To Sing Frogs Chapter 5d

Jack, about the time that we were working on the adoptions.

“Mom. Mom. Mom. When Katya come home? You—Dad—go get Katya. Bring Katya home.” The abstract times given for completion of an international adoption were far too fluid for Jack to understand. If only we could have put a date on an advent calendar and rewarded him with a piece of candy each day while he waited for the square with a big star. If only… It seemed like he was even more anxious to bring home the sisters—and particularly Katya—than any of the rest of us. We only had two or three photographs of each of the girls. That was all it took. Jack was insistent on having his own copies of the pictures of Katya. Amy accommodated him. While Down syndrome kept mental agility from his grasp, it had no such hold on his emotions and compassion. He loved Katya like he loved anyone else in the family. He absolutely couldn’t wait until his little sister materialized.

“Mom. Mom. Katya like tickles?” Jack loved to get and to give tickles. “Mom. Katya like root beer?” It was Jack’s favorite, and he would share his with her. “Mom. Mom. Mom. Katya have CDs?” Jack was surprised to hear she didn’t have her own music. He gladly volunteered to share his prized possession with his new little sister.

Jack’s music collection was quite varied. His favorite was a Brooks and Dunn album where they sang about first beers (root beer in Jack’s interpretation), red dirt, and Jesus (who could think of better things to sing about?). He thought Katya might like some of his other songs too.

Did Mom think she would like to listen to The Wheels on the Bus, or Baby Beluga? He was shocked when he learned that Katya didn’t know his favorite song to sing and vowed to teach her all of the words to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

No one could ever hope for a better big brother than Jack. For someone lucky enough to get him for a sibling, no other person could ever be more adored. Jack emits unlimited amounts of perfect love. That was the only chance I held out for a possible compensation of what these unfortunate orphans missed during the first few years of their lives.

Mike, Cory, and Stephen didn’t know how to deal with this season in limbo. Their mother and father were quite distracted at times. Events important to them—which before the adoption began would have been family priorities—sometimes slipped through the cracks. It wasn’t just that. Though never mentioned, there must have been a high level of frustration in not being able to protect their anticipated sisters from what they had already been exposed to.

The concept of time is an enemy in such circumstances. You want to rewrite history and control the present. You want to, but you can’t. Time cements the past in every life. In adoption endeavors it butts in and steals the present. The only thing that time doesn’t take from waiting families is an assurance that they can participate in the future. Ironically, the boys didn’t deal with these feelings by making our own home more pleasant. There was more quarreling than ever before. There were even occasional fistfights. Amy, Jack, and I didn’t know where to direct our frustrations as time wore on. The older boys found targets for their venting. It was usually on the end of a sibling’s nose. Those solutions didn’t fare well with Amy. Having come from a dysfunctional and failed family setting, my wife couldn’t let contention roll off her back like I did. She never went more than a couple of days without diving into the middle of a fight and then crying out her frustrations behind our bedroom door.

I kept myself busy with visa applications, airline tickets, hotel reservations, and work. I guess we all tried to keep ourselves busy. The time was dull, numb pain. It was as if we were watching each grain of sand fall individually through the neck of an hourglass—then roll to the bottom of the pile—while two innocent little girls waited, alone, without a family.