Three Marches

March 2018 - The Beast

In early March 2018, we were hit with The Beast from the East. The storm brought a lot of snow. More snow than I’ve ever seen in the UK. The image I have of the storm is this one:

Our kid, who was 5 1/2 at the time, in snow that was waist high. Every time someone brings up that storm, I think of of where the state of our family was at that time.

A couple of weeks before the Beast from the East hit, we were to meet our little boy for the first time. We drove the long distance to meet him, only to find out he had gotten ill the day before we were to meet him. We did meet him, but he looked awful; not the best way to meet your son for the first time. After a couple of days of hoping he would get better, Introductions was postponed until further notice. We drove back to Edinburgh.

Then the storm came.

When I think of that storm, I think of being in limbo. 

Meeting him the way we did kind of made me question the decision to adopt him. He looked so ill. It was also very unclear when we would start up Introductions again. He had somewhat recovered after a week, but had lost a lot of weight and everything just seemed...in limbo.

When I think of that time, I think of our older kid, in her last hurrah as an only child.

She loved the snow and, looking back on it, if we had been able to bring the little guy home as scheduled, she would not have been able to spend as much time out in the snow, getting all the attention an only child gets. That week of the storm is about as close to our older kid as I’ve ever felt, and I think that, for me, it was my last hurrah of giving her all my attention, and I loved it.

A couple of weeks after the storm, we were the family we are now; a family of four. When I think of March 2018, I think of that storm, I think of being in limbo, I think of both of our kids; the older one being an only child for the last time and the younger one not knowing how much his life was about to change, by gaining a forever family.

March 2014 - The Plane

In March 2014, I felt like I could go nowhere without hearing about MH370, the plane that seemed to disappear into thin air.

We were not parents at the start of March 2014, but were at the end of the month; March started like a lamb and ended like a lion.

We went through Introductions with our first kid that March and were staying at hotel near her foster family. We would go to breakfast in the morning and all we would hear about was that missing flight. As sad of a story that flight was, it was a distraction to me; I obsessed over reading about it. Not because I was obsessed about it but because I needed the distraction. 

I was very nervous about adopting a kid. I even told our social worker a few weeks earlier that I didn’t know if I wanted to go through with it.

For people who have not gone through Introductions, it’s hard to describe just how taxing it is - physically, mentally, and emotionally. We visited our kid’s foster family just this past weekend, and joked about who we were during that week - how little we knew and the toll it took on us.

Ever since March 2014, when I hear the occasional news story of MH370, I think of that week of Introductions and I think about our kid; who she was as a person then, and who we were to her - complete strangers. I think about her now, and how she is probably the person that feels least like a stranger to me, and how life can turn a stranger into a father, or daughter. 

March 2010 - The Madness

On March 20 2010, I dozed off watching a basketball game; March Madness. I love March Madness. The NCAA tournament is my favourite annual sporting event. 

I was sitting on a sofa at the Gilchrist Hospice, in Towson, Maryland. I was jet-lagged, having arrived from the UK a couple of days earlier.

My mother was dying.

I was woken up by my sister at some point later that night. She told me that a hospice worker had said that it was nearly time. 

My mother was leaving us, and soon after, we watched her take that last deep breath. Then she was gone.

My mother’s funeral was a week later. The day after her funeral, I drove Lauren to Dulles Airport, for her flight back to Oxford. On the way home, I listened to Michigan State (I’m an alum) beat Tennessee to make it to the Final Four. MSU wasn’t expected to do that great that year, but the team made all the way to the Final Four, which was something to be proud of.

Every March since then, I consume the tournament as best as I can from a distance, and I think of my mother. It’s odd to think that a game played by giant men reminds me of a very small woman (my mother was no more than 5 feet tall), who knew almost nothing about basketball. 

I also think about who my mother was, and who she had hoped her son to be.