Waiting for Hari

still here

I am still here. And angels are watching; the gods take an interest. I was on the bus this morning, up in Chicago, going to work, and my heart opened further. Could I really feel such a thing? I've been watching for Asian faces where ever I go. At first wondering what it will be like to have an Asian adult woman as my daughter. Of course, the little girl we adopt will grow up! Then I realized that I don't know the difference between Chinese, VietNamese, Philipine, Japanese, Korean faces. I recognize they are different but I have no idea. I laugh at myself -- many times I can't tell countries of origin in Caucasian people, why should I imagine that I could see it in Asians!? But I go on looking. Then, this morning I thought that when I am in Chicago, I see so many more Asians and my daughter will need to see faces like hers as she grows. She might be a minority but I don't want her to be unique. I want her to see people more like her than her parents on the street, in her school, shoping, driving buses, and playing. Then, there was some movement inside and a melting into something new. The accident, not driving much right now, a day with Cheshire as she took her place in a very special class, working with David to get the adoption going, visiting my father for a few days to just be with him, seeing a dear friend going through changes that may not be reversed, and now staying in Chicago for an entire week on my own. If this the recipe for change? I felt myself open up and become more real. More of myself. As if led for a long time through a tunnel and only now seeing a bit of light. I did not even know I was in darkness. I am in love with a person I do not know. I am fiercely protective of her in a way I have not been before. I am no sentimental fool however. I have been reading and gathering information about older kid adoption and what I read scares me badly sometimes. I have no idea where the reserves of strength and patience come from when I hear from families who have taken on very troubled souls. I pray that my daughter will be easier but I am preparing to recognize the worst. Finally, I understand why so many religious parents talk about being led by their god. This feeling that I have today cannot be explained in rational terms. I have never wanted to mother so much as now, and never willing to give of myself so much. I understand that the only way to explain it is some divine intervention. My feeling is different -- or explainable to me in another way. It is a blooming of what has always been inside -- oh yes, what a late blooming parent! Ha! Who would have expected? Certainly, not me. As if a desert rain has awaken long dried seeds. I have been shaken up, turned upside down, and put back together in a slightly different way. I sit at my desk, typing and wonder if I look different. Are my feet still touching the ground? Am I inches taller? Do I breathe deeper? I am still here and I am here differently. I struggle for words and still I write.

posted by Suz @ 9:56 AM