Adoption Awareness: Meet Joie and Gabby

Today I'm honored to introduce you to two of the most beautiful and amazing girls you'll ever meet...two girls who share the misfortune of knowing loss in their lives at a very young age.  Two girls who bring the reality of the word "orphan" to life, and are among those who get to experience again the healing of a family, and life after loss.


or-phan  [awr-fhun]

(noun)

1.  A child who has lost both parents through death...

2.  A young animal that has been deserted by or has lost its mother

3.  A person or thing that is without protective affiliation...

Meet Joie...

When Joie's family died, I remember the word "orphan" being used in news reports.  (See here and here.)  There was an inner part of me that screamed in protest at the use of the word "orphan" in regards to my own niece.  The other part of me knew it was true--that even in a world surrounded by people who loved her, she was, very much in those days, the lone survivor of the only family she had known her entire life.

A short time later I became familiar with another term which had, to that point in my life, been equally foreign to me--that of guardian.  I remember the sting as I looked at all the papers I was signing as Joie left the hospital, and as she started school that year.  Below the signature line were the words "parent/guardian".  I had always been "parent."  I had hardly ever even noticed the "(slash) guardian" part of the signature line.  Now I was signing as a "(slash) guardian."  And of course back then the words "(slash) guardian" were another painful reminder that Joie's parents weren't there.  ...As thankful as I was to have Joie with us, I hated being a "(slash) guardian."  In one more way those words screamed, "orphaned" to me.

And I still remember the day Joie asked if she could call me "mom."  Tears came so easily back then I'm not sure if I held them back or not when she asked me that question, but I do remember thinking, "But I'm not your mom...You have a mom...Ruth is your mom...I can never take her place..."  But I knew she needed to say those words to someone...the words, "mom" and "dad."  We became those people, but were always aware (more back then than now) that the little girl we loved so much had been loved by another mom and dad, and almost every day we longed with her to hear their voices again...to see their faces...to hear their laughs.

Then there was the day Joie asked about adoption.  She had only lived with us then for 2 or 3 weeks--not long at all.  I was leaving one morning to go teach an adoption class for a local adoption agency when she asked me where I was going.  I said, "to my adoption class."  


I wasn't prepared for the excitement in her voice.  "Oh!  You're going to adopt me!"  (Silence.)

 I wasn't sure what to say (being a therapist doesn't help much in those intense mom moments).  I remember thinking,  "Did she just say, adopt?"  I'm not sure what I said next...something about there being a lot of things we had to do with her family's things, their house, etc. before we could talk about that.  "But don't worry, sweetheart," I said every time she asked me that question in the weeks and months that followed.  "We'll always take care of you."  Back then I was still stuck on the idea of never being able to take her mom's place.  I had just assumed we'd always be guardians.  She had parents.  They were Nick and Ruth.  She was theirs.  Forever.  For always.  Theirs.  Not.  Ours.

Then as the weeks and months turned into a year, then almost another year, and the pain of losing people we loved so much started to turn into new memories.  As discussions of adoption would surface, and we really started to listen, it was apparent Joie wasn't asking us to replace her parents.  She just wanted to belong.  She wanted to say "my mom and dad" instead of "my aunt and uncle" for the rest of her life, and even as young as she was, she was able to articulate that.  We were family, and she didn't deserve to grow up without the love and protection of a family around her.  The day we adopted her, it was finally the peace of island traditions we had embraced when we adopted Megan that brought me peace once again.  In the islands, all a mother's sisters are "mama" to her children, and all a father's brothers are "papa."  The peace of that thought allowed me to move into the role of another mother instead of only mother.  It felt freeing.  We were moving on.  (Read more about Joie's adoption day here.)


...And now (drumroll please) Meet Gabby!

It seems like I've blogged so much about Gabby in the past year it's hard to imagine there's more to the story.  That aside, I haven't said a lot about how she got here--just that she's here.  I've always been a little afraid to say a lot, initially because it was her story to tell (and still is), but also because so many other people are a part of her story, and their part of the story isn't our story to tell either.  So with her permission...

The word "orphan" and "orphanage" are familiar to Gabby.  At almost exactly the same time Joie lost her family, a real-life series of unfortunate events lead to Gabby and her siblings not only being orphaned, but also becoming separated from each other.  As orphans, she and her sister were separated from her older brother accidentally--on a train in India, and never saw him again.  The three of them had fled domestic violence circumstances which had previously resulted in their own mother losing her life, and in which they felt their own lives were threatened.  They were, very much, orphans, "without protective affiliation."  As such, they were alone in the world.  Too young to know where they were, or where they belonged in India (or smart enough not to say) Gabby and her sister were eventually taken to an orphanage.  A few years later, they were brought to the United States by a family wanting to adopt them.  For Gabby, that adoption didn't work out.  

Sadly, in the process of disrupting an adoption that wasn't meant to be, Gabby and her sister were separated.  

Picture taken at their last meeting, prior to Gabby coming home with us

II believe (both as a mom and an adoption professional) this is a separation that should never have happened.  It was an unnecessary loss.  A huge one.  An agency worker behind a desk in a completely separate state made a decision supposedly in the best interest of the girls that cost them their lifelong relationship.  As we have realized the story we were lead to believe isn't really the story of Gabby's separation from her sister, we grieve with her the loss of her family members, one by one.  She still loves her sister dearly.  She writes to her frequently--letters filled with news and with the amazing love that is Gabby.  We hope there is more to come for them, that their years apart won't change that they are sisters.  Real love is incredible that way.  

And so Gabby bravely faces this world without family members she once loved, but with new ones who love her very much.  

No longer orphans, Joie and Gabby teach us daily what it means to live, and to love.  The grief of the loss of lives that once were never really goes away.  The other night as they were falling asleep, they found themselves (yet again) in the middle of one of those conversations children should never have to even think about.  Through tears they spoke to each other of real loss.  I had gone to the store and when I returned, they both came running from their room for a hug.  Then it was my turn to cry.  As long as I live, and as long as they live, the pain of their loss will never go away.  I hurt for these girls I love, not all the time, but sometimes, and when we do, we know we have each other.  I was thankful that night that they had each other, and amazed at the grace that brought them together.

Two girls.

Two orphans.

Two losses.

Two worlds apart.

Together.  Forever.

Sisters.

Friends.