The door swung open. Fumbling into the small apartment with two screaming children in our arms, Abbey and I were storming the beaches of parenthood.
We had just been to the Bulgarian immigration offices to get Martin and Cristiana travel ready. The long wait, paired with the uncertainty of their situation, had thrown the kids into an understandable fit. Tired, hungry, and smoldering in the August sun, Abbey and I now had to figure out snack time. We were parents, and it was time to spring into action.
This was to be the first of ten days in Bulgaria. Ten days of struggling, ten days of bonding, ten days of … learning.
And learn we did.
Mike Tyson once said, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” I never thought Mike Tyson could give such great advice on adoption. It wasn’t that we were unprepared: we had taken numerous pre-adoption courses, and read countless pages on what to expect. It was that it was time to go from theory to reality. And this is transition is almost never a smooth one.
When a child is adopted, they can experience extreme feelings of loss. They’re leaving everything they’ve known – their sense of place. Good or bad, it was their “home” and you have removed them from it. We experienced this in great detail during our first days with M and C.
It wasn’t that it stopped after those first few days – I don’t want to give you the wrong idea – it was just that those days were exceptionally hard, for everyone.
My goal isn’t to remove your affections for adoption. God forbid. My goal is to help you understand the complexities of this process. To count the cost, if you’re considering adoption. It is an incredible calling. But with incredible callings, come incredible struggles. Count. The. Cost.
Settling into our first evening together, the kids calmed down, but maintained a level of reticence. They were friendly with us, but were visibly still trying to figure out what their situation meant. We sought ways to convey to them that they were safe now, but the language barrier – plus the fact that they just turned two – brought considerable challenges in delivering the promise of safety.
The sun set behind Mount Vitosha, bringing our first day to a close, but more importantly our first bedtime. Sleeping arrangements weren’t ideal, but we made due with what we had. The kids were not overjoyed to go to bed. Closing their eyes to go to sleep meant investing a lot of trust in us:
“Will they be there when we wake up?”
“How can we know we can trust them?”
“This doesn’t look like the place I normally sleep.”
The next day provided an opportunity for their personalities to unfold. Martin was stoic, finding a safe spot and playing it close to the vest, he found refuge in Abbey’s arms. Cristiana was cavalier, locating every dangerous object in the non-child-proofed apartment, and attempting to bite, poke, or climb on it.
Count. The. Cost.
It was clear that we had two very different kids on our hands, with very polarizing personalities.
One trait they did share was an unfortunate relationship with food. Food was a flashpoint for the kids; a common thing for children who have experienced environments where food sources are limited.
Lifting C away from the table ignited fierce tantrums. We were stunned. She had quickly connected the table to eating, continuously marching back to the kitchen and demanding to be set back up in the chair. Kicking and screaming, she was inconsolable. It was helpless feeling: not being able to convey to her that she was safe, and that food was a guarantee. But trust never comes overnight.
Abbey and I resorted taking shifts eating in the bathroom in order to avoid igniting another meltdown. This was no time for “parenting” their actions away, because their actions didn’t come from a heart of obstinance, they came from a place of fear.
The best thing a newly adoptive parent can learn right away is empathy. Just be there for them – that’s all. The rest will sort itself as your time together unfolds.
Our third night together was particularly difficult. The kids were crying, no one had slept in a few days, and we were at the end of our ropes. Feeling completely incapable, we joined in on the crying. Just one big family cry – all four of us. I’m sure it was a sight to observe.
It was through these tears however, that we were brought to an amazing instance of communion with God. We prayed – and the prayer was simple:
“God, we know the plans you have for our family. We know that you provide strength in the desert.”
And as God always does, He provided. He did this through things that wouldn’t seem outstanding in every day life. Things that are taken for granted when you’re in the comfort of your own home. Though they might seem pedestrian, these things were essential to us at the time:
1. Facebook Messenger
Although it gets a bad wrap as being the place where people go to argue in comment boxes and share memes, Facebook played an integral role in getting us through our first few days together. Abbey had joined a few different Bulgarian adoption groups, and had also been having ongoing conversations with friends back home.
I cannot stress enough the importance of having other people who have adopted or are preparing to adopt to communicate with. During those trying times, when you’re doubting yourself, questioning your motivations, and hanging on by a thread, these conversations can reignite your passion. They can keep you above water, just having someone to talk to when you feel as if you’re on an island.
2. He gave us technology to phone home and talk with family
Facetime and Skype were both huge for our lifting our spirits. Martin and Cristiana stared, glazed over at what I’m sure seemed like a magic box. Our families waved at them through the screen, but no such gesture was reciprocated – only confused wonderment at the people on the screen.
We got a kick out of this. We also got a kick out of our parents getting to see and talk to M and C. Being able to call your parents is an amazing gift, especially when you’re struggling, and 5,000 miles away. A call to momma seems to always do wonders for the heart.
3. He gave us McDonald’s
As crazy as it sounds, the golden arches were a blessing from God.
After the kids had decided to go on a hunger strike on day six, we came up with the best idea our tired minds could salvage: McNuggets. There was a McDonald’s not far from our apartment, and we were desperate. Making our way through the crowded streets, we prepared to do the most uncultured thing ever – order McDonald’s in Europe.
Imagine it: surrounded by a plethora of cultures and mouth watering cuisine, we were about to step into the corporate behemoth and order McNuggets. Ah, parenthood.
The line lurched along. Slow and unorganized, the McDonald’s of Sofia had stuck to the true model of “fast food” efficiency. I played “catch the escaping child” with Cristiana while Abbey and Martin held our spot in line. Then, out of nowhere, we heard a familiar sound: someone was speaking english.
Our ears perked up. Abbey and I looked at each other as if to say, “did you hear that?” Standing in front of us was a woman and her son waiting for their order. I was certain that I had heard english, but there was only one way to find out.Turning to Abbey, I said something above the volume of the room to get their attention. Sure enough, she turned around.
We had found new friends. We had found an answered prayer.
Much to our excitement, we discovered that she and her husband were also in Bulgaria for their second adoption trip! It was an amazing feeling. A euphoric feeling. People who we could talk to, and people who knew exactly what we were going through. Yes!
Throughout the rest of our time in Bulgaria we got to know this couple and another that they introduced us to. Sharing meals, stories, and encouragement, we talked like we had known each other for years.
Just when it felt like we were supremely alone, God sent a life preserver – a shot in the arm.
Parenting started to become less foreign as the days went on. I accepted my role as Cristiana’s personal chaser, while Abbey became Martin’s designated cuddler. Bonds were starting to form. There were still times of immense struggle – of crying and broken up sleep, but the difference came in how they began to trust us.
The kids clung to us a little tighter. They scooted a little closer when we rode in the car, or sat on a bench. These little victories alleviated our new-parent stress as we drew closer to our travel day.
Family adventure in Sofia!
Our last night in Sofia brought a whirlwind of emotion. We were excited because we were headed home, but this also meant saying goodbye to the friends we had made.
Meeting for one last night together, we imagined what the future could hold for our families. The prospects of seeing our children blossom and grow in our home states had us all feeling very excited! After dinner and some last goodbyes, we made our way back to the apartment to prepare for our travel day.
Getting everything in order and the kids ready for bed at the apartment, I had one last person to bid farewell – our dear friend, Krum.
He had been the person who helped us experience so many amazing things in our time in Bulgaria. He had taken us in like family, and now, it was time to say goodbye. Sitting on a bench on Vitosha, we watched the relaxed crowds stroll along. Krum spoke of big career decisions he had to make, and how much Martin and Cristiana were going to love America. I told him how much we appreciated him.
One last bear hug, a long handshake, and we went our separate ways. It was the first time I had ever said goodbye to someone who I would almost certainly never see again. As he disappeared around a distant corner, I thanked God that he had given us such a blessing of a friend.
I didn’t have much time to be sad: we had packing to do, and many miles ahead of us. The next day would be full of travel. Travel – with toddlers.
An early morning phone call, a quick check of luggage, a silent car ride, and we were at our first terminal.
The sun hadn’t gotten out of bed yet when we arrived at the airport, and no one was particularly chipper. My concerns centered heavily on how the kids would react to flying: I was terrified of the prospect of being the screaming baby row on an airplane.
To our pleasant surprise, the first flight was silent. Could it be? Could we have “easy” traveling children? Aside from a few dust ups at the Frankfurt airport, we had managed to stay out of meltdown town throughout the five hour layover. Our biggest concern – the ten hour big boy flight over the Atlantic – went along without incident, other than some fidgeting and demands for more crackers.
Wearied from the journey, but excited to be home!
Landing in North Carolina, we thought the worst was over, but we would soon discover that we hadn’t seen anything yet.
The lines were long, there was wailing, shrieking, gnashing of teeth, the whole thing. I’m of course talking about Customs. I had always gone through the citizen line, never having to experience what an immigrant must go through in order to enter our country. By the end of our two hour ordeal, I had gained a whole new level of respect for the process.
About an hour into our wait, Cristiana had seen enough. Crying, screaming, refusing the emergency ration of goldfish, we were “those people” in line. The glares pierced us from every side of the room. Unsolicited parenting advice was heaped upon us, much to our chagrin. But then I recalled the advice a friend of Abbey and I had given us in preparation of this situation.
Her advice was simple: smile, and remember that we would never see these people again in our lives. So that’s what we did – albeit perspiring from stress and fatigue, we survived customs with a smile, and a longing for home.
The amount of support we received from friends cannot be understated. We were fortunate enough to have friends in North Carolina who were also adopting from Bulgaria. They met us on our way to our terminal for a some quick catching up. This was the first time we had ever met in person, and I was concerned that we looked like the living dead after about 18 hours of plane rides and airport sprints.
Our meet up was brief, but much needed. Just as they had some many times during our travels, friends had been an immense blessing from God that kept our heads up, and eyes focused. Realizing that you’re not going it alone is imperative to pursuing adoption with a right mindset. Don’t be afraid to ask for a hand.
Now it was time for the last flight home. The last leg. The last time we would be lofted 30,000 ft in the air for a VERY long time. Just one problem: our flight was delayed – big time. A five o’clock take off turned into a 9:30 take off, on a different plane. The family was running on fumes.
Once the flight had left the ground, it was only fitting that halfway through we hit turbulence – our old nemesis. The turbulence was so bad in fact, that we had to fly an out-of-the-way route in order to safely land in Kansas City. During the last hour of the flight, poor Miss C screamed and cried – clearly afraid and tired. Fortunately, the passengers of this flight were good sports; a relief for a couple of rookie parents looking for a break.
The wheels barked on the runway.
A long exhale left my chest as we stepped off the plane. Martin in Abbey’s arms, Cristiana in mine, we were greeted by our family. The trip was over, but the was just beginning. It felt as if we had already learned so much during this trial by fire. We most certainly were not strangers anymore.
The family had persevered through its first taste of adversity together. At the time, I would have probably complained – probably just said I was “hanging in there,” but finally having the chance to think with some clarity on the trip – I’d say it’s just what the doctor ordered.
God brought us to the other side of adversity, wiser and closer than when we had started. The turbulence had taught us how to stick together when the skies were rough, and enjoy view when the flying was smooth.
This story originally appeared on the blog, No Distance Too Great, on February 2, 2016.
Trevor and Abbey Callaway are the proud parents of Christiana and Martin, brought home from Bulgaria in August, 2015. Deeply moved by the knowledge that there are still orphans waiting for a home and a family, Trevor’s blog, No Distance Too Great, encourages others to look inside and ask themselves if adoption is part of their journey, too.
The Callaways are also CMomA Adoption Grant recipients!
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