A Personal Story of a Russian Adoption through the heart of a soon to be Mother
Alisa White Karwowski
She handed me the sick fragile young boy and I don’t even remember sitting down. He looked at us and let out a little whimper of unfamiliarity. The first words I ever said to my son were, “Ya tebleda le bleu”, Russian for I love you. I repeated myself one more time. I wanted him to understand in his language that he needn’t be afraid, that we loved him; we were his parents. I put him at the end of my lap to get a good look at him. I needed to see that he was real, that he existed in a physical sense, not just in my dreams. We stared at one another. His eyes were so beautiful but tired. As if I was looking through his eyes and into his soul it was then I that understood. I realized that all of my prayers had not gone unanswered, rather they were being answered and I was being blessed. I just needed to have an open heart. I told him that we loved him and had waited so long to be with him. His glassy eyes did not make contact this time as he leaned forward and placed his small hand on my cheek and kissed me.
I had waited for so long for this moment; I had dreamt about this first embrace since the idea entered my mind last winter.
Unlike the weather outside our New Hampshire home, the conversation was anything but cold on the evening of January 21, 2002 between my husband and me. Instead, it was warmed by emotion, anxiety and wonderment. I needed to talk to him. I needed the opportunity to share a grand yet intimidating idea with him. He questioned me on what my motivation was to have such a formal conversation between a husband and wife. On that winter evening, the smell of the woodstove, and the sound of the television all blurred from our minds as I began to speak.
“What would you think of going to Russia to adopt a child?” I asked. The question I had thought about, the idea I had defended in my own mind had finally been posed. With no and I mean no hesitation, he smiled. He liked the idea!!! “Yea, I’d do that”, was all he said. His brief statement was followed by; “What does it entail? Can we afford it? What kind of a child would we parent?” I really wasn’t prepared for his inquires. I had no idea what the process of adopting an international child would entail on any level. I had tears in my eyes and a shake in my voice. I don’t know I admitted; after all, all I had was a phone number.
The next morning, I had a pleasantly optimistic telephone conversation with a local agency and less than a week later we had the first of many packets of forms needing completion. Although impressed, I was intimidated by the extent of their requirements. The cost was close to unbearable for us. We are financially secure, we live in a home that we love and feel as though we’ll always be in, we both have stable jobs, we have a loving marriage, and we have a supportive family. Was that not enough?
Feeling much insecurity, we applied to adopt a child. We were accepted into the program and were considered “paper ready” to adopt a child possessing the likenesses that we had requested by late February.
The next few months were filled with day dreams of what our child would be like, wondering if he or she had been born yet, what they would look like, what they would act like.
The phone rang on May 21st and we were asked if we would accept the referral of an eight-month old baby boy who was perfectly healthy. We were absolutely out of our minds. “My God, of course!!!” My husband quickly agreed and we called all of our family and told them the little that we knew. The agency called again and informed us that we had been invited to travel to St. Petersburg, Russia on June 1st. We were invited to enter Russia for the purposes of meeting our son and signing another letter of intent to adopt this specific child. This letter being appropriately documented would then generate the scheduling of a court date.
June 1st came and went and we did not go to Russia. There was a delay in the availability of our son. Two more months passed and I grew more and more discouraged as so many doubts swirled through my mind. We had given them everything we had on every level; we truly had put our fate in the hands of people we didn’t even know. Is there really even a child over there meant for us?
What was I going to do with my time? I was at a complete stand still in my life. I remember running along Wells Beach in Maine. I ran longer and harder than usual. I would finish my run and stare out across the ocean to the horizon. “I know you are over there; I am coming just as soon as I can.”
The phone rang that certain intense ring. I knew who was calling. We were again invited to arrive in Russia on August 30th. We were to make arrangements to leave the country in less than a week. We were on our way!!! What a mix of emotions. I was so thrilled, so anxious, so scared. I’m not a world traveler, much less someone who would travel to another country to find my baby.
I remember the time when I had to say goodbye to my family. I was so scared. I wanted them to know how much I loved and appreciated them in case something went wrong. I felt like a little girl again, so vulnerable, so fearful of so many unknowns. I think that is the feeling of being absolutely terrified. I knew I had to go and I had waited so long to go, but when it came down to it I wasn’t sure if there was any more strength in body to muster up. They told me they loved me and that I had to go.
We arrived in St. Petersburg and were met by an escort that was to bring us to our hotel. She was a beautiful woman who spoke an eloquent sort of broken English. She brought us to the Grand Kempinski Europa, one of the finest hotels in Russia. We were told to get some rest in preparation for a big day to follow. There was no way we would be able to check in and then get ready for bed. Exhausted and overwhelmed, we decided to make our way onto Nevsky Proper to walk around St. Petersburg and try some Russian cuisine for dinner. To cross Nevsky’s six lanes we went underneath the street. We walked down a ramp passing people selling and bargaining small animals and random gifts. Once underneath the street, we paused to get our bearings.
It was there that I made eye contact with a young girl sitting on the dirty cracked concrete floor between pedestrians entering and leaving the Metro. She had beautiful blue eyes, straggly untrimmed blonde hair and filthy clothes. Her urine stained pants were way too small for her. As I walked closer to her, her sad eyes followed my exact movements. Without as much as a word, her expression told me that I needed to be here. I saw that she was selling tiny kittens out of two cardboard boxes. Her price was ten roubles per cat which equated to about three dollars US currency at that time.
I didn’t feel it inappropriate to stand over her and lay my hand atop her head. She looked up at me with a warm smile as if only comforted for a moment. She has nothing, I thought. She has nowhere to sleep tonight; she has no parents. She may have been eight, possibly only seven. I felt like I wanted to bring her home with us too. Who would even notice, let alone miss her?
More than a year later as I write this story, I still feel an emotional tightness in my throat as I reflect on this meeting. It is hard to admit that I wish, in a way that I never saw her. I feel guilty in saying that. Selfish as it is, I have to live with the memory of her face imprinted in my mind and in my heart. I still wish if I could’ve just taken her as my own; instead, I will always wonder about her.
After a long night of sleeplessness, we were finally on our way to the orphanage! We were brought to the Committee where we were escorted into a room to swear to our intentions on being in the country for the purposes of adopting our child. We were granted written permission to enter the orphanage itself.
Galina, our escort, pulled up to the second of two orangey yellow cement buildings, separated only by a dilapidated play yard that certainly hadn’t aged with grace. She asked us to stay in the car until she came to get us. Soon, she surfaced and motioned for us to get out of the car and meet her. I can’t really tell you about those minutes in the car as they are hard to remember. Both my husband and I were so filled with emotion. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for the moment that I had dreamt about since last winter. Our son was in the building. What will he think? Will he accept us? Will he fall in love with us? I wondered. All too soon, but never soon enough we were about to find out.
We walked with poise through a hallway under construction to a sort of waiting room. It was there that I would first set eyes on my son. The place was old; the smell was clean. In reality we sat for probably five minutes but to us, those minutes were an absolute eternity. To be completely honest, I had many thoughts racing through me. I was so overcome with emotion that I can’t truly dictate the mood. I remember asking my husband for some Kleenex, but knew there wouldn’t be any. We held hands. He put his hand on my shaking leg and said, “This is it Baby”. Contrary to his intention, his words made me even more uneasy, if that was possible. This is it? What if…
The orphanage director brought him in. “Sergey, Da Mumma e Da Pappa” were the only words spoken as she pointed at us and gently turned my son off her shoulder and around her body so he could see us. We stared at each other. I felt like this child did understand the depth of my love for him.
My husband was told to be patient with the baby. They warned him that the baby had never been held by a man before and was very likely to be very afraid of him at first. We had no idea what his reception would be to my husband and I worried in private that the baby would cry or feel uncomfortable in his arms. In the arms of his father, yes, the only man that had ever held him up to this point, but more importantly the man who loved him more than any other.
The baby was obviously very sick when we first met him. His breathing was labored and he seemed very tired. I asked one of the diligent caretakers in the room if the bulk under his clothes at his chest was some sort of respirator. Once the translation went through, the room erupted in laughter. No, I was told that is a heavy towel to keep your baby from wetting on you. They explained that there is no medicine, much less a respirator for the children nor were there any diapers. I was shocked.
We brought our baby to the Euro Med Clinic where he would undergo a full physical, repeat blood work and most importantly be evaluated for his current sickness. He was diagnosed with severe bronchitis and was prescribed four medications. Three were antibiotics and one was for his pain. The doctor, who had practiced pediatrics in the United States for more than ten years asked to speak to us privately. He told us that we were under no obligation and should feel no pressure to pay for the medicine. Without question, we did. The doctor put his arm around me and whispered that he would not charge us the customary $275.00 for the exam because we bought the medicine. To fill the prescriptions cost us only $45.00. We asked what would happen to a child in his condition that did not receive the medicine. He explained that those children are transferred to an orphanage where other sick children reside as to not harm the other healthy children. There, the children either conquer their illness on their own, but most often die.
We visited with our son for two more days. We held him and talked to him constantly. We went through a baby photo album my friend had prepared that was filled with everyone that loved him back at home. We got him to laugh a few times by tossing him into the air and tickling him.
The fourth day came and we knew we would have to leave him and fly back to the United States without him and await a court date. It was very difficult to remain positive during this visit with the dread of saying goodbye looming over our heads. The hour we were together was wonderful though. We had bonded; we knew we belonged together and he made us a family.
A nurse came in and asked for my baby. I handed him to her as to comply with their structured schedules. I thought he was going to get changed. All of a sudden, I realized that was it. She was taking him to join the group and we would not see him again until we returned to Russia.
Panic, anger and disbelief surged through me. Where are you going with my baby? I began to scream before I realized what I was doing. “Bring him back, bring him back here!!!” Quickly, gruff Russian language filled the room. She had thought that we knew she was taking him from us. She returned with the baby and we were given the opportunity to say goodbye. That’s all I can say about that; there are no words.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the pain, nor the intensity of its grip. We boarded the plane back to Boston. Our physical bodies went home but our minds and our hearts, our spirits were left with our new baby at Baby House # 6.
Seven long weeks later, we entered Russia again to adopt our son. We found ourselves at the orphanage the first day we were there. Our son had been given a vaccination for the flu and felt sick from it. We waited from 10:30 in the morning until 2 pm in a cheery playroom next to his nursery before we were told that we would not be able to see him that day. He was too sick and needed to be rested for the following day when we would lawfully take him from the orphanage.
I wasn’t leaving; I wanted to see my baby. I needed confirmation that he was doing okay. I told the director that we couldn’t leave without seeing him. Along with one other couple we had met in the waiting room we were escorted into one of the nurseries. She asked us to remain quiet as she brought us into his room for the other children were napping. There he was. Upon his rosy cheeks a small smile was forming as he laid his eyes on us. His small face was not the only familiar sight in his small crib. His head was resting on the pillow we brought him the last time we saw him. On the pillow was a picture of my husband and me and it read: We love you, Mommy and Daddy. We wanted our son to have us with him while we waited for our court date. We wanted him to remember his parents and to not be afraid. We were told not to pick our child up. And as to not push our luck, we did not. Another crib was positioned right beside our son’s with the railings touching. It was Elena’s crib, who would also be adopted tomorrow.
We were the first of four US couples to adopt their child that October 24th. We had decided that I would stand up for our son. The first question was posed as “What evidence do you have for the court that you have fallen in love with this particular child?” I looked at my husband and then at Victor, our translator and friend. I cannot answer that in way that would be understood by anyone, much less someone who didn’t understand English. Do we love him?!?! The orphanage director sitting separately from us gave me a warm smile and in her quiet and unpolished accent motioned for me to go on. I knew I had to speak. The evidence of my love was obvious.
She asked to dress him for the last time. I handed her his clothes and she bought him back for me to bundle him up as we left Baby House #6. This October day would be the first time that he saw snow fall. She carried him to the door, the orphanage director handed him to me, I looked back to give her one more hug of thanks and that same motion of “go on” surfaced. This time, there were tears falling from underneath her tinted sunglasses. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him and we’ll be back to tell you all about him, I thought. We walked, I held him and my husband held me. We were together, a family at last. There was no air around us.
Two days later, we flew to Moscow and were granted permission to leave Russia with our new son within days. After more than twenty-four hours of traveling the words we had waited for danced through our ears; “Prepare for descent into Boston” came over the loud speaker. We exited the plane and went through Customs at Logan International Airport. The woman at the US Customs counter reviewed all of our son’s paperwork and after a few minutes of uneasiness, she looked at our son and said, “Welcome home, John” and forcefully laid the stamp on the passport. We emotionally thanked her and made our way to another US Customs room where John Sergei was declared a US Citizen on October 29, 2002. We made it!!!
We exited baggage claim and were met by my mother and two police officers. My mother met her first grandchild for the first time. We were escorted by the officers to the front of the line of people waiting to leave the terminal. As soon as we passed through a door reading international arrivals only, we saw them. A crowd of more than fifty family members and friends were there to meet John Sergei. There was not a dry eye in the place, not even those of perfect strangers.
Since the moment we adopted our son we have witnessed his adjustment, as well as his mental and physical development soar. He has an absolute love for life. His pediatrician laughs that “good for you” laugh every time she plots his vertical growth chart. Jack dances like nobody’s business, he throws a great side arm pitch, he nods his head with enthusiasm when you ask him if he likes the Boston Red Sox and so much more! I have been accused of bragging, but he deserves it! I truly do not think it would be possible to love him any more than we do.
Little Elena is now Sarah Elena and lives only forty-five minutes from our house. She and Jack play together all of the time along with her five year old brother, Tyler who was adopted from St. Petersburg four years ago. Their parents and we will always keep the children together. People always ask us if we think the kids have a special attachment to one another. Jack and Sarah gravitate to one another every time they are together. They really do look like brother and sister, and in a way they are.
Jack turned two late August, one year and one day after our first embrace.
Please, God grant me one extra year and one extra day to be his Mother.
I wrote him a letter on his second birthday. The postscript reads; “In case you are ever wondering, most Mumma’s see their baby’s heartbeat on a monitor, while other Mumma’s, like me feel their own heart skip it a beat as we wait for our children to arrive. That’s the only difference.”