The flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to Charlotte, NC via D.C. took about 24 hours to complete. As we de-planed in Charlotte, I remember how relieved I felt that I had actually managed to get three children who spoke no English, had never been on a plane, and who were scared and confused back home safe and sound to meet Pa, Mr. Laura, and Mr. Edwards for the first time. That is when she bolted. Mary left me standing there with Mr. Garvey and a sleeping Miss Almanzo in my arms, three back packs and two carry on suitcases. Where she was going I'm not sure, but she was wasting no time getting there. I began screaming her name. Fortunately a woman figured out the situation and stepped in front of Mary long enough for us to catch her. From there we managed pretty uneventfully to make it to baggage claim to meet Pa, Mr. Edwards, and Mr. Laura and so began our new family.
To say that Mary and I have had a rough adjustment to each other would be an understatement. Mary pretty much disliked me from the moment we met. It was obvious that she did not want to leave Ethiopia and she needed to blame somebody. She understandably chose me. She had not asked to give up everything that was familiar to her and start again with strangers. Her Ethiopian family had made an adoption plan for her and her brother and sister that they felt was in their best interests, but that did not mean that she would be a willing participant. Mary possesses a lot of qualities that will make her a survivor, but these qualities are not often easy ones for the parent. She is independent, determined, strong-willed, brutally honest, opinionated, and questions everything. At the same time she is funny and playful, generous and compassionate. It is these latter qualities that I had difficulty seeing initially.
The first two months were very trying. She told me in no uncertain terms that she did not want to be here, that she did not like me, and that she wished I was dead. I'd like to say that as the adult I didn't take any of this personally, that it did not affect my feelings towards her, and that I was always patient with her while she worked this out. Of course I'd be lying if I did. I took a lot of deep breaths, apologized a lot, and kept telling myself that "this too shall pass".
Fortunately for the entire family Mary and Pa hit it off. It gave both of us some much needed space from each other. I remember the turning point for me. One day Pa remarked that Mary is really so sweet and it would have been a real tragedy if she had been left behind in Ethiopia. Sweet? Mary? Sweet? My brain locked up. It was as if Pa were telling me the earth was flat after all. I could think of a lot of other adjectives but I could not put Mary and "sweet" together. I couldn't believe we could both live in the same house with Mary and each see her so differently. I wanted to see what he saw. I began watching their interactions and trying to see Mary through his eyes. That is when I felt my heart soften. It hasn't been easy but day by day I feel the love and trust building between the two us.
One of my remaining concerns is that she never seems happy in the way that Mr. Garvey and Miss Almanzo do. She has understandably hesitated to embrace her new life fully. It is as if she has made a bargain with herself that she will accept her life such as it is, but that joy and happiness will not be part of it. She is never satisfied. Nothing is ever good enough. She is always sure that one of her siblings got something better than she did. She screams, "I hate this," as she opens the birthday gift you bought her. The birthday gift she explicitly told you she wanted. She is so determined to be unhappy.
So last night as we drove her to her second gymnastic practice of the week and of her lifetime, I heard the sweetest words I never thought I would hear from Mary. The car was quiet and completely out of the blue, as she bounced excitedly up and down in her seat, she giggled and said, "I'm so happy."
To say that Mary and I have had a rough adjustment to each other would be an understatement. Mary pretty much disliked me from the moment we met. It was obvious that she did not want to leave Ethiopia and she needed to blame somebody. She understandably chose me. She had not asked to give up everything that was familiar to her and start again with strangers. Her Ethiopian family had made an adoption plan for her and her brother and sister that they felt was in their best interests, but that did not mean that she would be a willing participant. Mary possesses a lot of qualities that will make her a survivor, but these qualities are not often easy ones for the parent. She is independent, determined, strong-willed, brutally honest, opinionated, and questions everything. At the same time she is funny and playful, generous and compassionate. It is these latter qualities that I had difficulty seeing initially.
The first two months were very trying. She told me in no uncertain terms that she did not want to be here, that she did not like me, and that she wished I was dead. I'd like to say that as the adult I didn't take any of this personally, that it did not affect my feelings towards her, and that I was always patient with her while she worked this out. Of course I'd be lying if I did. I took a lot of deep breaths, apologized a lot, and kept telling myself that "this too shall pass".
Fortunately for the entire family Mary and Pa hit it off. It gave both of us some much needed space from each other. I remember the turning point for me. One day Pa remarked that Mary is really so sweet and it would have been a real tragedy if she had been left behind in Ethiopia. Sweet? Mary? Sweet? My brain locked up. It was as if Pa were telling me the earth was flat after all. I could think of a lot of other adjectives but I could not put Mary and "sweet" together. I couldn't believe we could both live in the same house with Mary and each see her so differently. I wanted to see what he saw. I began watching their interactions and trying to see Mary through his eyes. That is when I felt my heart soften. It hasn't been easy but day by day I feel the love and trust building between the two us.
One of my remaining concerns is that she never seems happy in the way that Mr. Garvey and Miss Almanzo do. She has understandably hesitated to embrace her new life fully. It is as if she has made a bargain with herself that she will accept her life such as it is, but that joy and happiness will not be part of it. She is never satisfied. Nothing is ever good enough. She is always sure that one of her siblings got something better than she did. She screams, "I hate this," as she opens the birthday gift you bought her. The birthday gift she explicitly told you she wanted. She is so determined to be unhappy.
So last night as we drove her to her second gymnastic practice of the week and of her lifetime, I heard the sweetest words I never thought I would hear from Mary. The car was quiet and completely out of the blue, as she bounced excitedly up and down in her seat, she giggled and said, "I'm so happy."
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