Monday, 31 December 2012

The post I have to write.

Ok, I'm throwing this in in here today, in the hope that no one actually reads it. Yeah, pretty weird for a blogger, I know. But the idea is to post it now, in the hope that 2013, I can be all like "oh, you missed that news? I totes posted about it last year"

Cowardice, I admit it.

Vop's name is Rosena. Rosi for short, or Rosi Posi Puddin and Pie, or Rosi Posi Japanosey. Or Cup Cake, or Petal.

The last pic is of her with her three favourite things. Her bear, Puddin, her plastic stethoscope (because she wants to be a Doctor) and her dog, Bubbles.

Rosi no longer lives with The Husbang and I. She's gone. Back to the village. It's been 4 weeks today. The adoption will not proceed.

There was a third party involved, working maliciously behind the scenes, to upset the process. A person we had taken into our hearts and home and into our confidence. Someone who underneath our very roof was manipulating us and Rosi, to achieve this very outcome. Someone, I now suspect may have been her natural mother.

A decision was made and we didn't have the legal standing to counter it. The village came and took her four weeks ago today.

Rosi was happy to return. When I told her the bus was here to take her back to the village, she smiled.

And my heart shattered into a thousand tiny fragments that still lie in my belly poking sharp little holes in my soul.

And so she skipped, as is her want, to the bus, and was driven away.

And we haven't heard a word from her, or the village since.

Everywhere I look, there is a Rosi-shaped hole. In my heart, on the couch. I've closed and locked her bedroom door, so I don't have to look in there. And so I police myself from lying on her bed, holding Puddin and crying until I am raw inside and out.

The Husbang is bereft. And deals with it by working more and talking less. He's as far from me as is Rosi. We circle around each other, repelling and attracting at the same time. I see that English stiff upper lip quiver every time we pan past Sesame Street as we channel surf. But when I ask him to talk about it, he finds something more pressing to do. And my need to constantly go over and over and over and over what the third party did, wears him thin. My tears rasp on him, like sandpaper, leaving Rosi-shaped grazes.

One of the last things Rosi did before everything tilted in its axis, was to put up the Crimbo tree. I can't bear to touch it, or turn on the lights, or take it down. It sits there, mocking me. Reminding me that once, only a few weeks ago, I was the mother of a healthy, happy nearly 5 year old. That I let some take. That I should have been aware of the Benedict Arnold sleeping in the spare room. The Crimbo tree watched, as my daughter smiled and skipped, happily, away from me.

There was no warning of my world being torn in two. None at all. And I can't see how I didn't know it. I can't understand why a MOTHER wouldn't have.. or couldn't have, known.

One minute we were playing racing games on the outer bank of the Yoti and within an hour, I was told my child didn't want to live with me any more.

Because white people have 'too many rules".

We pleaded, and cajoled and used Benedict Arnold as a spokesperson, to speak with Rosi in her own language, only to later find that this person had spent the past three weeks manipulating us, and Rosi. And while we were trying to find out what our legal options were, this person came to our house, with the village bus, and took her away.

So I am left here, with a blog I began to chart my journey with her and a pair of Disco Sandals under the couch I deliberately vacuum around.

And I don't know what to do with either.

6 comments:

  1. Oh, my heart almost broke reading this. I literally cried....still am a bit. I don't know what to say except I am so sorry for all of you. What a terrible agony to go through!

    But please don't blame yourself for not being able to read another person's mind. That is NOT your fault. You tried to do something wonderful. You DID do something wonderful. You gave a needy little girl a loving home and a chance to know some people very different than those from her village. You opened your heart and her mind. She will not forget the love you two gave her, and eventually she will figure out she was manipulated.

    I hope you find comfort soon.

    And I love you,
    Jen

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  2. Oh PG - I am so, so sorry. xxx

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  3. simply devastating... so sorry..

    - soyi

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  4. So sorry. As a mama that has known loss, I really feel for you. Hugs,

    Lara

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  5. It was very sad to read about this story. My wife and I are expats in PNG as well and we were hoping to adopt a baby but your post gives us pause for thought. I hope you get to see her again.

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