At a Loss...

Reagan ~ I find myself at a loss for words...and other things.  In hindsight, some part of me knew what the day had in store when I woke with intense stomach pain at 3am.  I think I was having an allergic reaction to something I'd eaten for dinner and in pacing the apartment in the dark, I broke my toe.  I didn't sleep much after that and yet I still overslept.  I dizzily and frantically got ready to take Liza to the town of her birth, where her biological mother still resides.
We were picked up at 8:45am and drove to the orphanage to get Liza.  Within the hour, the Ukrainian roads in disrepair there had all three of us, Tom, Liza and I, in the backseat nauseated.  She curled up next to me, head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.

Tom ~ There are times when a girl needs her Dad and times when she needs her Mom. Yesterday was certainly a Mommy day for Liza.  And for good reason.  She had said a brief and unexpected goodbye to her biological mother a couple weeks earlier.  But today she knew she was going to see her again and she was preparing mentally for it.

Reagan ~ We had errands to run at the local government offices regarding her new birth certificate and then had a good lunch.  We laughed a lot at the younger of our two facilitators, Angelina.  She's a stitch and we needed the comic relief.  It was another 50 bumpy kilometers to Liza's village of origin.  It looks like World War II happened yesterday.

Tom ~ When the facilitator said her village was 50 km away from the small town, but "in the region" we knew it was going to be a tiny village.  Poverty is not an adequate word for this place.  Everything was decades old and falling apart.  Every house had an outhouse out back.  Clay bricks, rubble, rust, rotting wood.  These are the words I think of to describe the village.  I asked Liza if she remembered anything about her village.  She answered "Я не помню".... "I don't remember." and then the phrase she says so often, "Ten years."  

As we approached the village, though, she perked up and wanted me to roll down the window.  You could tell she was recalling foggy memories of this place where she had lived until she was 6.  She suddenly knew which roads to turn down.  Memories were returning, sparked by visual images.  But soon I could see that whatever memories she was having were confusing her.  

Reagan ~ She began to realize that even her positive memories were not all accurate.  She hasn't been back since she was handed over to government care ten years ago...and had only yesterday been told that it was at her mother's request.  It was her chance to see what might have been and to let it go all in the same breath.

The facilitators asked us to wait in the car while they took Liza inside her old house because it was inappropriate for the whole thing to be taking place at all.  Her mother had kept drawings she'd done at school and someone had brought.  She told Liza to take anything she wanted from the house.  There wasn't much to choose from.  She came away with three old photographs.

Liza received Operation Christmas shoe boxes at the orphanage.  Pencils are a common gift.

She saw her mother and little brother and two aunts and let them all go, too.  She was brave and smiling.  And then she wasn't.  She entwined her arms in mine, held both my hands, slid down in the seat with her head on my shoulder and let the tears come.

Tom ~ Liza walked back to the car with a smile on her face.  Honestly, I was a little surprised.  But she hopped in the car smiling and we drove off, heading back to Simferopol.  Reagan pulled out the camera that our facilitator had used to take pictures for us.  As she began to scroll through the photos, I could see Liza, on the far side of the back seat, slide down, put her head on Reagan's shoulder and squeeze both her hands.  I leaned forward to smile at her because I wanted her to know that I was happy that she had this last opportunity for closure.  But as I leaned forward, I could see tears streaming down her cheeks.  I've known Liza long enough to know that she has a lot to cry about, but never does it in front of anyone.  This was an overwhelming event for her.  

Reagan ~ For the second time we had to leave her with that specific grief and drive away.  We had no idea that more loss awaited.  I sank into a chair back at the apartment and was ready to peel off the layers.  That was when Tom walked into the room with a look so flat I might have known what was coming.  A dear friend passed away.  The rest of this blog is all we can do to honor him from here, for now.  We owe him so much.  But we will be still be here in Ukraine during his funeral on Saturday morning.

Tom ~ I returned to the apartment and as soon as my phone picked up the wifi, the emails and FB notifications flooded in.  I sat down and started to sort through them.  I opened one message and read that our good friend and the builder of our house, "Steve Allmond passed away."  I had to reread that sentence several times.   I had talked to Steve the day before we left for Ukraine.  He's only 51.  He had just talked me through winterizing our irrigation system.  He agreed to be on-call should any emergencies with the house come up.  I left his number with our house-sitters.  He was so thrilled about our adoption and couldn't wait to meet Liza.  I just couldn't believe it.

Reagan ~ The three of us, Tom, me and Steve comprised a team that have worked together for 3 1/2 years on our home.  We carried the vision.  He built it.  Every square inch is evidence of his heart and his integrity.  Not only did he help us design it and build it, he hung in there with us the last two years since we moved in.  If the smoke detectors went off in the middle of the night, we called Steve.  If we couldn't dig up a tree stump, we called Steve.  If some one else tried to rip us off, we called Steve.   When the yard flooded, when we installed irrigation, wanted to extend the driveway and when Liza needed a closet...we called Steve. It has even gotten to where our German Shepherd follows Steve around when he's over and not me.  Steve was like Mikey, he would try anything for us. He was dependable and trustworthy and generous.  He was our partner in the biggest dream of our lives.  He's irreplaceable.

Steve in December '09 framing the house in 25* weather

Steve in April '10 deciding on the deck stairs with Tom

Teaching Tom all along the way

Steve in the Bobcat that has become part of the scenery at the Faraway

The finished house, a tribute to his talents

The library bench, a gift from Steve because I couldn't afford it but had my heart set on it.  He was so excited to show it to me that day.  He put the top on hinges so I could store blankets..R

He put up with me painting all the rooms myself WITH four kids in tow on his construction site for months.  I wish I had a picture of his face every time he saw a new color I was using.  When he saw the orange paint for our sons bathroom he said, "Reagan, you are like a box of crayons."  It was a good laugh.  To date, one of the best compliments I've ever gotten.  I'll never forget it.  I will miss you always, Steve.

Before we left for Ukraine, he was working on Liza's closet and helping me with the new orchard and preparing to pour more of the driveway.  He knew every inch of our place.  We were supposed to pick up where we left off when we got back.  I loved working all together.  His loss leaves a big hole in our lives and many others.  Please pray for his wife and daughter.

Tom ~ When someone dies, you wonder where they are.  With Steve, there was absolutely no question.  He loved the Lord very much.  He declared it.  He lived it and showed it.  He was a man of enormous integrity and honor.  He loved his family and worked very hard for them.  He taught me a lot of things that men should know.  He was an excellent friend.  I will miss you very, very much, Steve.