As I type this blog post, my son is nestled comfortably between Daddy and me in our family bed. He is comfortable, warm, content and in a deep slumber. Daddy has been leaning over to kiss him occasionally when he rolls over to face Isaac. And I watch our boy intently and lovingly as he takes in each sleeping breath. But unlike them, I cannot sleep. My heart is aching.
I received news today that Haitian Roots has been unsuccessful in reaching Isaac’s bio family since the recent hurricane that has devastated Haiti. Folks from the organization were planning to meet the family in Petionville, Haiti next month in order to enroll Isaac’s biological sisters into school (through our sponsorship). But access to Petionville from Petit Goave (where Isaac’s bio family resides) is impassable at this time due to the severe floods washing away the bridges, etc. So, a representative from Haitian Roots has been trying to call them to let them know what the alternatives are … and to make other arrangements. Yet, they have been unable to reach the family thus far.
Perhaps the phone lines are down — which is an ongoing issue even in the “nicer” parts of Haiti. And perhaps the family is safe, sound and secure in knowing that we (Haitian Roots and I) will find a way to reach them eventually. But that is not what makes my heart ache. Rather, it is the alternative to that which keeps me from sleeping. Life is so fragile in Haiti. Families constantly walk a fine line between life and death. And communication across any distance is sketchy at best. So, I do not know how the family is … and it may take a long time before I do. And I officially hate that. I mean … really hate it. I feel angry about it. Angry because a family that I love so dearly … a family that my son will one day embrace as a part of his own … is so far removed from us … living in a volatile climate (socially, politically and geographically) … and I have no control over any means to assist them in a time of great struggle.
I don’t really know where my fear, anxiety, and anger are coming from either. The feelings seem to remind me of the ones I had while waiting for Isaac to come home — impotence, lack of control, anger at the dangers that exist in Haiti, love, love, love, and the attachments that come with love …. the longing … the desperate want to know that all is okay … the want to “fix” all that ails them … the want for the power to make it better …
And as I watch my son take in every sleeping breath … knowing that he is safe, warm, healthy and happy … I cry over what could have been. And I am not sure why. There was never an “alternative” life for Isaac. He was and always has been “our boy”. So, I don’t ever wonder about what his life might have been had he stayed in Haiti. As God knows, it was never an option. But tonight, I wonder. Tonight I cry thanks that he will never have to struggle for food, shelter, clean water, or safety from hurricanes. But then I remember that the reality for his bio family … and the two sweet bio sisters he has in Haiti … is vastly different. And it pains me. I pray that they are safe, warm, healthy and happy tonight too. And I pray that I hear from them soon. My heart is aching over the unknown … just as it did when I was waiting for Isaac to come home. Perhaps that is why I am so emotionally charged over this. It brings me back to a time when my heart ached daily over not knowing how my baby was … a time I normally try not to think about.
But to believe and to have faith that all is “well” … is a powerful thing. I think I should exert my emotional energy into positive thinking, rather than in to despair.
And I ask my readers to please send some love, karma, and prayers to all those families who struggle in Haiti … and throughout the world … with a special prayer that we hear some good news soon.
P.S. I chose to post the above picture of Isaac within this post because it serves as a reminder to me of the amazing little boy who has bound together the lives of two seperate familes, in 2 different countries. He is a gift to so many … and to the world.