June 30th
We
wake up at camp to the sound of rain. We spent last evening tending to
a minor medical issue for K. The details are not important. The only
medical facility in the village where the camp is located is attached to
a seniors' home. The nurse on duty said the doctor was not on duty (it
was Sunday evening) and she suggested we head to the hospital in a town
about 40 km away.
We
arrived at the hospital and notice the hours of operation on the door
indicate that it is closed on Sunday! What? All the lights were off in
the hallways and there wasn't a soul around. It took us a moment to
realize that we had entered the seniors' wing of the facility and the
medical part of the building was around the corner. After entering the
"emergency room" K was seen by a doctor to took care of the issue and we were on our way back to camp.
We
were headed up to orphan court for the second hearing. The leader
there asked some very pointed questions of us and of K. The questions
covered the gamut of information but one question seems to stand out.
They asked us and K how was the bonding going? How was the relationship
as parent and child developing?
It
is tough to put into words something that is so visceral. How do you
put into words the moments of connectedness even though nothing is
said? How do you verbalize inflection in the way he says things that
have us laughing? How do you make palpable those times when we work
through a difficult moment through honest communication using broken
English/Latvian? For some things there are no words. For some things
there are only feelings and signs of affection. A big bear hug says so
much more than words can ever say.
"We
think that this adoption is in Kristofer's best interest. He can go to
America with you." Words never sounded so sweet to our ears.
Only
"labi, labi" managed to squeak out of us. Our throats were choked up
with a flood of emotion and tears were welling up. No words necessary.
The smiles, hugs and tears said it all.
amen
ReplyDelete