Hoping to someday find M's brother adopted in the U.S. -
Myckola Oleksandrovych Markov - 8/26/2003

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

He was mine...on loan

We had a wonderful 3 1/2 weeks with our host boys.  
They got to experience Christmas and receive presents probably for the first time in their lives.  

But it was the little things that got me.  
Like little bro showing his big brother how to operate the trashcan by stepping on the pedal.
Over. and over. and over. and over. and over.  because it was sooo funny.
The light in the fridge that fascinated them endlessly.
So they tried it out every 5 minutes.

How Big Brother hated us *making* him take a bath every day, but after a week we couldn't get him out of the tub.

The way that Big Bro would go all limp like a big noodle when I tried to hug him, but never hugged me back...until he was boarding the plane.

How each boy would beg me every night for a "sookret" (cough drop) despite not actually needing it.

The way little brother would literally kiss me senseless every night at bedtime.  
I had to teach the child that it wasn't about quantity, it really was about quality.

Big brother may not have hugged me or returned affection, but he drew many pictures of a happy family that included him.  Even his clouds were smiling. 

After every meal, I got a "Tank you, mom." as they took their dishes to the kitchen.

Five minutes later they would have an apple begging, "Mam, yablakah please?"
They ate probably 5lbs of fruit each day, and no I am not exaggerating.

Little brother learned how to say "Please" and bat his eyes.  The trick caught on quickly.  
Mom is a sucker for cute boys.

The yelling in Ukrainian at the Wii and each other when they were playing games.
Seriously funny.

The time went too fast. 

Weren't we just here picking them up?  

Oh how I wish I could turn back time and do it all over again.  

A snack before meeting up with everyone.

Photo taken by big bro

Hosting group.

Hosting group.

Hosting group.  

V with a friend.

I kissed my heart goodbye and put it on that plane.

People say, "Oh I don't know how you do it.
I wouldn't want to send them back."  
Well I didn't want to either.

I tiptoed into your room one night. 
I watched you sleeping there.
Your tiny body looked so snug
Wrapped in peaceful slumber's care.

I thought of how you came to be
The child we'd longed to know.
I wondered at the sight of you:
"How could she let you go?"

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I
Felt the pain she must have known.
For I will have to let you go
Some day when you are grown.

A mother I might never meet
Had given me her son.
Yet, surely as you've filled my heart,
A piece of hers you'd won.

"How could she let you go?"
The question kept returning.
And in the depths of my own heart.
A question kept on burning.

"How can I ever let you go
When years have come and gone?"
I stood there by your crib until 
The nighttime turned to dawn.

And as the sun peeked through the shades,
The voice of God broke through.
"I trusted her to give him life
And now I'm trusting to you.

"To show him what is right and wrong,
to love him and to be
The one who teaches him the way
To come back home to me.

"He wasn't hers to give, you know.
And he's not yours to own.
I've placed him in your life to love
But he is mine … on loan."
Valerie Kay Gwin

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We witness a miracle every time a child enters into life; but those who make their journey home across time and miles, growing within the hearts of those who wait to love them,are carried on the wings of destiny; and placed among us by God's very own hands. --Kristi Larson