Can You Keep a Secret?

by Caroline Overington

  I couldn’t disagree with him!

  ‘I think that stuff in his hair is California Poppy,’ Colby said. ‘I remember my father used to use it. It leaves an oil slick on the pillow.’ I know that sounds a bit cruel, but we weren’t really worried about what we were saying because we were speaking in English and we’d been told that Benjamin only spoke Russian and a few words of English that the nurses had tried to get him to learn. We also knew that we could change his hair and his clothes and make him look more like a normal American boy as soon as we got him home.

  The main thing was: this was our son. And after everything we’d been through – 9/11, and losing the baby, and Colby lecturing me all the time about my anxiety, and then seeming to go cold right at the last minute before we’d had a chance to adopt – finally we were a family.

  The fat nurse clapped her hands and spoke in rapid Russian. Anatoly, who was standing by the door, listened, and then said a few things back and, whatever he said, the nurse seemed to agree with him. Colby and I couldn’t understand a word of it. I said to Colby, ‘Hope they’re not talking about us,’ but of course they would have been.

  I reached into my bag for the small Thomas the Tank Engine train I’d brought to give Benjamin, as a way of breaking the ice. It had wheels that turned when I switched it on. I held it up for Benjamin, urging him to take it, saying, ‘Go on, it’s for you.’

  I pushed the train closer to him, and then – and what a moment this was – I took Benjamin’s hands in my own. It was completely thrilling. My son. My boy. But when I placed the train in his hands he didn’t make an effort to hold the train and it dropped to the floor.

  ‘Okay,’ said Colby, sweeping it up in his hand. ‘I guess we don’t like trains.’ He looked up at the nurse in pink, who was prattling away in Russian and said, ‘What does he like?’ But instead of answering, she said, ‘You take him now.’

  You can imagine how shocked I was. I said, ‘Take him now? I thought we were just meeting him today. Do you mean we can take him with us back to the hotel?’ Because that’s not what we’d been told would happen. That’s never what happens! Everyone talks about how agonising it is: you get to meet your child and then you have to leave them there while they work out whatever paperwork is left, and you keep thinking, ‘Oh no, they probably think they’ve been abandoned a second time,’ because of course you can’t even speak to them in their own language. But that’s definitely what the nurse was saying: ‘Take him, take him now!’

  I was so confused. She bustled out of the room and was soon back, carrying a small cardboard suitcase. She put it down on the floor near Benjamin’s shoes. ‘Take him now,’ she said, nodding.

  Colby got up and I stood up beside him, and we were both in a bit of shock.

  ‘I don’t know about this,’ Colby said. ‘I’m sure it’s meant to be just a meeting today, so we can all get to know each other.’ But Anatoly had come into the room now, and he was saying, ‘No, it’s okay. This one you can take now.’

  I said, ‘Well, if you’re sure, because our attorney, Laura, in New York, she said …’

  ‘Is okay, is okay,’ said Anatoly. He picked up Benjamin’s small suitcase from the ground, and put his other hand on the small of my back to guide me from the room. ‘The director here, she says paper is signed. You take the boy now.’

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ said Colby, but I said, ‘If they want us to take him, we should take him. Now he’s here, I don’t want to let him out of my sight.’

  Anatoly had already left the room, carrying Benjamin’s little suitcase, and then the nurse started pushing Benjamin along the corridor with the back of her hand, so I ran to catch them.

  ‘It’s okay!’ I said. ‘I can take him.’

  I tried to take Benjamin’s hand, but he pulled away from me. Anatoly dropped the suitcase, picked Benjamin up, carried him out of the orphanage and basically just sat him in the van. He looked at us and said, ‘You go in, you go in,’ so I climbed up, using the hand rail, and sat beside Benjamin, hoping that he would start to warm to me. But he cringed away, towards the window of the van.

  Colby got in the seat behind us, and Anatoly took the wheel.

  Colby asked me, ‘Are you sure about this, Caitlin?’

  I said, ‘I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do.’

  ‘Is all okay!’ said Anatoly. ‘This boy waits a long time for a family. This boy has no family until now. He upset now. He fine! All okay.’ He tried to make eye contact with Benjamin in the rear-vision mirror, but Benjamin did not look up, so he babbled in Russian into the mirror and Benjamin still didn’t look up.

  ‘We go back to hotel,’ Anatoly said, and put the van in gear.

  I could hardly believe it. We had our son! But then Benjamin basically did not speak for the entire journey back to the hotel and it was the same when we arrived and put him in the room. He sat on the floor and did not say anything. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but something! I couldn’t understand it. We were his family! He was going to America! Hadn’t anyone explained that to him? I tried to tell myself, ‘Okay, it’s all a bit of a shock to him. Maybe in some part of his brain he thinks the orphanage is home.’ I thought, ‘Okay, let’s try to distract him. Let’s try to show him how great life is going to be.’ So, having just got in, we went out. We spent part of that first day at the famous GUM department store. You won’t believe what that was like. I was expecting a dazzling complex, and it was more like a shabby shop, with nothing much we wanted to buy, although Colby did get some Russian dolls. When I asked him who they were for, of course he said Summer.

  Summer is a vice-president at Carnegie, where my husband works, and they’re pretty close – too close in my opinion. Anyway, I said, ‘Well, if you’re going to get one for Summer then I suppose we should get two sets: one as a souvenir of the time we came here to get Benjamin, and a second one for your friend.’ And maybe I was a bit sharp with him, but I couldn’t actually believe he was thinking of Summer while we were in Moscow, with me holding Benjamin, who was heavy, and not all that happy. I let it go, though, because I didn’t want to have an argument, not on such a special trip.

  We had about two days of appointments before we would be allowed to fly home. There was the usual one with the medical centre to have Benjamin examined before the US embassy would issue his visa; and then the court visit, so the adoption could be approved. We saw other children being carried into their medical appointments crying. One child was putting up so much resistance the parents had to slide his feet across the floor. Benjamin didn’t exactly look happy, but at least he sat placidly in the chair.

  The doctor’s name was Andrei Votyakov – maybe some of you had the same doctor? – he had a grey goatee and for some reason a white hat, and I couldn’t help thinking he looked a bit like a grim Santa. He examined Benjamin’s chest with a stethoscope, and looked inside his throat and ears. He hit Benjamin’s knee with a little hammer and this really horrified me, but he also put a long piece of what looked to be wire down Benjamin’s nose, so it poked out his mouth.

  His English was good and we felt confident when he said that Benjamin was in good health. I had been sitting there anxious and worried that something negative would turn up, because if it does it’s harder to get a visa. But the only maybe negative thing the doctor had to say was: ‘Okay. But a bit thin.’

  I thought, ‘Well, he would be thin after being in the orphanage and it’s not like anyone wants a chubby kid.’

  From there we went to see the judge, and Benjamin – bless him – slept through that whole thing. In fact, Colby had to carry him into the courtroom because he was already asleep in the van when we arrived there. He carried him in like a plank, and lay him down over three plastic chairs and he didn’t stir. We had to show photographs of our house in Larchmont to the judge, and we had some extra photographs of the little harbour, of the old Larch trees, and the men racing their miniature boats on the lake. The judge was full of prais
e for us. She was wearing a black robe and looked like any other judge you’ve seen. Behind her there was some kind of gold double-headed bird on a shield. She came down from the bench and looked at Benjamin asleep on the chairs and said, ‘Good boy,’ because he was sleeping.

  She also said, ‘Good luck to you, Mal-chik.’

  That was the first time I’d heard anyone use that word – Mal-chik. It means little boy in Russian and I think it’s so cute, and I remembered it from some other blogs I’ve read. The judge was touching Benjamin on the forehead, but he didn’t wake up. He was covered in sweat, which he always is when he’s sleeping. Colby carried him out of the courthouse back out to Anatoly’s van, and from there we went to the US embassy a few blocks away. There were other Americans there, chatting quietly and smiling at each other, and like us some of them had newly adopted children with them, and they were shaking car keys at them, and letting them play with their phones, and letting them chew on their new toys. One of them had one of those long-necked rubber giraffes for teething, and Colby told me he’d had one when he was little, and that was the first time I felt a bit of a pang that we had missed that part of Benjamin’s life – he was well past teething.

  We went to the furthest corner of the room, and lay Benjamin down on the floor.

  ‘Let’s hope he sleeps through this, too,’ said Colby, and he did.

  It took an hour before we were finally called to our window. I had forgotten that all the embassy staff would be American, but for some reason, out of habit, I was using the same voice I’d been using with Russian speakers for three days – like they can understand English if you say it with an accent! Colby said, ‘She can understand perfect English, you know!’ He said it a bit sharply and the embassy staffer looked shocked, but Colby apologised straight away saying, ‘Oh, look, I’m sorry, but we’ve had a hell of an experience. We just want to get our boy home.’

  I put an arm around Colby’s waist and hugged him.

  We had a passport photograph taken for Benjamin and it was terrible, not just because of the haircut but also because we had to wake him up for it and he was grumpy. But that was okay because the next stop was the airport. Anatoly dropped all three of us on the side of the road, about a mile from the actual departure gate, which is how they do it in Moscow. Colby took charge. He was holding Benjamin over his shoulder like a dead weight, and pulling a suitcase behind him. I was dragging the other two – we were down one suitcase as the one with tobacco and pantyhose had been left behind – and we made our way like that all the way to the check-in.

  On board there were a few challenges with our new son, who wasn’t used to flying – plus I wasn’t used to flying without being absolutely out of it on my anti-anxiety medication! – but it wasn’t too bad, and now I’m here to tell you that we’ve been home for exactly two weeks and I am still pinching myself. It’s early days, but Benjamin is settling in really well, and being a mum – or mom, as they say here in America – is everything that I hoped it would be. We are bonding and getting to know each other, and Benjamin has picked up quite a few words in English and we are really learning how to love each other.

  Of course, I’ve also been hard at work on what Mavis-Marie called the adoption book!

  Maybe you can guess from the title of this post that I’ve decided to call mine ‘The Book of Benjamin’ because it really is a book about Benjamin’s life and times, before he came to live with us. I’ve done it exactly as Mavis-Marie told me to do it: I’ve got a nice, sturdy book, and I covered it with polka-dot contact paper so it will be able to withstand all the times that Benjamin wants to turn the pages. I stuck the photograph of Benjamin at the orphanage inside the front cover. I kept all the receipts from our travels, and the boarding passes, and even coasters from the hotel where we stayed, and I’ve stuck them all down. I’ve printed out photographs of all of us in Red Square and of the three of us in the US embassy, waiting to get Benjamin’s passport.

  I’ve got a nice short version of Benjamin’s story – how he needed a family, and how we longed for a baby, and how we found each other in Moscow, and how nothing can now break us apart – and I’ve printed it out, and put a few different lines of it on each new page, so it reads like a story book. Obviously it’s going to be a while before Benjamin understands the concept of adoption, but I’ve kept it nice and simple. The main thing is, we won’t ever have to have the ‘We Need to Talk to You About Something Important’ chat with Benjamin; he won’t ever get that big shock that people talk about, with some interfering old aunty saying, ‘I can’t keep this secret any longer! You’re adopted!’ Being adopted will be the story of Benjamin’s life. He’ll never know any different.

  Obviously I can’t post the book here, but here’s what I’ve written down:

  To our son, Benjamin.

  You were born in a beautiful country called Russia.

  You had a birth mommy who grew you in her tummy, but she could not take care of you.

  She took you to the orphanage, where some nice people looked after you while the government in Russia looked for the perfect new parents who would love you forever – and that was your daddy and me!

  We came to Russia to meet you and fell in love with you straight away.

  We asked the nice people in the Russian courts to let us adopt you and we were so happy when they said yes.

  We got you a new passport and we took you home with us to the United States of America.

  Now you live with us, and we love you so much, and we are your Forever Family and we will love you forever and ever and ever and you will never need to find a new home ever again – love your Mom and Dad.

  Comment (1):

  Oh, wow, congratulations, Caitlin and Colby! What a wonderful story!

  Comment (2):

  This is so amazing. I have been reading this with tears in my eyes. Such a lovely story. May God bless you and keep you all.

  Comment (3):

  This is so wonderful! Such amazing news! And Caitlin, don’t beat yourself up too much about your first reaction when you saw Benjamin at the orphanage! I can tell you now that when we went to get our son – he’s a Sasha/Alexander, also from Moscow – he had a very bad haircut, and he had a lot of oil in his hair. I’ve since found out that they love to put oil in the children’s hair, even though the oil they use smells absolutely disgusting and makes them look like little monsters. He looked VERY different from what we were expecting. But we have gone on and bonded with Sasha and he is the most delightful boy in the world (and, yes, I know everybody says that). The main thing is, your boy is HOME.

  Comment (4):

  I’m reading this post and I’m so happy for you, but also so jealous of how easy you make it all seem! We travelled to Moscow six months ago to collect our young daughter and we’ve had a very different experience! We waited for years to meet our little girl and although things are now going very well, we have certainly had a lot of challenges with her behavior! Maybe what you’re experiencing is the calm before the storm!! And that’s really why I’m writing to say that I run a support group for new adoptive moms and you being in Larchmont are not too far from us, so I wanted to invite you to come along and share your experiences – good and bad!! – at our next meeting. No children, just us girls, so we can all have a good vent! I really hope you can come. Signed, Sandi Miller, Ho-Ho-Kus, USA (email address attached).

  Chapter 23

  The (Alternative) Book of Benjamin

  Okay. It’s taken me a while to work up the courage to say the things I’m going to say, but some of you will have read that last comment on my blog from a really brave lady, Sandi Miller, inviting me to attend one of the meetings for newly adoptive mothers at her home in Connecticut.

  Well, I went along and – WOW.

  Sandi Miller, you blew my mind.

  I had been so excited about bringing Benjamin home and I just wanted everything to be perfect – and I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that when I wrote that first post, I was basi
cally still pretending that things WERE perfect.

  The real story is that things have actually been pretty difficult with Benjamin!

  The reason I didn’t want to admit that in my first post was that I was afraid that if I told the whole truth, people would think that I was a bad mother. You expect so much from the experience of adoption – everyone tells you what a good thing you are doing, and what a good person you must be – and you hope it will be fantastic, and when it isn’t, I suppose you blame yourself. Now that I’ve met quite a few people who are in the same situation, I think it’s time for me to tell the truth and hopefully that will help others and we can all help each other.

  Some of you will already know this, but Sandi has been hosting her meetings for adoptive mums for more than a year now.

  For those who don’t know, she’s got five biological sons. That’s right, FIVE! And then she’s got the daughter she adopted from Moscow last year, whose name is Masha. She has her own website where she explains it all: she always wanted a little girl but she doesn’t have girls! She has boys! So they went for adoption. Masha was five years old when Sandi went to pick her up, and well on the way to being diagnosed as what the Russians call debil – it means ‘underdeveloped in her mind’, or as they put it, ‘in her capacity to make a useful contribution’.

  In the website that Sandi keeps to chart Masha’s progress, she says, ‘To be diagnosed as debil is disastrous. Once a child is given that label they are basically doomed. Debil children aren’t put up for adoption. They are sent to special schools when they are very young, and then to special technical schools for other debil teenagers, many of whom are what we used to call retarded. They are sent to live in a government-funded apartment, with other debil adults. And then to work in menial jobs in a factory, and whatever children they have will be taken away into an orphanage, and the cycle continues. We were overwhelmed to be given the opportunity to adopt a little girl, but also to rescue Masha from that dead-end life. I will admit, though, that I have caught myself saying, “Okay, but who is going to rescue me?” Because it has been extremely challenging.’