Rex's Birth Family

In late winter 2014, Craig and I decided to begin a search for Rex's birth family.  This matter had been on my heart since the day that Rex became our son and I had been feeling an inexplicably strong pull to find his biological relatives.  Since we knew we would be in Armenia this year to adopt Ella, it seemed like the time was right in case there would be a chance to meet.

We used a search team that was recommended by our agency and many adoptive families, including two who had successfully located birth parents in Armenia.  The service did not come cheap, but my desire to connect with Rex's birth family could not be tamed by the costs. We prepared a letter and several photos of Rex for the searcher to take with him to Armenia and then the story started to unfold like magic.

On Saturday morning, May 3, just a few hours before we were headed to the airport to go meet Ella in Gyumri, we received an email from the search team letting us know that they would be in Armenia the following week.  I couldn't believe that we would be overlapping in Yerevan, so I instantly emailed back and told them if the birth family was found and wanted to meet us, we would be in town through Friday of that week.  On Tuesday evening after we returned from our time with Ella, we had an email that Rex's birth family had been located and wanted to meet us.  We quickly hired a translator (our agency translators, understandably, were not permitted to translate for us for this purpose) and had her arrange for a meeting on Thursday.

On Thursday evening, Craig, Rex, our translator and I drove to the Malatia Sebastia district of Yerevan.  We'd been there before in 2011, trying to just get a glimpse of the area that included the address his birth mother provided in Rex's paperwork.  Narrow streets and little houses tucked close together, vines growing across lattice roofs, picturesque in its own special way.

When we pulled up, Rex's birth grandfather, handsome, dark and tan, was waiting in the street.  His other relatives were huddled together in a bare ante-room, sneaking glimpses out at us.  I could tell there was a crowd waiting to meet Rex and tears just started streaming down my face because so many of his birth relatives had decided to be there for him.  I don't remember exactly what happened next. I shook Rex's birth grandfather's hand and was ushered forward.  I was looking at many faces and I asked, "Where's 'L'?'"  Our translator pointed me toward a petite, lovely, young woman, at least a head shorter than me.  I walked toward her and we embraced.  "Thank you, thank you thank you," were the words flowing from me to Rex's birth mother.  There were tears from everyone, hugs, hand shakes, long looks. Time stood still for a few minutes.

Finally, the spirit of hospitality awakened and Rex's birth family ushered us into their yard, a pretty space surrounded by tall walls with trees and flowers growing inside.  Chairs and tables were set up for all of us, a row of toys was waiting for Rex, his bio siblings and his cousin.  This is where we spent the next several hours getting to know each other and sharing a meal.  There were only three of us, but in Rex's birth family we met his parents, siblings, grandparents, great-grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousin.

Time flew by as everyone, encouraged by me, asked many, many questions.  They wanted to know everything from why Rex is non-verbal to why he has a chewy and glasses to how many surgeries he has had to if he goes to school.  I was happy to answer to the best of my ability, sometimes having to explain an issue in many different ways.  I was also gauging how many details to share at that time as I did not want to overwhelm the family with the full scope of Rex's needs all at once.  I simply wanted them to be able to enjoy their reunion with him.  I was feeling for our translator, too, who was in the middle of this incredibly emotional exchange, trying to remain professional and bridging the language barrier for us.

After a while, I began asking some questions myself.  I did not want to be too intrusive, but did inquire why his first parents decided to relinquish Rex a few days after he was born.  Based on the family's story, it appears that they were given, either by accident or on purpose, some misleading, if not false, information about the treatment and prognosis of CLCP - Rex's only need known at the time of his placement at the orphanage - by the doctors attending to them.  They were encouraged to relinquish their rights and place Rex into state care.  I also asked why they never visited Rex at the orphanage - he was there for almost two and a half years - and, with tears flowing down their faces, Rex's birth mother and grandmothers answered that if they had ever spent any more time with him, they would not have been able to leave him.  They felt that after having come to such a heartbreaking decision, they could not go back on it by visiting him.

It was obvious to me throughout this entire meeting that the decision his birth parents made in 2009 has weighed heavily on them for five long years.  The pain on Rex's birth father's face was palpable.  It was clear that Rex was on the family's minds and hearts always, that they never forgot him, that they commemorated his birthday and, above all, that they were still aching terribly over his loss.  And I could also see a question in their eyes: Could we have raised this child ourselves?  What if we had chosen differently and decided to parent?

Throughout the entire evening, Rex was on his best behavior.  He seemed to feel very comfortable at his grandparents' home.  He explored and he played.  He was doted on by his birth relatives who, amazingly, welcomed him with such an open, accepting spirit, despite his differences.  Their love for him was permeating the evening to the point where you could almost bottle the feeling that was extended to him.

One especially poignant moment for me came when it was time to eat.  Due to his dietary restrictions, Rex could not eat any of the food that was being served, so "L" found him a banana.  And I cried some real tears as I watched "L" chase our son through the yard, offering him bites, the first tangible, maternal gesture she was able to make toward him in over five years.

Rex and his Mama L

The evening passed too quickly and the goodbyes were hard.  Craig and I made sure to tell the family that we realize that our joy in having a son comes at the expense of their great loss and pain.  We let them know that we would be happy to embrace them all as our extended family and would love for them to be a part of Rex's life as much as possible.  We promised to send letters, emails and photos.  They promised to do the same.  I took "L's" hand and said, "One Rex, two mamas."  I think she understood even without the translator.  We also made sure they knew that we would be back in the fall and that we would be glad to meet again then, so that they could have more time with Rex, get to know him a little bit better and strengthen the emerging bonds of our adoption triad.

After we left, I felt incredibly grateful for this experience.  Things could have gone much differently as I know they have for many adoptive families.  The birth family might not have been able to be located, they might not have chosen contact, or they might not have embraced a child that is so different.  But the plan for Rex and for us and for his Armenian family was one of connection, of welcome, of acceptance.  I felt a level of peace that had eluded me for three years.

A few months after this meeting, we received our first letter from Rex's Armenian family.  A part of it read: "We are very thankful to you for being Rex’s parents.  If you were not our child’s parents, we don’t know how he would be settled in life. God sent you to be our child’s father and mother. We can hardly find words to express our love, respect to you. May God protect you."