candy… AGAIN!!) and Christmas (I have successfully done my job as a parent). Now if that citizenship can come through we hope to compliment his dedication and love of basketball (he will be playing basketball again) with a trip to see the Timberwolves. It is my hope to bring his excitement of Christmas up a notch as well with a train trip to the Christmas Hotel in Nashville (and a stop over in the town of Santa Claus along the way). But a father can only dream.
