A Year Ago Today...

J and I were in a cramped Russian courtroom petitioning to formally adopt Viktor, now Matthias.  It was decided that I would represent myself and J as a couple, so I stood before a hopeful panel and a phlegmatic judge, knees knocking, taking deep breaths to calm myself and steady my voice.  I recited (in what I hope was a placid manner) the reasons J and I wished to adopt and answered all questions asked of me.  After listening to all I had to say, the imperturbable judge excused herself from the courtroom.  J and I sat on our uncomfortably upright bench holding hands and awaited judgement.  Our translator comforted our skittish minds saying that I had done well. Waiting for the judge's return, the raging waters of emotion that I had dammed during my recitation, began to find their way through the cracks of my resolve; I wondered if I had said the right things, if the judge would think four children too many for one family, if our year of filling out an inane amount of paperwork and submitting to invasive exams (both physical and mental) would come to nought.  

When the judge returned, her countenance betrayed nothing, but I recall with perfect clarity the relief that washed over me when she formally declared that J and I were granted custody of Matty. At that moment, a wash of happiness (not unlike that I experienced after childbirth) flooded me and I was overcome.  

A year later, I often recall my feelings at that moment in order to combat the difficulties that have since ensued.  J and I prayerfully and carefully considered adoption for three years before beginning our journey to Matty.  During the ten month period preceding the adoption, J and I scoured websites and on-line adoptive communities for information regarding the integration of an older child into a sibling group, spoke to adoptive parents, and read droves of books to prepare for our son.  With a year under my belt, I can say that nothing fully prepares one to fully coalesce a toddler into a tight-knit family group.  I'm now conscious of how misguided my thinking at the time was concerning Matty's integration; after all, the copious number of pregnancy and motherhood books I'd read while expecting the birth of my biological children didn't reveal the nuances and gradations of motherhood.   

Compounding matters of integration were the initial language barrier and coping with undisclosed illnesses/pre-exisiting conditions; essentially, J and I had (have) four years of programming to counter.   I can say that after a year Matty is of a considerably more sound body our having addressed his urological afflictions and dietary deficiencies.  We continue to fight our way through the health care red tape to address his psychiatric/psychological/behavioral/social needs and the few remaining health concerns as they manifest themselves.   

I'm learning to content myself with the subtle progressions and small victories.  I will never know the tribulations this child endured at such a malleable age.  I do know that beneath all of the layers of what I suspect were abuse, neglect, and sadness is a little boy who is loving, capable, and grateful to have a family.  And despite the moments where I succumb to doubt and a deluge of defeatist type feelings, I am grateful that he is part of our family, too.  

Heartfelt thanks to all of you have lent patient ears, provided support in myriad ways, and lifted our family in prayer over the last year.