Of Loss, Of Faithfulness, Of Healing.
Writing -- journaling, blogging, posts -- normally bring me comfort, clarity, and rest. I find I often write words I didn't even know I was thinking until they're on paper, and it brings a new sense of understanding to the situation.
In this current season however, I haven't been able to write.
I lost my words.
I would sit down for a brief time in between the chaos to try to get something out, and it always proved fruitless.
I've never had that happen before, so to say I felt numb was an understatement.
I process in words, and not being able to get them out has been an indescribable feeling that only intensified all the other feelings bubbling up to the surface.
It's been a journey.
I started writing this post in China on December 11th, and while some things spilled out, it felt jumbled and messy.
I'm just now getting to the point that I can eloquently share our last few months.
It still feels raw, but confession is the first step to surrender and surrender the stepping stone to freedom, and I'm definitely ready for that.
This post is long, so maybe grab yourself a cup of coffee and hunker in. If you don't care that much then I would stop now, because this is going to be a vulnerable piece of my heart.
Here goes:
Of loss.
As I write this, tears are streaming down my face as I begin to process the last few months of our lives.
November 20th was just like any other day -- I had a million things on my to-do list and I had finished work to focus on prepping for China. I was trying to get Christmas shopping done, Olivia's room set up, all of us packed and prepped for 2.5 weeks, the house cleaned and projects finished, all while trying to maintain some semblance of normal for my boys.
November 20th, Paul's mom, Carol, came over to help me do some painting. We were trying to complete 3 small walls in our living room, and we spent most of the day together chatting, painting and talking about plans for the next year. Paul's parents were planning to watch the boys the whole time we were in China, and it was a perfect way to get all caught up.
That morning we discussed Christmas, our transition home with Olivia, the boys' routines and how to calm them in certain situations.
We talked about logistics and alternative plans in case something didn't work.
We talked about meal plans, cooking and the Thanksgiving menu.
We talked about hardships in our families and how it affects your heart.
We talked about the future; her helping with Olivia when the time came, vacation at Long Beach Island, birthdays and so much more.
It had been a while since we actually had time to talk without 2 little boys interrupting every few minutes, and it was good.
On November 20th, Carol came over again later that afternoon with plans to make dinner at our house. We immediately put on aprons and started making a Stevens house staple, risotto. A few minutes in, she complained of a headache and I told her to go sit down and I'd take care of dinner. Sebastian helped me get her an ice pack and we settled her into a chair. We continued to talk about dinner back and forth -- what to preheat the oven to, where the squash was, how many scallops we were making, when Gary got off of work, etc. Soon after, Paul got home from work and checked in with us all. At that point, Carol wasn't looking so good and once it was clear she wasn't okay, we immediately called 911.
On November 21st, Carol went to heaven to be with Jesus after suffering a massive stroke in our home.
As I type this, it still doesn't feel real.
The details of that day and night are vividly etched in my mind, and I find myself reliving November 20th over and over again in my head to see if there was something I missed.
Was there a sign?
Was there a change?
Was something different that I didn't see?
And ultimately the answer I come to every time is no.
I couldn't have known.
I did everything I could, as fast as I could, but it still wasn't enough.
That evening, from the hospital, I had to make the hardest calls of my life to Gary (my father in law), Cary Ellen (Paul's sister), and Paul knowing full well what I was about to tell them all.
Before reaching the hospital, Carol went into a coma and never woke up.
After some brain scans, it was clear she was already gone, and despite her physical body still functioning, her brain and the essence of who she was was with Jesus.
My heart still can't process how quickly it all happened and how the events of that night unfolded.
Devastating is an understatement.
The next few days were heartbreaking and exhausting as we went back and forth to the hospital to understand the ins and outs of organ donation.
Because you see, Carol was a giver.
She was always the best version of herself.
She was kind and warm and thoughtful.
She was always thinking about the other person.
She was constantly trying to do things to help you in any way she could.
She was hospitable and always opened her home to guests near or far.
She was fun-loving, lighthearted and full of life.
She baked the best bread and always had food at the ready.
She was creative and always coming up with new crafts to do with my boys.
She was simple, but in the best way possible; always full of grace and love in everything she did.
She stood up for things she believed in.
She was the best (Ba)Nana (as Jordan so affectionately called her) to my kids.
She loved Christmas.
She loved her family.
She loved Jesus.
Carol always wanted to give -- of her things, of her home, of her food, of herself.
So it was no surprise she had checked she wanted to be an organ donor.
However, I didn't know how rare that really is.
As we met with the organ donation team, it was evident that the "perfect storm" of events has to happen in order for someone to actually be able to donate their organs.
In Virginia alone, there were only 150 organ donations all last year.
So for all the people who pass away each day, only 150 all year were able to give the gift of life to another person, and Carol was one of those people.
Crazy.
So for the next few days, our sweet Banana laid there all hooked up to machines that were keeping her organs healthy and strong for their next home.
While these days were emotionally horrific on us all, it did bring about a certain sense of peace, creating more space for us to say goodbye on our own terms.
On Thursday, November 23rd -- Thanksgiving Day -- Carol underwent surgery to give 3 of her organs to donor recipients, ultimately saving their lives, and gave even more of herself through bone and tissue donation for life enhancing surgeries for burn victims, military injuries and veterans.
It seems fitting that she would give life on Thanksgiving day.
It seems fitting that even in death, she is still giving of herself in the most incredible way possible.
It seems fitting that as she had surgery, we all sat around my table -- Paul's family and most of her siblings -- breaking bread together and sharing of our thankfulness.
To this moment it still doesn't feel real.
Our hearts are broken, and we find grief spilling over in the small things and the big ones.
In the Christmas music, in the school pictures of my kids she didn't get to see yet, in the weekly dinners she won't be a part of, in the bread dough she would save for the boys to try, in the belly busters we give, in the blueberries we eat for breakfast, in the tea she kept in my bottom drawer, in the aprons hanging in my pantry, in the slippers kept under my entryway bench, in risotto and homemade sauce, in the kitchen light above my sink that only she used, in the way my boys mimic her phrases, and every time we see a banana.
It doesn't feel real.
Our sweet Banana was one of the only reasons we made it through the last couple years with our boys.
She sacrificed her comfort of living in New York, surrounded by all her closest friends, to move to Virginia to be closer to us.
She sacrificed her sleep and time to give us coffee breaks and weekend getaways and date nights.
She was always willing to be at our house if the boys were sick or to help after surgeries.
She loved our boys so well, and made them feel as if they'd always been a part of our family.
She brought over fresh flowers from her garden every week, and always made sure my plants didn't die.
She integrated herself into our daily life, and it became a beautiful normal to see her almost every day.
She participated in our after dinner dance parties, in our silly phrases, and in our goofy traditions.
She laughed with me until we cried, and she was always up for playing a game.
She had empathy for all the hard that comes with being a mom, and was always trying to build me up on the days when I felt like I failed.
She cheered us on.
She made us feel seen.
She was our person.
Our lives will never be the same without her, and it goes without saying that she will be deeply, deeply missed.
We had her funeral on Monday, November 27th, which was a beautiful witness and tribute to her life, and then Paul and I got on a plane on Tuesday, November 28th to fly to China.
Throughout the last week while she was in the hospital, we waffled about whether or not to even go to China. We all just went through this very traumatic experience, and we still have so much loss and grief to process through. How could we possibly bring home a new child who has so much trauma of her own?
But then we realized that 1) Carol would be so mad if we didn't go get Olivia right that minute, and 2) our daughter had waited long enough to be a part of her forever family, and this calling God gave us did not disappear just because our hearts were breaking.
So we hopped on a plane and traveled halfway around the world to Egypt. We had already planned a pit stop to visit our dear friends, Becca and Caleb on our way to China. It was going to be our way to decompress and prep for this new little life we were about to get. However, this trip proved much more for us, as it gave us a small amount of time to grieve without having to keep face for our boys and also a way to get some hugs and love from our friends. We had an amazing time seeing some of the most iconic sites in the world, and taking in the ancient culture Egypt has to offer. We also got lots of baby snuggles from their son, Benjamin (or Benny boy as I like to call him), and gained a little more life into our weary souls. Thank you Priebs! We love you <3
Of Faithfulness.
We flew out of Cairo on Saturday, December 2nd and arrived in Beijing on Sunday, December 3rd. Our bodies were pretty messed up from all the time changes and we unfortunately didn't sleep more than 45 minutes the entire flight. So we arrived at 8:30am super tired and running on fumes. We were met by our driver who then drove us to another van somewhere in the city. We then sat in that van for over an hour, going in and out of sleep and wishing we were in a bed somewhere. After a while our guide Cindy and another family met us and gave us the run down of the day. We were told we would be taking a 2+ hour train ride from Beijing out to Olivia's province, but our train didn't leave until 1:30, so we'd have to kill some time.
With that we went to tour a silk mill and saw how it was harvested, made and spun. It was very cool, but Paul and I had literally been up for over 30 hours and we were walking zombies. We finally got to the train station at 1:00, and the train ride was great -- comfortable, roomy and fast. Needless to say, we slept the whole 2 hours, and arrived in Zhengzhou just before 4:00. We gathered up all our bags and headed to our hotel, only to drop off our things and head back out to grab some dinner. We ate at a little hole in the wall restaurant that was authentic, delicious and super cheap! Winning! Once we were full, we went back to the hotel, unpacked a bit and got things ready for Olivia. We were finally able to crash at 10:30pm, and man did we. Hallelujah.
The next morning, December 4, was gotcha day!
We were chock full of all kinds of emotions and it took all we could that morning to steady our nerves.
We were still very tired, but obviously waiting with much anticipation for this day since last January -- we couldn't wait to meet our girl.
We had been told that you go to a children's center and then you wait for your child to be brought to you from the orphanage staff.
We were told you could wait minutes or hours.
We were told it's emotional and chaotic.
It was nothing like we were told.
When we arrived at 10am to the center, Olivia was already there! We actually walked right by her to follow our guide and the other family we were with.
When her caregiver tapped my arm to get my attention, I was shocked to turn around and see her standing there!
Our sweet girl was dressed in 4 layers with the most adorable panda hat and scarf wrapped around her head and neck.
She was a sweaty mess, but cute as can be.
Poor thing was struggling.
You could see the pain and confusion in her eyes as to what was happening, and she was very nervous to get close to us.
We knelt down beside her for what felt like forever, trying to get her to understand we were safe.
They spoke in Mandarin to her, explaining that we were her "mama" and "baba", but she wasn't buying it.
She was fighting tears the whole time and unsure of what to do.
Her eyes were scanning the room.
Her hands were rigid and her breathing was labored.
After a while her caregiver walked away to begin working on some paperwork, and I picked her up onto my lap as she began wailing.
We began wooing her with Chinese treats we had in our bag and slowly she settled down a little bit. She was still very fearful and upset, but allowing me to feed her was a great sign.
 |
| About to go in to get her! |
After a brief time, I picked her up to walk her away from the orphanage staff that brought her and begin to establish more of a connection. She continued to cry, and stopped eating her food, clearly scared of the change in scenery.
I took off her hat and scarf to give her a little breathing room through her screams and tears, and then scooped her back up to look out the windows.
As she continued to cry, I rocked her, I sang over her, and I prayed the same prayers into her ear that I had been praying over her all year.
I told her how much we loved her.
I told her she was safe.
And within 15 minutes she was asleep on my chest.
She slept on me for the next 45 minutes while Paul and I completed our paperwork. We then asked some clarifying questions to the orphanage staff before they said their goodbyes to her through her sleepy state.
It was so much better for her heart, and we were so thankful she was peaceful.
After all the signatures were signed, and the fingerprints and footprints taken, we loaded her up into the car and began the drive back to our hotel. She whimpered most of the time in my arms, but was still clearly shell shocked. As she woke up, it was obvious she was sick. She was coughing like crazy, and her breathing was croupy and congested. Sleepiness was heavy on her eyes, and it was hard to decipher all the layers of complexity in her current state.
We arrived back at the hotel, undressed her down to 1 layer, changed her diaper and laid her back down on my chest. She then preceded to sleep on me for the next 2 hours.
It was heavenly and heart-breaking all at the same time.
Sweet girl smelled terrible, and continued to cough consistently throughout her time of rest.
She woke up very confused and disoriented, and was even more upset than she was earlier.
Once we got her settled a little bit, it was clear that she was very scared of Paul.
We knew this was a possibility and common with Chinese adoptions, but we just didn't expect it.
We weren't sure at first if it was her illness or just the current situation, but he stayed in the main room, and I took her into the bathroom to get cleaned up.
For the rest of the evening she was completely comatose.
She wouldn't play or emote or do much of anything.
She sat on the bed and starred into nothing.
Paul went and got us dinner and brought it back to the room, but none of us were very hungry.
Thankfully she did eat a little that night and allowed me to feed her, but it was clear her anxiety was high and food was low on her list.
That evening I rocked her to sleep in my arms and then placed her in a crib right next to my side of the bed.
As she slept, we prayed over her.
We prayed life.
We prayed joy.
We prayed strength.
We prayed healing and redemption and restoration.
We prayed love and family and identity.
We spoke peace to her being and reminded her how beautiful God created her.
It was surreal.
Paul and I collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the day and obviously not knowing what the night would bring.
Thankfully she slept through the night, as she clearly needed it, and so did we!
We were still feeling unbelievably exhausted the next morning, but the adrenaline of having her with us kept us moving.
She woke up very somber and anxious, with no real tears until Paul came close.
What we hoped would be just the day, became clear it was more deeply rooted; in the light of the morning it was apparent her fear of Paul was intensified.
Sweet girl would begin to pant and cry if he got within 10 feet of her and she would never leave my side.
I couldn't do anything without her wanting to be picked up or touching me at all times.
It was hard.
Physically, emotionally and mentally.
We felt so unprepared.
After just losing Carol, we were believing that being able to love this little life would help bring some hope back to our hearts, but the more she rejected Paul, the more disheartened we became.
It wasn't her fault, she couldn't control it, we weren't upset with her, but nevertheless it was hard to swallow.
The next week was filled with paperwork, and we tried to hibernate in our hotel room as much as possible to allow her to find some semblance of safety.
She thankfully attached to me very quickly, and it was good to see her personality begin to come out little by little.
She continued to be very scared of Paul, and we had to create lots of boundaries in how we did meals, where and how she played and how we navigated public activities.
It was exhausting.
On Wednesday of that week, we had the opportunity to go visit her orphanage. It was a 4 hour drive (one way!) from where we were staying, and since she was sick (and she gets motion sickness!), we made the executive decision for just Paul to go. I was super sad to not be able to witness it firsthand, but we knew it was better for everyone. We also knew it would be a very confusing and upsetting experience for her since she wouldn't understand what was happening -- so in the hotel we stayed.
Paul, however, had one of the best experiences visiting her orphanage. She is from a very "rural" area in China, and they hardly, if ever, see westerners. Olivia was only the 3rd adoption from that city last year, so for Paul to make the trip to visit was a shock to them. When he arrived, he was greeted by various city officials including all of the higher ups for social welfare from the city, and the director and assistant director of the orphanage. He was treated like a king with interviews, a 12 course lunch, and even a camera crew from the local TV station! Paul was not prepared for all of this, but was so glad to get some answers to the questions we had, as well as see firsthand what her first 2 years of life looked like without us. He was completely humbled by the scene he took in, and we were both so thankful we decided to make the trip happen. It was a lot of extra money and time away, but after seeing the impact this visit made on Paul and on the city officials, it was worth every penny.
The rest of our 2 weeks in China was filled with intermittent paperwork, lots of attachment rituals, lots of time in our hotel room, travel to southern China, medical exams, a couple shopping excursions, and some sightseeing. In the midst of trying to simply figure out Olivia, we were still heavily grieving the loss of Carol, and it was enough to just get through the day. In addition, our bodies were so out of whack from all the time changes, and it was definitely taking a toll. Thankfully Paul and I are such a great team, and being in China during this time was no different. We took advantage of being two adults with only one child (which is amazing by the way! We never had this stage of life!), and tried to talk and process through as much as we could. It was all very bittersweet from start to finish, but we were trying to take in all the details of this time with just Olivia, as we knew this wouldn't happen again. We also want to be able to tell her as much of her story as we can as she gets older, and the more information you have, the better for everyone. So in the midst of all the chaos going on in our heads and in our hearts, we learned as much as we could, saw as much as we could, and took in as much of the culture as we had capacity for.
 |
| The first time she let Paul hold her hand!! |
We were finally home as a family of 5 -- a dream that had been planted 11 months before -- and it was nothing short of miraculous.
Of Healing.
As we continue to acclimate to life, we are learning there is still so much to process through. We've really had no time to grieve or understand the complexity of it all, but we're taking it a day at a time.
In all honesty, I'm wrestling with the good.
I KNOW God is good -- I've seen it firsthand.
In the adoption of my children.
In the redemption of their stories.
In the survival of my mom and the progress she's made physically and emotionally over the last 6 years.
In the heart behind our first trip to Uganda and the impact that made for the rest of our lives.
In the provision that has allowed us to complete all of our adoptions debt free.
In the sacredness of our marriage that has only grown stronger with time and Jesus.
In the beauty of friendships that have gotten us through all the crazy of the last few years.
In the joy of caring for refugees in our community when they needed it the most.
In the depth of character that's been refined as we've continued to say yes to Jesus in the hardest of ways over and over again.
And yet, while I KNOW all of these things, my heart is currently struggling to remember them all.
I'm struggling to understand what good could possibly come from Carol dying.
I'm struggling to understand what good could possibly come from Jordan's trauma.
I'm struggling to understand the timing of it all, and how broken I feel that Carol never got to meet my sweet daughter.
I'm struggling to understand how "a season" of hard that began over a year ago, is still in full swing.
It doesn't make any sense.
And yet, I know it never will.
Until I see Jesus face to face, there is no explanation.
I know my brain could never comprehend His ways, but that doesn't negate His goodness.
My doubts don't change His unconditional love, and my humanness doesn't discount His faithfulness.
It's all about the trust that comes from KNOWING He's a good, good father and then resting in that no matter what comes your way.
Paul and I have said time and time again that following the call of Jesus on your life will never be easy or comfortable, but man has this year stretched me in ways I never knew possible.
As I've slowly started to process it all, I've realized that all I need is a glimmer.
A glimmer of hope that will remind my heart to keep pressing in.
A glimmer of life that gives me the grace to keep going.
A glimmer of God to remind me of my calling.
All of the doctor's appointments and therapies and sleep schedules and trauma training and desensitization and intentionality in all we do, has not been in vain.
Their hearts have learned to accept love.
Their bodies have learned to feel safety.
Their minds have come to understand the concept of a family.
It continues to be God's promise of beauty from ashes and the reminder that His promises never return void.
Paul and I have learned that this calling is the most meaningful thing we will ever do.
It's the reason we were created.
In all the difficulty, in all the brokenness, in all the frustration, in all the sleepless nights, in all the tears, in all the loneliness, and in all the sadness -- we have been transformed.
We have been made new.
We have found God in the most tangible way possible.
We have been reminded time and time again of just how vast God's love for us is through the parenting of our children, and it has changed us to our core.
It's the hardest thing we have ever done, and yet we continue to say yes, because the life the comes from adoption is unmatched.
We will never be the same, and we don't want to be.
We are simple people with limited resources and lots of flaws.
We make lots of mistakes and lose our patience more often than we'd care to admit.
But we serve an incredibly amazing God, with the most amazing love, and oodles more grace than we could ever deserve.
We said a humble yes -- a hard yes -- that ultimately changed the course of our lives forever, and in the best way possible.
It comes down to the faithfulness of God, even in the hardest of situations, that leaves us always pursuing more.
It comes down to the healing of God that transforms lives, and gives us the strength to keep answering the call.
It comes down to the goodness of God that allows for a greater capacity of life, love and faith.
Every step of the way, He has been our confirmation, and it's only just the beginning.