Sunday, June 24, 2012

I regret my time spent with Fiyori and Kobe's mom.

I regret not asking her what she does during the day. What time she prays. Does she pray at all? Who does she pray to? I regret not asking her who she spends her time with. Who her friends are, does she talk with her family? I regret not knowing what her favorite food is and what dish did the kids like best of what she prepared for them. I regret not asking if they had to beg for money or food. I regret not knowing what she felt or thought the days she had nothing to give them to eat. I regret not knowing what happened during the day when she took them to the orphanage. Did the kids know what was happening? How did she leave them? Did she say goodbye or did she slip out unnoticed when they were playing with the other children?

But I am not meant to know all those details. The tension between wanting to know every last detail about this woman's life and her time spent with Fiyori and Kobe, and the strong desire to honor her without prying and respect her privacy was completely overwhelming. She was kind enough to meet me. And regardless of the gratitude she expressed to me in taking her children, I still embodied the avenue in which was taking them.

from her.

from her arms.

from her care.

But never from her heart.

But what I regret more than the things I listed above, is that we even had to meet. That her children became orphans needing a home. That she had to experience the pain of deciding to take them to the orphanage. The pain of meeting me.

Some people have asked me if I am horribly missing Fiyori and Kobe since saying goodbye this past Tuesday. And I am. But the emotion and thoughts that trump those, are the ones that I think of when I think of their mother. Because every time I think of missing them, or how they must feel with me leaving, or "Do they know I'm coming back??" I wonder what she thinks. How she feels. Because she isn't coming back. She couldn't say, "I'm coming back.... I always come back."

I can't shake their mother.  I haven't looked at the pictures we took that day; I can't bear it. I still feel her hand gripping my shoulders as she gave me a three kiss embrace and the defeated, grateful, weary look she had in her eyes as she showed us their baby pictures. I think of her more than I think of Fiyori and Kobe. I don't know why, and I feel a little weird admitting that, but its just how it is for me.

I know I would still have regrets, even if I spent hours upon hours with her and asked hundreds of questions, because having answers to the tiniest curiosities that Fiyori or Kobe may have one day, such as, "Did she ever have ice cream?" will never compare to the lifetime they were suppose to have with her, and just know, without having to ask, what the answers were.

My sweet friend Courtney wrote this, "Our hearts were made for reconciliation. There is a disconnect between where we are and where we belong. - each of us feels it in some form or another. Only one man in all of history has been blameless. The rest of us suffer through our innate brokenness, both hurting and being hurt by others. That’s why we rejoice in vindication. It’s an answer to our pain."

My vindication here on earth is being used to give Fiyori and Kobe a home, love and safe arms to hide in when the world attacks. But I long for the vindication of Heaven. For He has won the victory over this pain. I pray, I plead and I beg of you to pray with me that Fiyori and Kobe one day are united with their mother in that Victory. That even though they were unable to spend their time on earth together, that they will spend eternity praising the One made the ultimate sacrifice.


Rebecca said...

Thank you so much for that. My thoughts are constantly turning to our sweet girl's mother as well and as much as I try to explain it, no one fully gets it. They get it, but they don't. The warm fuzzies of adoption have met the heart-wrenching realities. Messy. I know God will redeem it all, but...well, you know.

Anonymous said...

Have you thought about giving the money you would be spending on adopting those two children to this woman over time so she can take care of her children herself? You could still be apart of their lives but help them stay a family and stay in their own culture. The money you would spend on them over the next 18+ years could be gradually given to her to help her raise them and care for them. Just a thought.

Jaimie Krycho said...

Thank you for your honesty. I don't often hear this side of adoption stories, and if Chris and I do this one day I want to know the truth about both the beauty and the pain of it. This must have been unspeakably difficult. I'm praying for you!