I have always admired those who step up to bring children they’ve never met into their homes and families via adoption, but I never truly understood the sacrifice it takes to make that happen. I still don’t. At least, not firsthand. This is the Reader's Digest Condensed version of a much longer story that is still unfolding.
One year ago, our daughter, Christa, and her husband, Chad, along with their two bio children Eirinn and Brent, adopted two siblings from Colombia; a four-year-old girl and a five-year-old boy. I say “along with their two bio children” who were nine and six at the time, because the transition itself fell every bit as much to their son and daughter as it did to them.
The Brogan family spent more than a year praying through the process of getting started toward adopting, raising funds and prepping their bio children on how to adapt to what was coming. More time and prayer were spent working through the age, sex and nationality of the coming children to best fit their current family.
During that process, God led them to Colombia and male and female siblings. Once the Brogans met the two through video, they knew almost immediately that these were meant to be their children. Seems like a match made in heaven, right? Well, this is where the hard work really started.
In order to proceed with the adoption, the entire family went to Bogota, Colombia, for the court proceedings. This took three weeks. Talk about culture shock—to top it off, neither of the siblings spoke any English; and seemed to have no interest in learning the language.
All four of the Brogans had been studying Spanish, so while communication wasn’t easy, it was somewhat doable.
To tell you how that time went in Colombia would take the entire edition of this newspaper, so let’s skip ahead.
This past year has not been easy for the Brogans, nor for Andres and Sara, the siblings from Colombia. It is my belief that in this country we romanticize adoption. Some of us may look at those who embrace the process as saviors of those they adopt. While that may be true to a point, we often overlook the fact that the adopted children are being uprooted from EVERYTHING they have ever known; be it good or bad.
In this case, the two adoptees met a family of four and were told, “this is your new family.” They lived with this new family, who didn’t speak their language, for three weeks in Colombia. The sibling’s very first “first.” Then they boarded a plane. Another first. Then they arrived in North America, a completely different-looking country. Another first. Met more people who were part of their new family, most of whom knew very little Spanish. Another first. Saw many strange new faces. Traveled in a car. Slept in a strange bed, in a strange house, with strange new noises. Wore different clothes. Took showers in a different bathroom. Went to a different school. The list of “firsts” goes on and on.
Keep in mind, Andres and Sara were given no choice in this matter. Their country made that decision for them. If they had been asked, it was not a decision they could have made intelligently at their young age.
And yet, adopting families are often under the notion that these children should be grateful that they have been “rescued,” act accordingly, and always be on their best behavior. Really?
Try for a moment to imagine being uprooted from everything and everyone you have known in your life and dropped right smack in the middle of knowing absolutely nothing and no one. And, without any understanding of the language.
To say this past year has been hard for all six Brogans is a vast understatement. There are no words that can actually convey the raw emotion and substantial undercurrents that have run through each and every day.
Our son-in-love, Chad, would be interrupted at work many times with a call from school asking him to pick up Andres. Both siblings were potty trained, but regressed with the stress of their new lives. Chad would take Andres home to shower and change clothes, then back to school, only to receive a call as soon as he returned to work to come repeat the process. Always weekly, sometimes daily. For Chad, this was coupled with the responsibilities of earning a living for a larger family, guiding all of them spiritually, and uplifting and encouraging Christa when she had reached her limit.
Our daughter, Christa, teaches middle school. While Chad had the responsibilities of being the one who could leave work if needed, Christa was stuck at work, unable to help Chad with this. She had the added responsibilities of learning how to cook foods Andres and Sara liked, although at first, the two would eat everything on their plates and ask for more.
Each day, Christa awakened before the rest of the family, made sure everyone had clean clothes to dress for the day, packed lunches, sometimes started the prep for dinner, then assured everyone they were loved before getting them off to school and heading on to spend her day with middle schoolers.
This was coupled with the responsibilities of assisting Chad in earning a living for a larger family, and uplifting and encouraging her husband when he had reached his limit. She told me there were many times after the children were finally all in bed and asleep, when she and Chad just held each other and cried.
Our bio granddaughter struggled to understand why God would encourage and sanction the adoption of the new children, and then allow so much misery and hurt to accompany the process. The answer her parents gave her helped lead her to accept Jesus into her life. That alone is of such immense value.
Our bio grandson struggles to understand why, when he is so willing to share all he has with his new brother, said brother intentionally destroys much of what he touches.
The Brogan parents gave up pretty much every activity not directly related to raising the four children. Creativity, travel and any life outside of the family were stifled for a long while.
Never discount the toll it takes on all of the existing family of bringing in new members. Almost overnight, our bio grandchildren went from feeling like the most important people in the world to their parents, to those living on the sidelines. It was in no way intentional on the part of Chad and Christa to foster those feelings in their children. They were attempting to survive minute-to-minute, and sometimes the needs of the new had to take precedence over the needs of the many. Nothing can be all about “me” anymore for any of the Brogans.
If you could have seen into their lives, you would say they did, and are doing, an impressive job with a seemingly impossible task.
The family, including the new siblings, had an enormous amount of emotional and spiritual, and sometimes financial, support from their church, friends and extended family; but most days, it was still all the Brogans could do just to survive to the next dayꟷhopefully, a better one. Their past lives, all six, are gone and will be no more. That is the adaptation process of adoption you don’t always hear about.
When asked if they regret bringing Andres and Sara to be a part of their family, the question is met with a resounding “NO. NEVER!” These adopted children, along with the two bios, are loved more than they will probably ever understand. But that doesn’t mean it was ever easy.
This article is not meant to be discouraging, or all-defining. The past year, while impossibly hard, was an amazing opportunity for growth for each member of the Brogan family, along with the rest of us who could only pray and hope the next day would be a better one for them. And most amazing of all, was the opportunity our entire family was given to learn to love, no matter what the circumstance. And every day is, or will eventually be, better.
This Christmas we will all be together as a family of fifteen at our house for the first time; including our son’s family of seven. My husband and I look forward to the experience with some trepidation, but with great anticipation.
When our daughter reached a point where she could no longer even answer the questions, “how is it going?” or “how can we help?” she put her feelings into words. She has given me permission to share those words, and this story, with the hope it may help others.
Take your time, read through it slowly, and you will feel the tangled emotions of all six people in this still newly forming family.
How to Help
Come sit with me; I’ve saved a seat.
There’s room for you inside my grief.
In here the air is thick and full,
A dream deferred, pressed to the hull;
A seed that sprouts long choking fingers,
Unless a friend sometimes will linger.
I realize that the hull is cracked.
Don’t try to mend or glue it back.
It needs the gashes and the gaps
To let in light and gulp in gasps
Of air, which pushes out despair.
The light shows how to look, and where.
It’s changing through the glass half-dark,
From seed to stem, from gash to scar.
Just sit with me in what’s been sewn;
Feel how the blades are being honed.
My Love is here, eyes wasted thin,
Waking each day to try again.
Each time I sigh, it’s him who says,
“Intentámos, otra vez.”
My daughter’s here, violently torn;
Groaning, bitter, prone to mourn.
Don’t speak to her with sweet-sick pity.
She’s fortified, bloodchild of my city.
My son is here, in my same seat.
He waits where palms and knees all meet.
His cry is silent, pangs unknown.
Please see him! He feels so alone.
Two others huddle in my grief.
They’re looking for their own relief.
My little blessings, late brought home,
Whose battle cries and midnight moans
Planted the hurt that germinates.
Soul-weighted, weary; thus, we wait.
Come back again and sit tomorrow.
Breathe deep the scent of tasteless sorrow.
Don’t give advice or promise, “after.”
I need sadness more than laughter.
Sit and wait; no pep talk, please.
The silence sets my soul at ease.
No platitudes or Bible verses.
No spoken blessings or quiet curses.
I know you want to make it better,
But that’s not why we’re here, together.
Sit still with me; let’s both be mired,
Silently. Heart-sick, bone-tired.
Nod and acknowledge what has died,
And just, for now, be by my side.
—Christa Brogan 2019