To Sing Frogs Chapter 8a

View of Golden Horn Bay from the Hyundai Hotel in Vladivostok.

Chapter 8

 

Examination and Conviction

 

Ice had been creeping outward from the beginnings of the bay for weeks. While it covered the water near Katya’s camp, Volna, it hadn’t reached the port below yet. Looking out of the hotel window—several miles away from the camp—the water of Golden Horn Bay was almost still. Lights from buildings and anchored ships cast a glow of many colors from their glistening reflections. They mixed and perpetuated across the imperfect sheet of glass. The candy dish illusion glowed from the water’s surface and made the night much brighter than would have seemed possible.

            The view from the tenth story of the Vladivostok Hyundai Hotel was incredible and the amenities were far better than what I had expected. Amy and I had read accounts of couples adopting in Russia who stayed in places that were medieval subpar compared to the typical business hotels I was accustomed to during my travels.

I was prepared to sleep on a mattress hanging inches from the floor, which would bottom out with the weight of a human. I had imagined decades old hardwood floors with gaps between boards and worn runner carpets strategically placed to cover larger holes on the way to community bathrooms.

The Hyundai was right up to snuff with any other new four-star hotel I frequented. The pleasant surprise of the quality of our accommodations made me even more ready for sleep when I plugged in the laptop to check my emails. Amy talked to me from the bathroom while she removed her makeup and got ready for bed. I did my best to carry on the conversation without letting her know how distant I was while I closed down my email. There was nothing that couldn’t wait.

I walked to the window and stared out at the bay in wonderment. It didn’t make sense. I had heard people tell adopting parents that adopting a child felt exactly like having a child biologically. I didn’t take much thought considering it a white lie, charitably fed to people who couldn’t have children biologically and who simply couldn’t handle the truth. After all, it was different for me when we adopted Jack.

The immense love that envelops a parent from the beginning was there with me for Jack. I loved him as much as my other sons. Even so, the feelings and experiences were different from the ones in the delivery rooms where I met my other children. It’s difficult to explain what was missing other than it being a sense of euphoria. Something strange had happened when I met Katya, though. It was the same!

I didn’t know how and I didn’t know why. It was the same; whether I could explain it or not. I found myself overwhelmed in an instant filled with thoughts and imaginations of our future relationship. I wondered what she might become and who she would be. My entire soul was engrossed with trying to absorb everything about her. I immediately felt a bond that took a few months to develop with my adopted son from almost ten years prior.

There must have been something I did wrong when I met one-month-old Jack. Had I inadvertently been prejudiced about his mental challenges? Had I been shielding myself in an attempt to build up a protective wall? After all, I knew there were severe risks to his health and that ultimately he might not survive more than a few months.

It wasn’t as if I felt like I owed Jack an apology. He had no idea I missed part of the experience. I was the only one in the world who knew. It wasn’t Jack who had been shortchanged. It was me.

I stood there with my hands on the windowsill looking through glass into the intermingled lights and shadows of night. I could only guess at possible reasons for my failure. The only thing certain was with Jack I had somehow robbed myself of the exact same experience I had enjoyed when I met my first three sons—and Katya.

I was determined not to make the same mistake the next day when I met Luba. It’s difficult to convince yourself you will avoid an error when you can’t put your finger on why you’ve failed before. I needed a formula to solve the problem, but I was having a tough time even gathering the variables.

“You seem quiet tonight,” Amy said as she climbed into bed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Just tired?”

“Yeah.”

I wouldn’t have to talk about it. We were both frazzled so I could write it off as exhaustion. I turned off the lamp with a click and closed my eyes tightly while pushing thoughts of self-examination from my mind. There would be plenty of time to calculate the reasons for my mistake after waking up to Amy’s jetlag alarm. It would go off slightly before mine, sometime between two and three in the morning.

 

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