To Sing Frogs Chapter 36a

Chapter 36

 

Yula

 

  May 5^th, 2007 would be doomsday for the oldest sibling. On that day Svieta-Anatolievna would turn sixteen, thereby becoming unadoptable according to Russian law. Sixteen was the age of emancipation, the only anniversary with any meaning to a Russian orphan. How ironic to finally have the day they entered the world recognized. “Have a nice life on the street. Happy freaking birthday.”*

During my December visit to Russia, Anya had thought our first “official visit” to adopt the siblings might happen as soon as February. My first trip to find the girls would not be considered. It would take two “official” visits just as it had with our younger children from Russia.

February came and went. So did March, April, and May. Every twenty-four hours Svieta got a day closer to emancipation. A year earlier the delays would not have been nearly as disconcerting. At that time obstacles came and went but completion times were fairly consistent.

Now with the United States’ handling of abuse and murder cases of Russian children by their adopted parents, the former enemy government was becoming more and more frustrated. International adoptions from Russia to the U.S. were being subjected to increasing amounts of bureaucracy. The time required to complete such endeavors was also growing longer and more erratic. Some went through with about the same speed as our first. On the other hand, I was aware of one woman who was going on thirteen months from her first visit. She had still not been able to retrieve the former infant who had learned to walk without her mama.

A delay like that would doom Svieta.

Finally at the beginning of June—without warning—we received our Invitation to Travel. We had been given less than a week to arrive in Vladivostok.

We didn’t go alone.

 

 

Six of us sat at a table in the restaurant of the Vlad Motor Inn while we waited for our breakfasts to arrive. Dyehdushka Bill brought his wife, who had become Babushka Joan when we returned a year earlier with Sarah. We also brought my parents.

The restaurant was loaded with adopting couples on first and second visits. Children’s voices questioned in Russian, confused parents attempted answers in English. Waitresses helpfully translated as they brought in meals and carried out dishes.

After breakfast, Amy and I stood outside the door silently and wistfully looking at buttercup blooms. They would have been commonplace to anyone else.

 

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