An amazing thing is happening today. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people across the world are coordinating to blog about one topic. More amazing, though, are the stories behind each of these individuals, and how their lives have been touched by the miracle of adoption.

I am proud to count myself among that group. Because of adoption, I have a little sister. Because of adoption, I have a son. Life is an amazing journey, and somehow those who are meant to be in our families find their way home.

When my husband and I were struggling with infertility a number of years ago, we looked into adoption. Perhaps because my sister was adopted, it seemed like a perfectly logical option. And when our daughter was born, we kept those plans in our mind for the future. We knew that someday we would go to Russia to expand our family.

Why Russia? The trite answer, given reflexively by most adoptive parents, is “that is where our son was.” And true enough, we did find him there, but it was a bit more considered than that. My husband’s great-grandfather was Russian; my grandmother is Polish. We had a Russian cousin through adoption. We felt comfortable with the process, and we knew there were children who needed homes. Most importantly, the agency that we had found years earlier had a very strong Russian program.

In speaking of adoption, I cannot stress enough the importance of a good, ethical agency. Certainly, a good agency will ensure that your interests are represented and your concerns are addressed. But a great agency will ensure that the CHILD gets a stable family that is well suited to his individual background and circumstances, and will be first and foremost an advocate for that child.

One of the biggest responsibilities of the agency is to be sure that you are prepared for something that you can never quite be prepared for: parenthood. But parenting an adopted child, we were told, was to automatically be parenting a special needs child. ANY adopted child is going to have some additional challenges that come with being placed in a new family. Add to that the issues associated with institutionalization and limited circumstances in the baby homes, and you were in for a challenge, no matter how perfect your child might otherwise be.

(Put yourself for a moment in the child’s position. You have a home, and people that take care of you. But all of a sudden they abandon you, and you are taken away by strangers who don’t speak your language. You go on a long and scary trip. You are fed strange food, and forced to stay in a strange place. No one can really explain to you what is going on, and you feel all alone. What is happening to you? What did you do to deserve this? Even as adults, we understand the mechanics of the situation, but there is an adjustment period for ALL involved.)

And so we prepared. We met all of the agency requirements. We did the readings assigned with our homestudy. We read every book we could get our hands on, we talked to other adoptive parents, and we went to a preadoption seminar held by Rainbow Babies and Children’s Hospital in Cleveland. (I have said many times, during the seminar and since, that I wish they required it for EVERY parent – I learned so many things that I should have known when my daughter was born!) All of the preparation taught us two important things: there will be surprises with ANY child, and there are always resources to help you deal with whatever issues do arise.

Then, all of a sudden, we were on our way to meet our son, a few hours outside of Moscow. We were nervous and excited, like any new parent. What would he be like? Would he like the toys we were bringing? Would he like us?

One of the biggest myths of Russian adoption is that these are unloved and uncared for children. In our experience, nothing could be further from the truth.

We were introduced to a chubby baby (yes, chubby!), in a music room with a piano and a circle of little chairs painted in a typical Russian pattern. On the wall was a handpainted mural, with forest creatures in traditional Russian dress, playing the belalaika and an accordion. The staff obviously cared for the children very much, and did the very best with the resources that they had available to provide for them.

Subsequent visits (we made 3 trips in the span of about 6 weeks) only reinforced our awareness of how much Russians – nearly all Russians – care about children. Even the most stoic among them would light up when a child was present. Grandmothers on the street are likely to comment on your child (particularly if they are not well bundled!), and children are really considered a national treasure. So, it is very difficult for Russians to see those children leave to be raised in an alien environment far from home.

It was actually on our way home that we had one of our favorite memories of the journey. We were all exhausted, having spent several days rushing around doing necessary paperwork and trying to take in a bit of Moscow. Our son, having been in a car only a few times in his first year of life, had spent several days being shuttled here and there with strange people (his parents) who didn’t speak more than a few words he understood. (And even then, “please”, “thank you”, “good”, and “How do you get to Tverskya Street?” only go so far.) After some last-minute drama, we’d made it on the plane, which was yet another new and scary experience. Sleep was out of the question, and it looked like it was going to be a really long flight for everyone. But then an angel intervened, in the form of a Russian businessman. He passed by our seats and stopped to smile at our son. He spoke to him in Russian, calming him down, and then asked to hold him. In a few minutes, he was introducing him to all of our immediate neighbors, who were all smiling and talking to him as if he were their own grandson or nephew. There is no doubt in my mind - Russians DO care about these children.

In the three years that have come and gone, we’ve had some challenges. Certainly, they have been minor in comparison to some. However, in each case we feel that the preparation we did prior to the adoption has helped us to work through the situation (whether it was adoption related or not).

Our son is now almost four years old. He loves the movie Cars and he adores his big sister. He is inquisitive and wants to work on the computer like his father, and he likes animals and enjoys reading like me. He likes to help around the house, and he told me tonight how each of us in the family are his best friends. He even looks just like his sister – I have to stop and look carefully at pictures of each of them as toddlers, because it is hard to tell which is which. There is absolutely no doubt that he is – and was meant to be – our son.

Last year, a relative gave me a plaque with the Adoption Creed: Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still miraculously my own. Never forget for a single minute you didn’t grow under my heart but in it.

Families come in all different shapes and sizes, and each one has its own unique history. All of them take work, and being a parent is undoubtedly one of the most difficult jobs you can have. But each one of them is built with love. I am grateful to have my son through the miracle of adoption, because I can’t imagine my family or my life without him.

Tags: Personal