At first shy, the naturally happy and trusting children were soon giggling, laughing and chasing each other around. Baby Emilio, thin and tiny for his age, quickly attached himself to Brad. To their surprise and great pleasure, it did not take long for the two girls to connect with Nancy. Soon, they heard themselves addressed for the very first time as “Mama” and “Papa.” Overwhelmed, Brad and Nancy’s eyes filled with tears. This was their family. There was no going back now.
They were told it would take another four months for the paperwork to navigate both the Canadian and Costa Rican bureaucracies, but if all went well, they’d be able to return in June for their children. Nancy and Brad left with reluctance— Who knew how long it would really take? Either government might decide to block the adoption for some reason. Or the birth mother, when confronted with signing the papers, might reconsider.
Weeks passed. Brad and Nancy reorganized the house, bought clothing and assembled backyard toys. Months passed. Their Spanish improved and a school was chosen. Finally, it was June. The adoption had made it through the Canadian bureaucracy, but was now stuck in some department in Costa Rica. Then it was mid-July. Dubious friends and relatives suggested it might be several months more. But waiting for months was not part of their vision. Anxious and eager for their new life to start, the couple made a quick decision. They wanted their kids!
With great urgency, Brad booked two round-trip tickets to Costa Rica and three one-way tickets back to Canada. They were determined to return in ten days with their children. Brad told the Canadian agent of their plans, and the agent informed the Costa Rican team that they were coming for their kids and would not consider returning to Canada without them. The couple flew to Costa Rica, and everyone at home held their breath.
The three children had an ecstatic reunion with their new mama and papa. Baby Emilio had gained a little weight and reattached himself to Brad immediately. Everyone was healthy, and communication was a little easier after six months of Spanish classes.
Then another miracle occurred. Instead of the resistance the couple were expecting toward their “gringo” attempts to expedite the process, everyone bent over backwards to help. The lawyer put all her cases on hold and walked papers from one government office to the next. Documents were signed, stamped and passed on to the next department. Entire lines of waiting people were bypassed as miracle after miracle continued to follow this family’s coming together. One by one the hurdles fell, and then the grandparents waiting at home got a phone call. Brad and Nancy were coming home, as planned, on time—with the kids! They had done it!
Now they had to fly home to Canada, passing through first U.S. and then Canadian immigration. Would they be hassled?
Airline agents greeted them with open arms and amazing assistance as they began their journey. They were escorted through all the checkpoints with ease, smiles and best wishes. More miracles! They arrived in Canada to the waiting arms of two sets of grandparents, seven new aunts and uncles, and many new cousins.
The fiesta held to celebrate the arrival of the children was a huge success. Brad and Nancy saw the most important part of their vision for their life together unfold that day—their own children, laughing and playing on the lawn, winning everyone’s hearts. With love, patience and endless support, the new family began to form.
The love story of Brad and Nancy is now twenty-five years old, but the love story that is their children continues to unfold with each passing day. When Nancy and Brad think of how their family miraculously came together, in their hearts they believe something like this may have occurred:
At another time, in another place, two women sat quietly talking. The first woman said, “I will not be able to conceive children next time, and I very much want to be a mother. Can you help me?”
The other woman said, “I will bear three children next time, but my role is not to live out that life as a mother. Will you love and take care of my babies?”
And the first woman replied: “How will I find you, how will I recognize the children?”
And the man standing quietly nearby said: “Don’t worry, I will know.”
Janet Matthews
Richmond Hill, Ontario
With a Little Help from Your Friends
True friendship hath a thousand eyes, no tongue; ‘tis like the watchful stars and just as silent.
Samuel James Watson, 1876
In 1994, Julie and Michael adopted a little girl named Veronika from a Russian orphanage and brought her home to Canada. My daughter Leah met Veronika in second grade and have been inseparable ever since. Leah loved Veronika’s high energy and happy, optimistic attitude toward life. She also loved how Veronika could always make her laugh.
As the years passed, the girls moved back and forth between our two homes. It was as if each had the benefit of two families, not just one. My wife Krys and I loved having Veronika in our home, and we watched with pleasure how she greeted each day as an adventure. She truly became a part of our family and often travelled with us on our family vacations.
When they both turned thirteen years old, Leah and Veronika decided to have their bat mitzvahs together—a ceremony and celebration in Judaism when children reach this age. The hall was full of members from both families who had gathered together to celebrate this special day.
After the ceremony, Veronika’s mom, Julie, delivered a toast to our daughter Leah and shared with the room the story of how they first met.
“Leah, this is something I should have thanked you for years ago. As most of you know, Veronika was adopted when she was in second grade. At the time, Michael and I were trying to get Veronika out of Russia, and it was a very difficult process.
“We were hoping she would be with us before summer began. Michael went to Russia for a couple of weeks, but unfortunately, he was not able to get her. So we anxiously waited throughout the summer. At the beginning of August, we were told it was time to come and do the paperwork and bring Veronika home. It would take about a week.
“This time, I went to Russia. But instead of a week, it turned out to be over a month. It was a heart-wrenching time for all of us, not knowing whether we would get Veronika out or not. But we were very determined that we would not leave Russia without her. Finally, on the September long weekend, we landed back on Canadian soil. I was home to my family and Veronika was home to her new family. As you may imagine, we were thrilled!
“The unfortunate part of this, though, was that Veronika had just three days with us before she had to start school. Needless to say, this was a very disturbing and upsetting time for her. So the first day of school I went with her and sat with her at the back of the room, and she was so scared she left bruises gripping my arm. The next day was basically the same. Eventually, she actually had the courage to go and join the rest of the class.
“I realized it would have to come to a point where I couldn’t keep going to school with her, and I would have to leave her. But this wasn’t so easily done, for Veronika had never had someone who would go with her and come back for her. So on Thursday, I was about to leave her there, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t find the courage to leave her. But Friday was the day I said she was going to stay at school and learn that I could leave and that I would come back for her.
“We went to the lunchroom. She ate her lunch and I was about to leave and again she started to cry. I bent down to her and she was holding on to my arm. I let go of her hand and I said, ‘Veronika, you have to stay and I’ll be back.’ Of course, with our language barrier this was hard to do and she was crying. I was ready to start to cry again.
“As she went to grab my hand again, instead of her having a chance to put her hand in mine, this beautiful girl came up to me and she slipped her hand in Veronika’s. She looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘You can go. I’ll take care of her. I promise, I won’t leave her side.’
“Leah, you have kept your word. You have never left my daughter’s side. This was such a difficult time for Vero
nika and me, and I don’t think you ever realized the important role you played for us that day in helping the two of us out. For me, being able to leave, to show Veronika I would come back. And for Veronika, to realize she wasn’t alone.
“I lay with Veronika one night in bed, and I asked her, what did she think of the school? She told me she thought it was another orphanage—a big building with lots of kids and few adults. Leah, you helped her through that time. You did this unselfishly, without even realizing how you were helping me and how you were helping Veronika.
“I have seen you with Veronika and with (Veronika’s sister and brother) Jade and Ryan and with your other friends. You are a remarkable young woman. And if I could have one wish for you, it would be to always have that open heart, to see when people need help, and not just to see it, but to do something about it. That is a true gift, Leah, because not everyone possesses that quality.
“So I want you to know that you hold a most special place in my, and Michael’s, heart. Family are relatives that you are born into. Friends are family that you choose. We are so honoured to have you as a part of our family.”
When Julie sat down, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.
As any parent knows, there are moments in life when you are so proud of your kids your heart just about bursts. For Krys and I, this was one of them. For Leah, it was the greatest gift of all.
Lorrie Goldstein,
editor, The Toronto Sun
Toronto, Ontario
Four-Legged Guardian Angels
If you talk to the animals they will talk with you and you will know each other. If you do not talk to them you will not know them, and what you do not know, you will fear. What one fears, one destroys.
Chief Dan George
Snow had just melted off the ground that April day at our house in Regina Beach, Saskatchewan. My husband, Doug, had just cleaned up the pool in preparation for selling our house. The year before, Doug had lost his job with the provincial government, and now our financial situation was grim. In despair, we had finally put our home on the market, and a real estate agent was due to show up later that day. Even worse, we would have to give up our two beloved Great Danes, Bambi and Brigitte, because we could no longer afford the cost of feeding them. The thought of losing our dogs and our beautiful home was almost more than I could bear.
Deep in despair, I sat typing up resumes and cover letters for Doug. Out of the corner of my eye I could see our thirteen-month-old son, Forrest, as he lay on the carpet, playing near our big, gentle nanny-dog, Brigitte. I hadn’t typed more than two sentences when our other dog, Bambi, began barking furiously and running back and forth to the sliding glass door overlooking our pool.
I raced to see what was happening and noticed that the sliding door was slightly open. Suddenly, I realized Forrest was nowhere to be seen. In a panic, I opened the door and ran outside. There I was surprised to see Brigitte, who was terrified of water, splashing around in the pool. Then to my horror, my eyes caught sight of Forrest’s yellow sleeper. Brigitte was bravely doing her best to keep him afloat by holding on to his sleeper with her mouth. At the same time, she was desperately trying to swim to the shallow end. I realized that Forrest had somehow opened the door, wandered out and fallen into the pool.
In a split second, I dove in, lifted my precious baby out and carried him inside. But when I realized Forrest wasn’t breathing, I began to go into shock. I was trained in CPR, but my mind went completely blank. When I called 911, all I could do was scream. On the other end, a paramedic tried to calm me down so that I could follow his CPR instructions, but in my hysteria I was unable to carry it out successfully. Thankfully, Doug, who was a former Canadian Forces officer and was trained in CPR, arrived and took over. I stood by with my heart in my throat, and after about three minutes, Forrest began to breathe again.
When the ambulance arrived, I rode with Forrest to the hospital. Along the way he stopped breathing a couple of times, but each time the paramedics managed to revive him.
Once at the hospital, it wasn’t long before a doctor told us that Forrest would be all right. Doug and I were overwhelmed with gratitude. They kept him for observation for a total of four days, and I stayed by his side the whole time.
While Forrest was in the hospital, Doug was often at home. When he went into Forrest’s bedroom, he discovered that both Brigitte and Bambi had crammed themselves under the crib. For the entire time that Forrest was in the hospital, they ate little, coming out only to drink water. Otherwise, they remained under the crib, keeping a vigil until we brought Forrest home. Once they saw he was back, Brigitte and Bambi began to bark with apparent joy and wouldn’t let Forrest out of their sight. Our two wonderful dogs remained concerned about our baby’s safety, and even my first attempts to bathe Forrest were traumatic. Brigitte and Bambi stood watch, whimpering the whole time.
In time they settled down, but both remained dedicated to Forrest and followed him everywhere. When Forrest finally learned to walk, he did it by holding on to the dogs’ collars.
The press discovered the story and soon Purina dog food called. They offered the dogs an award and gave us tickets to fly to Toronto for a ceremony where Brigitte and Bambi were awarded medals for their bravery. We were also given a beautiful framed picture of our dogs, which we now display proudly above our mantle. Perhaps best of all, Purina gave us a lifetime supply of dog food so the problem of keeping our beloved dogs was solved.
Those gentle giants helped raise our other two children as well. Things in our lives are much better now. Most importantly, almost losing Forrest—and then getting him back—erased any despair I might have had about losing our home. A house can always be replaced, but knowing we have each other is the greatest blessing of all.
Our two dogs are both angels now and probably guarding other children up in heaven. We miss them both, but we are eternally grateful they were part of our lives.
Karin Bjerke-Lisle
White Rock, British Columbia
Christmas Lights
Before my dad died, Christmas was a bright, enchanted time in the long, dark winters of Bathurst, New Brunswick. The cold, blizzardy days would sometimes start as early as late September. Finally, the lights of Christmas would start to go up, and the anticipation would build. By Christmas Eve the ordinary evergreen tree that my father dragged in the door ten days earlier took on a magical, sparkling life of its own. With its marvellous brilliance, it single-handedly pushed back the darkness of winter.
Late on Christmas Eve, we would bundle up and go to midnight mass. The sound of the choir sent chills through my body, and when my older sister, a soloist, sang “Silent Night,” my cheeks flushed with pride.
On Christmas morning I was always the first one up. I’d stumble out of bed and walk down the hall toward the glow from the living room. My eyes filled with sleep, I’d softly bounce off the walls a couple of times trying to keep a straight line. I’d round the corner and come face-to-face with the brilliance of Christmas. My unfocused, sleep-filled eyes created a halo around each light, amplifying and warming it. After a moment or two I’d rub my eyes and an endless expanse of ribbons and bows and a free-for-all of bright presents would come into focus.
I’ll never forget the feeling of that first glimpse on Christmas morning. After a few minutes alone with the magic, I’d get my younger brother and sister, and we’d wake my parents.
One November night, about a month before Christmas, I was sitting at the dining room table playing solitaire. My mother was busy in the kitchen, but was drawn from time to time into the living room by one of her favourite radio shows. It was dark and cold outside, but warm inside. My father had promised that tonight we would play crazy eight’s, but he had not yet returned from work and it was getting near my bedtime.
When I heard him at the kitchen door, I jumped up and brushed past my mother to meet him. He looked oddly preoccupied, staring past me at my mother. Still, when I ran up to him, he enfolded me in his arms. Hug
ging my father on a winter night was great. His cold winter coat pressed against my cheek and the smell of frost mingled with the smell of wool.
But this time was different. After the first few seconds of the familiar hug, his grip tightened. One arm pressed my shoulder while the hand on my head gripped my hair so tightly it was starting to hurt. I was a little frightened at the strangeness of this and relieved when my mother pried me out of his arms. I didn’t know it at the time, but my dad was suffering a fatal heart attack.
Someone told me to take my younger brother and sister to play down in the recreation room. From the foot of the stairs, I saw the doctor and the priest arrive. I saw an ambulance crew enter and then leave with someone on a stretcher, covered in a red blanket. I didn’t cry the night my father died, or even at his funeral. I wasn’t holding back the tears; they just weren’t there.
On Christmas morning, as usual, I was the first one up. But this year, something was different. Already, there was a hint of dawn in the sky. More rested and awake than usual, I walked down the hall toward the living room. There was definitely something wrong, but I didn’t know what until I rounded the corner. Then, instead of being blinded by the warm lights, I could see everything in the dull room. Without my dad to make sure the lights on the tree were glowing, I could see the tree. I could see the presents. I could even see a little bit of the outside world through the window. The magic of my childhood Christmas dream was shattered.