What do you do when you have just one chopstick? This is my situation. Just a few minutes ago, while I was eating lunch, I dropped one of my chopsticks on the floor.
So, here I am, left with just one chopstick. Sort of useless, for the purpose of eating anyways. I could stick it in my bent-too-far-over rubber plant, as a support, I suppose. But that doesn’t help me finish my sushi. It struck me that losing my chopstick is rather metaphorical (today, at least). A metaphor for the kind of imposed helplessness that anyone who is trying to adopt a child feels from time to time.
When you decide to adopt a child, you do everything in your power to make it happen. And that involves a LOT of work, as most of you reading this know. You spend hours baring your soul to strangers who assess whether you are fit to raise a child. You run around to governmental, doctor’s, and human resource offices to get birth/marriage certificates, letters of conduct, clean bills of health, letters of employment, income tax assessments. You ask friends to write character references. You compile all of this (and more), hand it over to your agency, and then you wait. And wait. And wait some more.
You have one chopstick. The other one is at the CCAA (or the Ministry in Russia, or Kazakhstan, or wherever).
I suppose I should take some comfort in the fact that we’re one of the luckier families who are waiting. We *know* our child’s beautiful face (its all over our house!), he has a name. We feel a connection with this little boy who is probably asleep in his crib in China as I write this but who will be in our home and our arms before long. But that’s ALL we know. Neither we, nor our agency, has any idea at what stage our file is in at the CCAA. We have no real concept of when we might expect to travel. The agency will try to find out for us when they are in China in mid-May, for sure. But, today, the “no news” news has left me feeling a little lost, and a little sad.