i remember the day that i felt rose was part of me. she was at the orphanage, eating a mango. there was no magic in that day or that moment, but it was magical. there was a knowing that this child and i were connected. it's been almost four months since we brought her home- not knowing what that would mean, but feeling like it was somehow the right thing to do.
i remember when we brought her home, i spoke with my friend who was living here and a former adoption social worker. she talked about some things we could expect- most of which made sense but one surprised me- she said i would go through a period of mourning the loss of her early years. that i would feel a sadness around not being there for her birth, not nursing her, not having seen her first steps, not having been the first 'mama' that she meant when she said 'mama'.
she was right- i have had moments of wishing and longing for that with rose. but because of all the 'complicated' and the lack of clarity, it's been muddled slightly- confusing.
we have been planning to go home for the holidays this year. our first trip back to the US. i know we will all be ready to eat turkey and stuffing and watch american football and mostly to hug lots of friends and relatives and feel ourselves in an old and familiar way. but. rose needs a passport and a visa. before that, she needs a birth certificate, before that we needed to know her exact name, and birth date and place of birth. and. we live in uganda, so everything takes ten times longer even when things like names and birthdays are known, every thing needs to be very formal and by the book (whatever book that is) which is especially complex when the things the book says you need- don't exist- like a hospital birth record (because you were born at home); like any record of anything at all- which is kind of hard when you were found on the street; and when your mom,when she's found, doesn't know the name of your dad; or her own birthday- when you're marginalized and live on the street and don't exactly keep track of things.
today i got in the car, drove to kampala and collected my posse to begin the process. i picked michael the karamajong to translate, i picked peter our incredible helper for all things legal who knew what info was needed for which form etc; and i picked monica the lawyers assistant who knew where about the birth mom stays.
we drove through town and came to an area literally around the corner from the orphanage. it was like a scene from little lord fauntleroy. we walked for a while down some railroad tracks, crossed some garbage piles, jumped over a dirty stream, ducked under a broken wire fence and began to look for someone familiar. people were picking through beans, children wore no shoes and had infected looking toes and noses, there were lots of flies and dirt and scraps of things. there we found magdalene. the woman who birthed and nursed rosie, who first heard 'mama'.
suddenly my logistics only, fact finding mission, felt like a lot more. this was the place where rose had stayed- with these people. that baby on the breast was the one who kicked rose from inside the belly of the mother who left her. the logistics were not there anyway- the facts were not so easy to find. the birth card had been lost- the baptism was somewhere in kampala, not sure where exactly- she was maybe somewhere around 4ish years old- born sometime between april and may- her full birth name? 'it's her name', she said pointing at me- 'christen'.
i don't know why that was her name- but yes i do.
somewhere that april, 3 and a half years ago, in some non-health center shelter, under the great sheltering sky- something magical happened. this woman birthed my little rosie, and called her my name. the stars spoke, the earth turned and God smiled.
her puzzle slowly takes shape. i get one small piece at a time.
today- i remembered her name is my name- we are connected.
i remember when we brought her home, i spoke with my friend who was living here and a former adoption social worker. she talked about some things we could expect- most of which made sense but one surprised me- she said i would go through a period of mourning the loss of her early years. that i would feel a sadness around not being there for her birth, not nursing her, not having seen her first steps, not having been the first 'mama' that she meant when she said 'mama'.
she was right- i have had moments of wishing and longing for that with rose. but because of all the 'complicated' and the lack of clarity, it's been muddled slightly- confusing.
we have been planning to go home for the holidays this year. our first trip back to the US. i know we will all be ready to eat turkey and stuffing and watch american football and mostly to hug lots of friends and relatives and feel ourselves in an old and familiar way. but. rose needs a passport and a visa. before that, she needs a birth certificate, before that we needed to know her exact name, and birth date and place of birth. and. we live in uganda, so everything takes ten times longer even when things like names and birthdays are known, every thing needs to be very formal and by the book (whatever book that is) which is especially complex when the things the book says you need- don't exist- like a hospital birth record (because you were born at home); like any record of anything at all- which is kind of hard when you were found on the street; and when your mom,when she's found, doesn't know the name of your dad; or her own birthday- when you're marginalized and live on the street and don't exactly keep track of things.
today i got in the car, drove to kampala and collected my posse to begin the process. i picked michael the karamajong to translate, i picked peter our incredible helper for all things legal who knew what info was needed for which form etc; and i picked monica the lawyers assistant who knew where about the birth mom stays.
we drove through town and came to an area literally around the corner from the orphanage. it was like a scene from little lord fauntleroy. we walked for a while down some railroad tracks, crossed some garbage piles, jumped over a dirty stream, ducked under a broken wire fence and began to look for someone familiar. people were picking through beans, children wore no shoes and had infected looking toes and noses, there were lots of flies and dirt and scraps of things. there we found magdalene. the woman who birthed and nursed rosie, who first heard 'mama'.
suddenly my logistics only, fact finding mission, felt like a lot more. this was the place where rose had stayed- with these people. that baby on the breast was the one who kicked rose from inside the belly of the mother who left her. the logistics were not there anyway- the facts were not so easy to find. the birth card had been lost- the baptism was somewhere in kampala, not sure where exactly- she was maybe somewhere around 4ish years old- born sometime between april and may- her full birth name? 'it's her name', she said pointing at me- 'christen'.
i don't know why that was her name- but yes i do.
somewhere that april, 3 and a half years ago, in some non-health center shelter, under the great sheltering sky- something magical happened. this woman birthed my little rosie, and called her my name. the stars spoke, the earth turned and God smiled.
her puzzle slowly takes shape. i get one small piece at a time.
today- i remembered her name is my name- we are connected.
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