Garden

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She always started her mornings with a cup of coffee. She sat at her rusted patio table, in the woven chairs she received from her grandma when she first moved in to her current house. She was surrounded by her empty garden, which had died in the cold darkness of the winter. Though, every summer she and her grandmother planted the garden together. It was always a huge affair when they planted the garden, two days were put aside. The morning of the first would start with coffee on the patio, at the rusted patio table, in the woven chairs. In the afternoon, when the sun hit the sheet music just right, the two of them would sit side by side playing the piano. In the evening she made dinner and served it on the plates her grandma had given her, they were white with little lilac accents around the edge. It was the next day that the actual replanting occurred, they would go out and get twenty different types of flowers, then come back to spend the day planning, digging and laughing.

This schedule raced through her mind as her grandmother was coming tomorrow for the first day of the replanting. Filled with excitement, she shot back the rest of her coffee and went to go get ready for the day, today she would prepare everything to make sure it was perfect for tomorrow. Like a natural disaster ripped through her house, she got ready. After she had finished her mirrors had splats of toothpaste and streaks of mascara all over, her closet, which she raided attempting to find-within her multiple thrift store purchases-the perfect outfit, had a mountain of clothes, still attached to the hanger, in the centre, and the counter had crumbs everywhere from her plateless breakfast of toast. She did not focus on the mess though. For she was too happy, grandma was coming.

The hot morning turned to an even hotter afternoon, where she sat waiting. She sat at her piano, waiting for the sun to hit the sheet music just right for her to play. As the sun got higher in the sky more and more of it spilled onto the notes, she wasn’t sure of the time that it happened but the second the sun was in just the right position, she started to play, and play she did. Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart poured out of the piano all afternoon, for they were her grandma’s favourite composers and her grandma made sure that she knew how to play Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. Tomorrow it would be these composers that she would play with her grandma.

She played and played and played. She played that piano until her head became so light she thought her mind had flown away. She played that piano until her fingers had gained a mind of their own and she was no longer having to guide them across the sea of keys. She played that piano until the endless baby blue sky turned to a hot blend of colours, signaling the stars to prepare to shine. It was then that she realized it was the evening and time for dinner.

Tonight’s dinner, and tomorrow’s, would be lasagna. Though she hated it with a burning passion, it was her grandma’s favourite dish, so she put up with it for two days out of 365. As the lasagna was cooking in the oven, she went to the china cabinet and grabbed the plates. They were white with little lilac accents on the edge, her grandma had given them to her when she moved into her current house. A beep went off in the kitchen, signaling that the lasagna was done, or rather one piece of a lasagna because she knew she would not eat a whole lasagna by herself.

As the evening turned to a cold and dark night she served herself and sat down at the head of the table, when her grandma was here they would sit right across from each other. She was about to eat her first bite of lasagna when her doorbell rang. She silently thanked the Heavens up above for this distraction from her dinner and she answered the door. Standing there was her mother, mascara and eyeliner running down her face. She looked into her mother’s eyes and she somehow knew before her mother’s lips uttered a single word, but when they did she did not hear a thing. Her world fell apart in a matter of a millisecond.

She knew then her garden would never grow again, her piano never make another sound, and those dishes would not see the the light of day.

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333

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Dear Betty,

I’ve never really called you that before, but there’s a first time for everything. Grandma seemed a little out of place this time.

I’m writing this letter to you because I need to talk to you, I miss you, and this is the only way I feel appropriate to communicate with you.

Recently an angel has been trying to tell me that it is guiding me and protecting me. I’d like to believe it is you because when someone says angel it is you I remember.

I remember my first piano lesson, that you paid for. That summer, and every summer after that one, I played what I had learned in front of you and all of your friends. I remember sitting next to you on your bed as you showed me pictures and the little notes you wrote on each photo. Some of you in the garden, some of me playing in my backyard, and later some of my sisters at the park. I remember walks in the garden when you would show me the painted rocks, then sit in a shade covered chair as I would run around and roll in the sun lit lawn.

There is so much I remember and so much I wish I could.

You were so beautiful, boasting a smile in every picture, eyes sparkling, like they were oceans of stars. Your beauty was only enhanced by your striking soul that managed to calm the heart and mind of everything it came across, including mine.

Part of the wave of calm, that splashed over me every time we met, was your voice. How when I sat next to you on your bed as you showed me pictures and the little notes you wrote on each photo your voice had a steady ease to it. Just like the tempo of the sun beating down on the flowering meadow, balanced and beautiful. I was always entranced by your voice, which did not show as I was always so nervous to call you on the phone, meaning I only heard you in the summers. Now I wish I called you more, payed more attention when you showed me the photos, or at least engraved a small moment of your voice into my mind because, no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember the sound of your voice. I know I’ve lost that piece of you and I need you to know that I am sorry.

I need you to know that I miss you. I miss your beauty, your voice, and the memories I will never get back. I feel you in everything I write, every song I play on the piano, and I see you every time I look at mom. I hope you are the angel guiding me and protecting me because it is you I keep with me in my heart, always.

I love you.

Caroline

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Mom

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Mom.

The word alone is said with so much emotion:

Love, hatred, compassion, and apathy.

She tries to hide it, but she is full of so much emotion:

Fear, joy, exhaustion, and love.

Mom.

She works tirelessly to be perfect:

Caring, thoughtful, happy, and loving.

She works every second to raise me to be:

Smart, understanding, compassionate, and independent.

Mom.

She works tirelessly to raise me to be:

Smart, compassionate, understanding, and independent.

I am her daughter:

Stubborn, high strung, intelligent, and caring

Mom.

I am only a small part of her world:

One star, one island, one grain of sand, one person.

She is my whole world:

The earth, solar system, galaxy, universe.

Mom.

I love her with my whole heart.

She loves me with her whole soul.

This poem was inspired by a line,”… that she has lost the most important woman in her life… it had never occurred to me before that one day I too will lose the most important woman in mine,” from the poem the women that we are. Which was emulated from another poem, The Jews that We Are.

My mom is one of the most, if not the most, important woman in my life. Constantly I see her work tirelessly to be a wonderful mother for my sisters and I. Cooking us a wonderful dinner every night, even if she gets home from work at 9 p.m, cleaning that almost seems non-stop due to the mess my large family can make, laundry, so my sisters and I can focus on studying instead of house work, but of course it is not just these things that make her an outstanding mother. Her unwavering support that has proven strong and true through the countless trials and tribulations my siblings and I have faced, never leaving our sides as we work to overcome obstacles that lie in our paths. The unconditional love she showers her children with every day, never letting us forget who loves us most in this world and who will forever be our biggest fan.

My mom has shown me her unwavering support and love as I am going through one of the hardest times in my life, thus far, never leaving me to fend for myself, she fights by my side. She is my rock, my role model, and my hero.

She does everything for her children without any expectation of gratitude or reward, thus I made this poem about my mom, for my mom. Knowing her as well as I do I know that the gifts she cherishes the most are those that come from the heart and touch her heart. Therefore, I made this poem as a thank you for all of the things my mom does for my siblings and I.

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October 22, 1946 ~ Vicki Brady

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October 22, 1946

I woke up with the golden sun pouring through the window, the shadows of the autumn leaves raining down. Frustrated at the intrusion I put my head under the pillow, and prayed for the moon and stars to reappear. My prayers were dashed away with the entrance of my mom and her voice ringing throughout the room. She waltzed by the end of my bed, shaking the mattress to wake me up, even though I already was. I rose out of my mountain of blankets with my hair in curlers. Mom pulled me out of bend and sat me down at the table to eat. I ate little and played with my food, much to mom’s disapproval. Thoughts were racing across my mind at the speed of light. What if this is the worst decision of my life? What if he is not the one for me? What if we get a divorce  in a few years? What am I doing? Cold feet, that’s all this is. It’s normal to be hesitant when making a huge life decision. I keep reassuring myself that I will be fine, no matter what happens in my future, I’m strong like my mother. Resilient, I will do what I need to in order to survive.

Pulling me out of my thoughts was mom rushing around the room arranging everything again and again. Knowing I would not eat anymore I got up from the table and joined mom at the wardrobe. We opened the doors, unzipped the dress bag, and stared at the pristine white dress I would be wearing today. A sliver of sunlight hit my dress making the whole room light up with the reflection of sequins. Mom helped me put it on over my head and I was transported to when Mike and I first went out.

A girlfriend of mine had been dating him for a bit, but one night felt sick and didn’t want to go out. So Mike asked me to go dancing and I said yes. He and I have been together ever since.

A delicate smile crossed my face as the memory played in my head. Butterflies left my stomach as I knew he was the one, we would give our all to each other.

Mom and I started to dance around the room, twirling and gliding. As we dance mom starts to let me in to her emotions. “You deserve the world. Always remember that you are a strong woman and no matter what I will take care of you.” I know she will, she has taken care me for seventeen years and there is no way I could thank her for what she has done for my siblings and I. We dance for only a moment longer when she twirls me into the vanity chair and stands behind me.

Mom starts to take my hair out of its curlers. As my hair falls around my face I can’t help but wonder what Mike is doing or thinking right now. The pinch of a pin brings me back to reality. My hand flies up to my head and mom quickly apologizes. I look in the mirror and see my hair carefully curled and pinned up and it is so beautiful, I’m starting to look like a bride. Mom starts my makeup. Creams glide across my lips and cheeks, brushes covered in different powders tickle my eyes, and my lashes flutter as mascara is swiped across them. Mom tells me to stand up and face her. Once we are face to face I see the love in her eyes and her hands reach up above me and I feel her pin my veil in my hair. She smiles as our eyes meet and she turns me around so I can see myself in the mirror. I cannot believe what I see, a bride, I am a bride. I am about to marry Mike Brady, I will be his wife and he my husband. My smile reaches my ears and my cheeks turn red. “I am going to be married,” keeps repeating in my head. Butterflies come back as mom slips my feet into my shoes and does the strap,  the anticipation starting to build in the bottom of my stomach. Mom grabs my bouquet as we leave the room and head to the car which will take us to the small farm where my family and Mike will be waiting.

The ride is mostly silent, mom looking happy and at peace while I feel a tsunami of emotions roll inside me. I stare out the window and look at the leaves change colour to soft yellows, crisp reds, and deep orange. Leaves twist and fall ever so gracefully to the waiting grass. They look so gentle, I wish I could feel that way.

Once we turn up the road to the farm the butterflies in my stomach go insane. My mind busy with thoughts of not going through with it, one hand squeezes my mom’s, and the other squeezes the bouquet. The car stops and mom helps me out of the car, making sure my hair, makeup, and dress don’t become disheveled by nature’s elements. She holds my hand as we make our way to the start of the aisle. The sun’s rays warm my body, the gentle breeze soothes my soul, and I feel at peace. We begin down the aisle as the music begins, and I open my eyes to see my husband to be. He stands there in all of his wonder, my feet are light and quick to make my way to him.

I love him. I will always love him.

This short story is for Vicki Brady. Thank you, so very much, for taking the time to share your life stories with me and for allowing your story to inspire this piece of writing. I hope you enjoyed this story and that your heart felt warm as you read.

Sincerely,

Caroline

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C is for Christmas Party

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What to do there: Watch people. Write about couples, groups and people sitting on their own. Write about each person until you find someone you want to keep writing about. Push yourself to write until you feel you’ve said everything you want to say. Write because you really want to know what you have to say about this person or couple. Write until you discover something that surprises you. Why it’s good for you: Stories are everywhere. Some are false starts, others are goldmines. Stay in one place and write until an entire story is done. At least the first draft of it. When your pen is on the scent, be a bloodhound. Keep writing.

Three long tables all parallel with the walls of the small room are covered in a plastic red table cloth. Red and green paper decorations grace the four walls in an attempt to create a festive atmosphere. A fourth table, the longest, is set up under the windows and already has a crock pot, salad bowl, a fruit tray, and utensils scattered across it. A family, seven in total, sit at the end of a table that is right next to the food and wait for the crowd to start piling in and the party to begin. As they wait a deck of cards is brought out and they begin to play various card games such as go fish and pig’s tail.

Towards the end of their game their family friends have arrived and the games continue with much more excitement and laughter. They become so engrossed in their games and conversation that they do not notice the number of people in the room grow. Multicultural families pour in one by one, bringing platters of food with them, and the children run off to the game room to play with balloons, bouncy balls, and dance. The party room consists of parents drinking soda and deep in conversations about the economy, work, their children, and health. The mothers of the two families, whose children were busy playing cards, sit across from each other drinking coffee from a small styrofoam cup and are having a conversation and the content of which will stay between them forever. One of the mothers has short, deep red hair that frames her face delicately. She wears a loose shirt that has blue patterns across it, a black cardigan, and black jeans which all suit her well. Constantly she switches what her hands are doing from holding her head to tightly grasping her coffee, to brushing her hair out of her face. She is tired, her eyes slowly open and close, she rarely smiles, and is hunched over. Maybe she is tired from work, or her kids, or just tired, whatever the reason it has been noticeably haunting her for the duration of the party thus far.

Two women stand at the front of the room and give a small speech about the organization that put on the party, then sets everyone free to enjoy the food. All of the children return from the game room and line up first, some parents help their child, and grab what they want from the wide array of food. Dumplings, cabbage rolls, meatballs, pancit, perogies, chicken, lasagna, and salads all ready for choosing. Once the kids sit at their table the parents line up and choose from what’s left, including the woman with deep red hair. Everybody sits and eats, the room alive with chatter and laughter. The card playing families sit in one big group, the mothers still sit by themselves, the kids pick food off of each other’s plates.

After dinner there is some time to enjoy the festive atmosphere the kids go back to the game room and the card players switch to a board game then back to cards. The other of the two mothers leaves the deep red haired to talk to other friends, so the children invite her to play a round of go fish to which she kindly accepts. Games go on for the remainder of the party and the whole time it seems the deep red haired mother is haunted by something, her mind never really focusing on the game, rarely showing signs of being happy, possibly just from being tired. When one of her daughters becomes tired and wants to go home the mother shows small signs of relief and begins to get her children ready to leave. Once her kids pack up the cards, clear the table and say goodbye to their friends she says goodbye to her’s and leaves following the line of children.

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B is for Beauty Salon

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What to do there: Write about bodies and body language. Write about different parts of the body and how they are treated: nails, hair, body hair, the face. Notice how people touch each other and avoid touching. Write about what people do to their bodies and have done to them. Follow one person and record what they do. Later, rewrite this as a set of actions or instructions to an understudy. Why it’s good for you: Observing body language.

The client walks in and is immediately met with the sounds of gossip, blow dryers and running water. The smell of jelly bean shampoo floats throughout the salon. With the client quickly seated the stylist begins working. Back is straight, neck craned, and eyes carefully calculating each and every cut. The stylist touches the hair with soft yet sturdy hands working with ease and vivacity, careful not to pull to hard. Every inch of hair easily cooperates under the guidance of the stylist, flopping and falling according to the commands of its master. The head also moves with slow grace as it is gingerly pushed and tilted by the stylist in order to get a better angle for the trim. Next the hair is smoothly wrapped around the wand of the curler, effortlessly styled to perfection.

Right after the client is moved to the eyebrow chair, where they lay down and prepare for the impending pain. The technicians body hovers over the client, getting her face as close to the eyebrows cautious not to have anything touch but the thread; which is moved with elegance and precision around the face, working to make the pain as short as possible. After a painful few minutes the technician brushes off the pulled hair and passes a mirror to the client to bare witness to the end product.

The nail technician calmly applies layer after layer of polish to the patient client’s nails. She holds each finger with a soft grip to prevent any shaking or misstep of the brush which would ruin the progress of the small artwork. Once satisfied with the hue and concentration of the colour the polish is baked under LED lights to ensure a smooth finish.

With their hair styled, eyebrows threaded, and nails painted the client leaves the salon to face the world with a boost of confidence.

R is for River

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What to do there: Write about movement. Sit and watch the world go by. Notice the differences between land and water and sky. Tell the story of a character who transforms when they move from one element to the other and how this transformation impacts on their life, their relationships, and their daily routines. This could be your own story. For inspiration, watch Le Grand Bleu. Why it’s good for you: Gets you to think about the drama that happens on the level of place, two very different places side by side, and the tension between them.

The waterfall runs gently yet hits the river with a passionate crash, both pulled and guided by gravity. Easy going passengers of the river fall merciless to the every busy current and guiding winds, steering their vessel according to nature’s desire. The stirring wind whispers a simple melody to which the aging leaves dance, twisting and turning with every note of the symphony. Some tired finish their dance before the song ends and fall to the ground so gently the sound of their landing is only loud enough for the smallest insects to hear. The sun beats down like a drum, the heat in constant rhythm. It shines a spotlight on the Earth turning the river to diamonds. Holding the sun is the vast sky which surrounds our planet. Baby blue is all you see when you look up, the peace and clarity infiltrates your senses. All the elements work together to create a glowing harmony.

She, a creature who connects to all the elements of nature, is forever easy going when in water, moving softly yet quickly with the current. No care to where she will end up, she has no schedule to keep, no plan to follow. Her life is as free flowing as the river that surrounds her. She is loved by all, caring for every creature and adapting for everyone she meets. Her greatest love is the sun which warms her mind, body, and spirit. To get closer to her love she moves to the shore where she is greeted with smooth rocks beneath her feet, the cool whisper of the breeze, and the heat from her love pouring over her face. It is here that she plants roots to keep her strong and stable, ready for anything that may come her way. On land she finds a slow peace not felt in the rushing water, her life is calmer, slower, similar to the growing plants around her. The love she gives is once again accepted by all as she still provides a foundation of life for the Earth.

No matter where she goes she remains connected to all the elements of nature, working towards harmony.

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Adoption

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Adoption

The Process and Benefits of Adoption

Sisters are different flowers in the same garden. 

unknown

All of my memories from my first five years are hazy. Happy, loving, kind, yet hazy. Like the life I was meant to grow up in was hidden. I could barely see that life, but I could see more and more with each addition to my family. First Madeline came when I was two, almost three, and that made life clearer. I could barely make out the happiness, love, and family that was hidden away. She was born prematurely and when I first saw her, Madeline was a small and precious soul and I knew I would take care of her no matter what. Madeline and I did everything together. Play at the park, swim, sled, dance, and so much more. She was my first taste of being an older sister and I loved it, our connection defies all laws. We had a couple of years together, just us, and my four older siblings, but they started to live on their own when Madeline was born. The next addition to our family came in late May 2005 when Madeline was two and I was five. Our parents sat us down at the table and handed us pictures of this adorable, chubby, Chinese baby. She was wearing a puffy yellow jacket and blue corduroy pants and was playing with a baby walker. This was her, my sister, and I fell in a deep love the second I saw these pictures. I was so excited to meet her!

They may not have my eyes, they may not have my smile, but they have all my heart.     

unknown

International adoption is an amazing and fulfilling process for all involved, the birth mother and family, adoptive family, and most importantly the child. The process of adoption focuses on the child, their well being, what environment is best for them, which family will suit them best and provide the most enriching and nourishing life possible. While the happiness and safety of the child is paramount, the benefits of adoption reach all parties involved including: letting someone start or complete their family, allowing individuals the bliss of knowing a child they created will have an amazing opportunity to thrive, and giving the child a lifetime full of opportunity, love, happiness, and compassion. No individual is excluded in the extraordinary process of adoption.

Starting the adoption process lies within the birth mother and, if the situation permits, the birth family. The decision to give a child up for adoption is never easy. The bond that is formed comes naturally as it is metaphysical, and this decision, more often than not, comes due to the circumstances of the pregnancy. Rape victims, teenage pregnancy, single parents, and financial issues for families both nationally and internationally (are all reasons as to why a child may be put up for adoption  (“Why Are Kids given up for Adoption?” Adoption There’s No Place Like Home). Coming to terms with the nature of the decision is difficult, with a reported 65% of birth mothers saying that they wish they could turn back the clock and 26% saying they sometimes wish they did not terminate their parental rights (AstridBeeMom. “Inside the Mind of a Birthmother – Results Are In!” Adoption & Birth Mothers – Building Bridges to Adoption Truths , 3 Feb. 2015,). Adoption is often a commitment made out of reason, regarding the situation, and knowing they could not properly care for their baby. However difficult the decision may be there are certain benefits the process brings for the birth mother such as, Higher educational aspirations, higher rates of finishing school, increased chances of delaying marriage and having more children as well as lower rates of divorce, higher chance of employment one year after the baby’s birth, and lower rates of poverty and living on state assistance (“Benefits of Adoption.” Adoption Choice, Inc.).

Families don’t have to match. You don’t have to look like someone else to love them.     

Leigh Anne Tuohy

 

Mom walked through the arrival gate doors with a little baby strapped to her chest in the baby bjorn, dressed in a peach coloured jumpsuit and matching bucket hat. The baby girl took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes.

She was here Hanna-Lin Xia Su.

The newest addition to my family, my sister. Mom and Dad were crying as they embraced their family, their little girls. I was elated to be a big sister again. Hanna was taken out of the bjorn and with Mom’s help began to walk. Her little shoes squeaking with every step, all of our faces lighting up with a smile.

Life with just Madeline, Hanna and I was peacefully chaotic. Three little girls all in one house got crazy more often than not, but there were times when we were a simple family and our hearts came together as one.

Each day I had more love and happiness flow into my life, this was especially true when mom and dad told the three of us that we would be getting a new sister from China. They sat us down and handed us each a laminated sheet of paper upside down. “On three flip the paper,” they said, and on three we did. What my sisters and I saw was so special. It was our final sibling, the completion of our family. She looked very different from us, including Hanna, as she had cleft lip and palate, but she was beautiful nonetheless and she was my sister 110%. She already had a special place in my heart as my parents had made me aware that my youngest sister would be from the Waiting Child Program, an adoption program for children with physical and mental disabilities. I did not want a sister from the waiting child program because I knew how cruel people could be. I feared that she would be bullied endlessly because she would be so different, and it was because of this fear that I cried to my mother begging her not to adopt from this specific program. I’m not sure when but I came around realizing that my family would be her safe haven and no matter what the world threw at her, my sister would never feel unloved.

Family is not defined by our genes, it is built and maintained through love.     

Amalia G.

The adoption process continues with the adoptive family, their decision to adopt and the process of adopting a child. Many families, ranging in form from single parents to families of six children, choose to adopt for a few reasons: the desire to provide a child with a family, help a child live a better life, infertility issues, and the pure desire to adopt a child  (“Reasons To Adopt A Child.” Adoption Network).

The basics of the choice for adoption includes: choosing international or national adoption, which country to adopt from, which program, and the style. National or domestic adoption involves adopting a child from the current living country of the adoptive family. International adoption involves adopting a child from an international country, the range of countries varies constantly due to legislation regarding adoption in the country, social issues, and demand for children from a specific country. The most recent statistics from Stats Canada showed that in 2009 Canadian families adopted 2,127 children internationally, 22% from China, 12% from the United States, 8% from Ethiopia, 8% from Vietnam, and 7% from Haiti (“International Adoptions.” Statistics Canada, 7 Oct. 2016). Statistics from ABBA Canada (an association helping Canadian families fulfill their goal of adoption) show that the average rate of international adoption in Canada is 2,000 children a year (“Adoption Facts.” ABBA Canada). From 1999 to 2009 there were 21,000 international adoptions, 8,000 of those children were from China.

There are hundreds of programs and organizations across the world helping families realize their dream of adopting a child domestically and internationally, the choice of which program to follow is based on the beliefs, values, and desires of the adopting family. The two main styles of adoption are open and closed. Open revolves around the birth family being involved in the child’s life. This can be through emails, pictures, and visits with the birth family in order to maintain a relationship with the child. Closed adoption means that there is limited information about the birth family and there is no contact between the adopting family, including the child, and the birth family. After the decision has been made, and everything is approved, the process of physically adopting the child begins. Depending on the process, program, style, and all other factors decided during the deliberation process, the form of physical adoption changes from family to family. Some bring their entire family to the location of the adoption, some send one parent, and others send a caregiver.

The decision to adopt is complicated and filled with many steps, the act of adoption is also complicated, but it must be stated that no choice, decision, or action regarding the complete process of adoption is wrong. The experience is unique for every family and different for every situation. The adopting family will be guided through the process by the right people, whether they are personal friends or members of the programs and organizations the family has aligned themselves with. It becomes important to recognize that though the process is complicated, difficult, and tiring the benefits of adopting and welcoming a child into a family are endless. A few of those benefits include: the blessing of adding a child to the family, realizing and fulfilling dreams of raising a child, providing a warm home for a child, and (depending on the style chosen) the opportunity to form an everlasting bond with the birth family.

May 21, 2010 was one of the most spectacular days of my life, the day my family was complete. In the morning dad took Madeline, Hanna-Lin and I to Calgary International Airport. Mom was coming home from China and she was bringing a blessing with her. We were waiting at the base of two escalators in the arrivals gate. At first it was just dad, my younger sisters and I waiting, then more and more people came to celebrate. Craig, Darren, and Alicia, three of my older siblings who lived in the city were there. Brad, my fourth older sibling who lived two provinces away and drove to Calgary, was there. Family friends and her Godparents, all nine of them, came to meet her for the first time. She knew how to generate an audience, even as a fourteen month old baby. The large crowd talked about her and mom, what she would look like and how excited we all were to welcome her into our lives. I could not wait to see her, for I had loved her the moment mom and dad broke the news that she would be my sister.

Then I saw mom’s deep red hair peer up at the top of the escalator, it was them! As she came down all eyes were fixed on the most precious soul that ever lived..

It was her. Lily Wei Mei Yan.

Mom made her way down to where we were all waiting and immediately hugged dad. That was one of the few times I have seen dad cry. I noticed, when she stepped on to the escalator, mom was crying as well. Those tears full of so much love and adoration. Their family was complete and all eight of their children were together for the first time. Lily was taken out of her baby bjorn and given to dad to be held. She was dressed in pink from head to toe. Pink bucket hat, pink t-shirt, pink capri pants, pink socks, and pink sandals. Mom said it was so people would know she was a girl and her hair was in a buzz cut so she would not contract lice. Mom hugged my little sisters and I next and introduced us to Lily. I fell more and more in love the longer I looked at her. Mom made her rounds saying hello and hugging everyone who came to welcome her and Lily home.

The entire adoption process revolves around one key aspect, the child being adopted. Throughout this article it has been mentioned repeatedly that both the birth family and the adoptive family make their respective decisions out of love for the child and a desire to grant them a better life. The adoption of a child is one decision that will greatly impact all aspects of their life and is often done without the child’s direct involvement. Due to this there are requirements of adoptive families, in Canada set out by the province where  the adopting family resides. Also there is a home study conducted by the agency, which includes: evaluation of the home, interviews of all members of the immediate family and those living in the house, paperwork that is filled out. If the adopting family consists of two parents, by both parents, together and alone, which details a personal history of the parent, including: how they were raised, issues they faced as a teen, their current parenting style, and much more. All of this is done with the child’s safety, well being, and life in mind, as they are the aspect to which the process is built around. Once a child has been matched with their forever family and has physically been adopted their life begins and is filled with love, compassion, kindness, opportunity, and family. The benefits do not stop there, however, they truly are endless and often change depending on the life granted to the child. A few standard benefits include: being raised by a family that has planned for years to raise a child, a safe and stable environment to grow, access to financial resources needed to provide for opportunities such as post-secondary education, the knowledge that they are with a family who loves them unconditionally and a birth family who loves them so much they wanted their child to have a life of opportunity and freedom that might not have otherwise been provided for them (“Benefits of Adoption.” Considering Adoption)

Adoption is not about finding children for families, it’s about finding families for children.     

Joyce Maguire Pavao

Hanna has been my sister for twelve years, Lily for seven, and every second of it has been wonderful, I could not imagine my life any other way. Adoption has blessed my life in ways I could never imagine as the bonds I share with all of my sisters goes beyond reason and explanation. In conversations I’ve had with Hanna she has told me that she feels lucky to have been adopted, that the country she lives in now has granted her freedoms and opportunities she might have never had if she was not put up for adoption or never adopted. She has gone on to tell me that she feels loved, accepted, and safe being part of our family and that our family is the best benefit of her adoption. I can say on behalf of my entire family that adoption is one of the most beneficial experiences of our lives.

Sources

“Reasons To Adopt A Child.” Adoption Network, adoptionnetwork.com/reasons-to-adopt-a-child

“Benefits of Adoption.” Adoption Choice, Inc., adoptionchoiceinc.org/are-you-expecting/benefits-of-adoption/

“Adoption Facts.” ABBA Canada, www.abbacanada.com/page.aspx?pageId=4

“International Adoptions.” Statistics Canada, 7 Oct. 2016, www.statcan.gc.ca/pub/11-402-x/2012000/chap/c-e/c-e02-eng.htm

AstridBeeMom. “Inside the Mind of a Birthmother – Results Are In!” Adoption & Birth Mothers – Building Bridges to Adoption Truths , 3 Feb. 2015, www.adoptionbirthmothers.com/inside-the-mind-of-a-birthmother-results-are-in/

“Why Are Kids given up for Adoption?” Adoption There’s No Place Like Home, depts.washington.edu/triolive/quest/2007/TTQ07039/whyarekidsgivenup.htm+

“Benefits of Adoption.” Considering Adoption, consideringadoption.com/pregnant/is-adoption-right-for-you/benefits-of-adoption

My Parents

My Sister: Hanna-Lin

February 1, 2016

carolineko2 Comments

February 1, 2016, my last day of exam break before the second semester of grade 10 started. I had no exams so I was free to spend the day relaxing before the stress built up again. The morning was spent glazing my eyes over watching TV with Buddy, one of my older brother Darren’s Dobermans. The other was Drake. He was crazy, annoying, and high maintenance, while at the same time, kind, funny, and beautiful. Every memory I have of Drake, whether it be him eating an entire roast off of the counter or him barking up the stairs when I got home from school, are all full of love and happiness.

Early in the afternoon, mom called me on the landline and we briefly spoke about her day and mine. She then, softly and with tears in her voice, told me the most unbearable news: Drake was going to be put to sleep later that afternoon. Upon hearing this news my heart shattered into a million pieces, my eyes filled with tears, and my world began to crumble.

Drake easily stole a piece of my heart. I began to love him with every ounce of my being the moment he came to live with me. We quickly became inseparable, so much so that my mom once said Drake and I shared a soul. He was the first pet that I ever had and got a chance to love. The thought of not having him by my side after that day tore me apart.

Mom asked me if I wanted to be there when he went to sleep. I immediately said yes; I wanted to see him one last time. She picked me up and we were on our way to say goodbye to one of the best things that ever happened to me.

We were the first ones there. Mom began crying as soon as we arrived and dad was right behind us. Dad and I sat on a bench and waited. I could already taste the bitterness of salt from the hot tears burning a path down my face as I saw a small whiteboard on a door with Drake’s name and a heart drawn on it. I knew that was where he would spend his last moment alive. We waited for what felt like forever before Darren, his girlfriend, and his friends came in. Drake was right beside Darren, and because he was old and thin he wore this bright red dog jacket. Darren came and hugged mom, dad, and I right away. As he hugged me he whispered,”Thank you for being here.”

Drake looked so young in that last hour, he was so full of energy, walking all around the vet’s office.There was a moment where he was walking and stopped and stared at me, his eyes were big and round, full of hope and love. My dad asked me if I wanted to pet him one last time and I said no. I could not bring myself to get too close, as I felt I would faint if I did. The nurse then came and guided Drake into the room and he layed down on a dog bed, the room filled with all those who were not ready but had to say goodbye. Minutes passed, filled with people crying and telling Drake they loved him. Then Death, in vets clothing, walked in with a needle. All of a sudden, someone shouted in agony and everyone began weeping.

He was gone. My best friend was gone. A piece of my heart was gone.

Over a year later I know that I am so lucky that Drake was a part of my life and that I was able to love such a kind and gentle soul. I also know that he will never be gone, as he lives in the hearts of all the people he touched, he lives in the memories of his family, and I see him the eyes of my four dogs, Romeo, Sasha, Buddy, and Abi, who I would never have met if it were not for him.

To have loved and lost is a thousand times better than to have never loved at all.

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Letter to the Past

carolineko3 Comments

Dear Past Self,

You are about to enter high school, and the ninth grade seems so intimidating. You are only fourteen years old and think you have lost so much. Your school, which has been a second home for four years, and your two best friends left you to go to a different school together. It’s tough, I know.

You will face one of the biggest challenges in your life thus far, therefore, creating a deeper sense of loss with in you. Migraines will last days and nights, and send you to the emergency room three days in a row. You will be kept out of school for two months and then finally a neurologist will bless your life with a medication that will calm your headaches and relieve you of your miserable pain. Though your physical agony may be over emotional and mental issues will rage on. Pain peels your youth away, and demands daily damage. Nerves, so many nerves, and fear of everything will wrack your mind. You fear storms, being alone, school, and interactions.

Fear will guide you, fear will challenge you, and fear will hurt you.

You will be losing your sanity which will keep you home again for months and the rest of the first semester. In November, mom will come to you one morning and tell you that you are going to see a doctor. You will agree and think it’s normal, as you just started taking medication for your migraines and have seen many doctors over the past couple months.

All will appear well and normal until you walk into the building and see the psychology office sign; in there you will meet our doctor and you will continue to meet with her for the next few months starting at once a week but gradually distancing the appointments. You’ll be hesitant in the process; tears will be shed, but you will come around to embrace it and find a safe haven in that office. You will make it over the hurdle because of your strength; you’ll feel like this will never end, but I promise it will get better.

You are as graceful and as strong as a tree. Winds may come to blow you down, but you elegantly bend to meet your new challenges.

Once you get back to school you will feel a little rocky, and it will suck, but only a tiny bit. You will make friendships with Katy, Genevieve, and Zain (who will turn out to be one of your best friends), Aseem, Aemon, and Muskaan: the social butterfly from the first day of school who will become the best friend you never knew you needed. Grade nine will go on, and you will get through it seeing our doctor regularly. The next two years will have their challenges and major successes, and you will only grow from every experience. Our doctor will continue to guide you and provide you with the tools to conquer your anxiety, and you will work to do just that.

That brings me to today, grade twelve, seventeen years old and in the year 2017. I still have anxiety and its terrible but its getting much better, as the anxiety has shifted from school to germs and bugs, still including the other areas written previously. I see our doctor and we still work on the processes and such, you will learn soon. Soon I will apply for university – Ms. Geran says we qualify for early admission into the five year Bachelor of Education program at the University of Calgary. This is music to my ears, and I’m pretty sure yours too. It’s all because of the hard work and dedication you are going to bring towards our education, I can’t thank you enough. Because I was you, I will give you some advice, some I wish I listened to. Take time for yourself, you need to relax, and don’t be afraid to break out of your box, it can only do you good.

Good luck and have fun, see you soon!

Love,

Seventeen-year-old Caroline.

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