Yue Yue, I'm Mourning for You

It could have been one of our girls.

It could have been one of our girls lying broken and bleeding on the street, as the world mourned.

It was the sheer luck that a security camera happened to catch the footage of a 2 year old girl gleefully riding her tricyle on a busy street while her parents shopped when she was run over twice by cars.

Seven minutes passed, while the security camera mercilessly continued to run, capturing footage that broke the heart of the entire world.

Ten years and thousands of miles separated the broken and bleeding child in China from the thirteen year old Chinese child who lay on our couch tonight, idly flipping through my iPad. If she had stayed in China instead of being adopted by a middle class family in America, she might have been resting after pulling a ten hour shift assembling that iPad.

What was the child in my house thinking about?
Did she catch the gleaming pool in the moonlight from the den as she walked through it to curl up in the mahogany Craftique bed her adopted grandmother willed to her?
Was she thinking about using her phone to text a friend? Another vibrant, well fed, joyous friend attending a good public school, taking high school courses in the eighth grade?
Was she mentally revising the English I Honors paper she is writing, the first of many that she will one day turn in to college professors at an American university?
Was she remembering the first grown up Halloween party that she and her sister attended the day before, or wondering if she would receive the iPod Touch that she asked us to give her for Christmas?
Was she anticipating getting the braces off of her teeth before school started after the New Year's Eve party she planned to throw?

An eleven year old girl adopted from China sat on the floor and laughed as she played with her puppies. She did not need to think of using them for food.
She proudly placed the paper announcing that she had been selected for Math Olympics on the refrigerator, texted one last friend, plugged in her cell, and curled up under the designer quilt I had found on ebay for pennies on the dollar.
She could be pulling a blanket over her head in a tent after spending the day working the fields, or the day working in a factory breathing poisonous air that her adopted family (grandfather, great grandfather, great aunt, grandmother) worked so hard to make illegal in America.

By now you all know the story of the peasant child nicknamed Yue Yue who was run over by two cars and left to die on the street while people casually walked by her, motorcycles swerved to avoid her, and everybody ignored her until after seven interminable minutes a woman rushed to move her out of the street and her mother rushed to her side.

I don't understand why the child was left alone for so long-SEVEN MINUTES???? And who knows how long she had been riding her tricycle before she was run over? But never mind that minor detail. Her parents will have to live with that the rest of their lives. But hey, she was only a girl. She has a big brother. He's the prince of the family. Lord knows, if they had to lose one, at least it was the girl.

By now we all know that China has discouraged potential Good Samaritans by stupidly ruling that they could be fined and punished for helping a hurting stranger, and that new laws are already being drafted to protect the next person wondering whether to help or avert their eyes when they are confronted with a desperate situation.

And the little girl immortalized forever in the merciless video has died. Tears have been shed. Breast beating articles have been written. China has been exposed for what it is..a country that places very little value on poor people, especially baby girls.

We, along with thousands of other First World citizens, were lucky enough to adopt two children from orphanages ten years ago. Our girls, along with many of their sisters and brothers (perhaps biological, or cousins, or half siblings), are growing up in first world homes. Many of their parents have different racial identities, most Caucasian, although every ethnicity in the world has adopted children from China.

And now I'm going to talk about the elephant that was in our nice middle class living room tonight. There were several elephants, and a couple of sacred cows. It was a pretty crowded den.

1. It's always best to be with your birth family. Vicious experts have worked very hard to demoralize the happy parents who carried home their children from foreign countries by charging them money to merrily assure them that they were only fifth best, after birth families, etc etc etc.

NO IT IS NOT.

And, as you have read so many times, at least I can speak from the pulpit labeled ADULT ADOPTEE WHO KNOWS THE PAIN OF NO BLOOD KIN.

2. China is a proud and wonderful country.

NO IT IS NOT. It is a crowded, filthy, corrupt country filled with people who are forced to bury their good qualities to survive. The babies born there are just like you and me but they are raised in a society that teaches them that human life is not real meaningful, quality of life is a luxury, and only the strongest survive and if you have to bury your good qualities to survive, you do so. Girls are not as good as boys and money is all powerful (just like the US)

Let me tell you a little story.

I hear whispers in the darkness. Whispers flying into my interested ear of well meaning First World parents of Third World adoptees who have donated millions to China hoping to save other children born in the same circumstances as their children. I hear that orphanage children do not receive an education and are turned out on the street at age 16 with no job skills. Prostitution, factory work, or death quickly follows.

I hear whispers that millions of dollars given to adoption agencies and funneled to Chinese officials have found their way into corrupt pockets instead of to the orphans they were supposed to help.

I was born cynical. Twelve years ago, our agency instructed us that we should spend a good deal of money on honorariums (gifts) to the orphanage officials and nannies that arrived and placed our children in our arms. We were not to be hurt by the fact that the gifts were not opened in front of us, nor were we thanked. That was the Chinese way. Well, I was pretty cheap when I was born, so instead of spending another hundred or two dollars I went to Goodwill and found some Disney World t-shirts that looked brand new and some silk ties for a dollar apiece and I wrapped them up in recycled gift bags and stuffed them in our suitcases. As promised, the officials gathered the items up (some professionally wrapped) and bundled them off without a thank you.

Our luggage containing our orphanage gifts arrived two days after Meredith was placed in our arms. I tried to give the gifts to the nannies who were still in town. The big gun had already left for the orphanage. THEY REFUSED THEM!! They didn't even open them, just shoved them back at us. AHA I KNEW IT I exclaimed to Roger. They don't get to keep anything, so why bother to even take it back with them? And if they opened them and kept the gifts, someone would rat them out. Whatever, he sighed, trying to give one girl a bottle and entertain the other with a can of Pringles.

Families were asked to donate $1000 American dollars for an air conditioner for the room that the babies had lived in. Playing "Dumb Tourist" (a role that came as natural as breathing) I asked one of the hotel bigwigs how much an air conditioner cost. Oh, about $400, he replied. Then his head snapped around. Why do you want to know? I was already sprinting for the elevator, announcing that our gift would be 1/2 the amount asked for. The orphanage did send us pictures of the air conditioner and a picture of a sign stating that the air conditioner was given in honor of the six babies, including my Meredith, who lived in that room. I would love to show her the room one day...

3. So you're saying America, or the other First World countries that have adopted children from Third World countries (PS What are Second World countries) is perfect?

I AM NOT EVEN GOING TO DIGNIFY THAT WITH AN ANSWER.

4. First World parents saved their children adopted from a Third World country.

YEAH WE DID. We may have saved their life. We have given them a chance to grow up in a nation richer and blessed with many material things that they could not have in China and we have given them love and parents. The only thing that needs to be added is that we did not save them because we are good people, we saved them because we ourselves were chosen by the luck of Fate to be born into a world that gave us the opportunity to have more things. And because we craved and yearned to have children.

5. Our children saved us.

YEAH THEY DID. They saved us from a life without the pitter patter of little feet in many cases. They saved us from a lonely life. They have brought us joy and happiness immeasurable by any human yardstick. And they know it, because we tell them so frequently. In my case, they saved my life, because after the fibro hit, they kept me firmly determined to live because I could never abandon them, due to vows taken as holy as those made in a cathedral.

A few years ago, I asked Madeleine if she wanted to return to China to see her birthplace.

Are you crazy? she asked. Let's go back to Hawaii!!! (We got free tickets due to a flight bounce and flew there just before she turned two) Or maybe Paris, she mused, having recently read the famous Madeline books. She has never wavered from her belief that China is a terrible place. Born a genius, I feel sure that she remembers bits and pieces of orphanage life. Of course I am working to help her change her mind. Of course I do not denigrate China in front of her. I don't think either child has read the news story, and I am not going to bring it up.

One day in the not so distant future, I may be clicking on Priceline and buying tickets to Hawaii, or I may be renewing passports and showing them the Eiffel Tower in the moonlight.

Many people believe that two thousand years ago a child named Jesus changed the world. I am not going to tackle that theological question, but I can tell you one thing that I hope with all of my heart and that is that a child named Yue Yue changes the world.

THANK YOU AND HERE IS A CUPCAKE!!!

I am so filled with gratitude to all of you who commented, emailed, sent your love.

Thank you, thank you.

I used to swear that I would never write a flounce post. You know, trainwreck. Woe is me. Poor little me. The world hates me.

I'd read others and think snottily, "Hmmm. Begging for hits. Everybody loves a good down & out story. I'll never do it. I'll keep my problems to myself, the way I was raised."

The Southern Lady way.

But I sat down and wrote that post because I wanted to. It came from the heart. I...um...I don't know how I can justify it...aren't ALL posts supposed to be from the heart?

I just want to thank you so very much for reading and caring enough about me to make your way through a mess of whining and moans.

I guess we all need to let it out once in awhile. I know I feel 100% better now. We all have problems. Some people have worse problems than others. But this I know is true. I do TRY to give back, post encouraging things, etc. And it felt SO DARN GOOD to get it back.

I promise I won't make a habit of these posts. It's the pain. The chronic physical pain. I could take on the world if I weren't for this pain.

And..the fatigue. I have not been out of the house except to go pick up Meredith from school for ten days. In order to do something fun, the planets have to align. I have to feel energetic enough. The pain level has to be fairly low. Those conditions rarely come together.

Okay!! ENOUGH.

THANKS.

"The Cool Kids Don't Want To Be Your Friends"

I'm depressed, and I have been wallowing in a pit of self pity now for several months. I put off and put off posts. I used to look forward to posting. As soon as I hit publish, I couldn't wait to write another post. I kept thinking that I could be a contender. I've tried to make friends with many bloggers, and almost every blogger that I've reached out to has been just lovely.

Then I went to Blogher 10. All by myself. And I was miserable. I approached many, many bloggers. Everybody was nice and friendly and polite and was willing to engage in conversation with me. But nobody said, "Hey, wanna join us?" They said goodbye and walked away. Every day I left to go back to my cousin's house, because I could not afford to stay on site, with tears running down my face, telling myself that the next day would be different.

But it wasn't.

I had a special group of friends on a list that I enjoyed. Every time I would mention that I had tried to socialize or be friends with a popular blogger, I was mocked mercilessly. Eventually, somebody posted private posts and I know exactly who did it. It wasn't me, it was somebody who posted under a pseudonym. For some reason she had a thing against me. It went on for years. I tried to ignore it. But she did it deliberately, and got me banned from the list.

Banned! I have never been banned before. I keep people's secrets. I would never betray anybody, for any amount of fame, prestige or money.

One of the last things I posted on this list was that I was thinking about attending the Mighty Summit. The ridicule was immediate, and sharp. One person wrote, "As your sort-of internet friend, I'm begging you not to go. Don't you understand? The cool kids group is closed. They don't want to be your friends."

I didn't go. It would have been an expensive trip, and I was so worried that she was right.

I've almost given up on being "somebody." I am sick and I need to spend 20 hours sleeping some days. Then there are the things that I have to do raising kids, trying to run a home. I don't know how to be somebody. I have stopped applying for different opportunities on the WWW. I used to write funny sometimes--I thought. As Joan Rivers once said, "Jokes get me a place at the table."

Someone else said that the way to success was to put in 6 hard years. I have. I am still nobody.

I'm depressed. I'm tired, I'm sick.

I lost the career I loved.

My mom is still dying in a nursing home. I just received notice that her fees will be increased by 7% next year. Right now, I'm hoping her nursing home insurance check will post in her account. It will run out in 2 years. After that, how will I pay the $7000 and more a month? Her pension and social security check do not begin to cover the bills charged by this home.

My 13 year old hardly speaks to me and my 11 year old will shortly not be speaking to me. Adolescence. But the lovely, cheerful, sparkling daughters I used to have are temporarily disappearing into sullen, distant teens. I know this is only to be expected and things will change. And I'm lucky that they are basically healthy and normal, bright, beautiful girls. But as I wearily pour my aching body into the car for another trip to pick one up from school or violin practice or this or that, it's hard to be greeted by a child who barely acknowledges that you exist, busily texting her friends, only stopping to criticize me for something.

Two of my oldest friends don't speak to me anymore. One told me that she had "moved on." The other one hasn't spoken to me since a fibro flare caused me to miss a party.

Roger didn't get the full time job he was hoping for, and he needs surgery on his wrist which will take place November 1.

I'm depressed. Every week I say to myself that it's one week closer to my death. I can't wait. I am in horrible pain most of the time. Life seems like a slow, bitter struggle towards the end mark. Yet, I am still vain. I don't want to get old. I just want to die.

But don't worry, I will never depart voluntarily. I am afraid that if I do, I will have to come back and do it over again.

One of my lifelong friends is suing a doctor that I recommended to her and I'm on the witness list.

I've tried everything to beat the fibromyalgia. Nothing has worked. I've spend thousands of dollars on alternative medicine, and nothing has worked so far. The only alternative medicine that is supposed to work is guaifenisen, but you're in pain while it's working. I need more pain? No. I don't want to take pills for 10 more years and still be in pain, and it seems that so many people are doing just that. I guess I need to get back on it, though, because eventually it is supposed to make you feel better. But we're talking years.

I am still waiting for my Social Security Disability hearing. My Long Term Disability will stop in March, 2012. I will still get state retirement disability. I'm constantly fending off letters from the agency representing me for Social Security Disability and letters from my Long Term Disability people. Are you better? Have things changed?

My old job? Almost everyone there has forgotten me. I am so depressed that I am unable to even muster up the cheerfulness or desire to try to see old friends or make new ones. I often have to cancel social engagements because I'm in another fibromyalgia flare.

Five years ago I couldn't zip up my jeans and made an appointment with my doctor for surgery to remove possible ovarian cancer. That surgery triggered the fibromyalgia that has ruined my entire life. Life was perfect 5 years ago. If I had only known, I would have passed up the surgery and either been healthy or died from ovarian cancer.

I just want to die. I want to go to sleep and wake up in a different world. I hate my life. Every single bit of it. I've tried for five years to get well, have a job, have friends, be a well known blogger. I've failed in every endeavor.

I want to die. Really, really, really want to die. Yet I have horrible feeling that I won't die, and eventually I will be all alone. My one and only prayer these days is that I die before my darling husband does. Our 19th anniversary is tomorrow. He is my rock. He is the most wonderful person. How blessed I am to have him.

All I hope for at this point is to somehow struggle through the rest of my life with as little pain as possible and see my girls become beautiful, happy, accomplished women. Then I want to leave this world. And never come back.

I'm hitting publish right now or I will lose my nerve. If you read this, thank you very much, and I am fine. I'm not going to kill myself. I'm going to go back to my bed and watch a funny movie. Maybe things will look brighter in the morning.