JinJin and MeiMei

Our large family has come together through a combination of birth and adoption. Four of our children are adopted, one as an infant, and three as older children. Our children range from four to sixteen years of age. This is a story about two of our children from China.

In the summer of 1998, we brought home JinJin and MeiMei from a Chinese orphanage in Shanghai. Both of them were five years old when they left behind a world they had known for the United States. JinJin has bilateral clubfeet, which has just been repaired, and MeiMei has chronic Hepatitis B and is missing the fingers on her left hand. They barely knew each other at the orphanage, as they were unrelated until they became siblings through adoption. Although our new daughter, MeiMei, is the same age as our son, JinJin's transition here has been more touched with grief; he has been able to express it in ways that MeiMei has not. Instead, she strives to fit in and to mimic her new sisters and brothers--often making me smile. Both of these children have been a wonder; finding the courage to begin life over in a new family and having the strength to hold on to their memories of China.

JinJin was patient from the start. Knowing my husband spoke little Mandarin, JinJin came up with a marvelous and complex sign language to communicate with my husband, Mark. They had signs for "hungry, full, happy, sad, books, sleepy, angry, hot, freezing, dirty, clean, bathroom, vomit, spill, tickle, drive, fix, bicycle" and more. He would speak in Shanghais to MeiMei, turn to Mark with sign language, and back to me with Mandarin. His English also blossomed within days. As his English improved, so did his new American family improve their Mandarin (except, alas, my poor husband). Today, the house is filled with bizarre conversations mixed in two languages. Sadly, JinJin has already forgotten some of his Chinese. He stumbled over the number "10" in Mandarin and he looked chagrined, when MeiMei had to remind him of the Mandarin word for "broccoli."

And yet, his grief for his home country of China is still discussed mostly in Mandarin. He can only speak in short intervals of those, whom he left behind. Because he was older when he entered the orphanage, he remembers bits and pieces of an earlier life. He knows that he was named Yuanjun in honor of his parents, who were both in the Chinese army. His mother was apparently in active duty and left the home first, leaving him with his father. He haltingly recalls a little brother, who had "two teeth on top and two on the bottom." When JinJin put his finger in his baby brother's mouth, JinJin recalls with fondness, the silly baby bit down. He laughs as he tells how his father gently opened his baby brother's mouth and JinJin pulled his finger out. My new son then tells me about the "little tooth marks" and gazes at his own finger now and breaks down sobbing.

My husband is poking me to translate more, but JinJin cannot bear to think of it any further. Little by little is the only way for children to grieve. Then, they put it aside for a while and play, while I am still drying my eyes. I do not know if any of these memories are real. He tells me the same tales over and over and cries each time. Even if this only happened in his head, these memories are true to him and we treat them as such. We do not try to take his grief away from him as though it were something to be "fixed." We tell him of Danny---a brother here, who died in 1990, and he sees that we know grief as well. We mourn and recall his brother lost to him in China and his brother here, whom he can only meet in pictures.

He also remembers details of his clubfoot surgery done in China at age three. He bitterly recalls the smell of the mask and the "strange sleep." He cannot recall his father there and he shakes his head in frustration. He wonders when he saw his father and brother for the last time. He smiles again as memories cross his vision and then he cries some more and hugs me. He then talks of those he misses in the orphanage and after that, he leaps up to play once more.

What does he love best in America? "All of us," he says in Mandarin, "the family is my home now." And, "no bad guys here, in Shanghai, I see two bad guys scare food from kids." He breaks into English, "I see bad guys outside in Shanghai, two bad guys scare my friends outside, we come home school. No bad guys here, mommy. Only us, it's good." I only wish it were true, JinJin. Like all parents, we want only to always keep him safe and loved. It is JinJin, who brings the courage and the blind trust into our family. We can at least help him keep his memories safe and embrace his past and present with the love he gives so freely to all of us.

What mysteries lie within MeiMei's backpack? This little girl, who arrived from China few short months ago, believes the school book-bag to be the most wondrous of all of American objects. She has started kindergarten, but longs to be in the "big kid" classes of her older siblings. She notices their bulging backpacks, replete with thick novels, scores of papers and reams of homework assignments. Her sparse and light kindergarten backpack seems boring by comparison. Each day, I find it crammed with a variety of objects as she attempts to imitate her fascinating older sisters and brothers.

One evening, I may pull out a hardback addition of George Eliot''s, Silas Marner, two calculators, and a stack of newspapers. The next night, it might include a box of cereal, a text of calculus, and a collection of plastic cups. MeiMei and I have never successfully discussed this packrat desire to have a heavy book-bag. Each night, I slip any number of items out, and each morning she adds some delightful new surprise. If I forget and miss a day, she overstuffs the pack and often tips over backward from its weight--trapped on her back like some hapless tortoise.

After noticing her older sister's notebook full of various assignments, she has now started collecting all her school coloring, letter practice pages, and notes home to parents. God, help me if I try to actually read any of these important notes home from the teacher. She waves them tantalizingly in front of my face and then whisks them back into her already crammed pack. What curious thoughts MeiMei's teacher must have as she hands yet another paper for home viewing, however sees the stash of papers already in MeiMei's little paper folder marked "for parents."

Perhaps this is MeiMei's method of hoarding. Many children from large orphanages find this to be a great comfort. Often, they will stash food, toys, and other items in their rooms until the reality of home and permanence sink in at last.

Yet, somehow, I think it is other than that---I think MeiMei is a marvelous observer of her siblings. When Sara, Brendan, and Emma sit at the table after school, they heave their backpacks onto the kitchen table with a grunt, and take pride in the loud "bang" as it hits the table with full weight. I notice MeiMei runs to get her backpack and heaves it on the table as well. Sara swings her long heavy hair back and pulls out her homework with a grumble. MeiMei swings her short mop of hair back, grumbles and pulls out her "homework" as well. Sara chews her pencil and sighs: MeiMei chews her pencil and sighs. Sara grumpily leafs through her Calculus text and grimaces. MeiMei the brave, MeiMei the packrat, MeiMei the mimic--we love her more than words can say.

Life, with our new children, is very good indeed.

Marybeth Lambe lives on a small dairy farm with her husband, Mark Levy, and their eight children. When she is not milking or chasing down children, Marybeth works part-time as a family physician and a writer.

© copyright 1999 Marybeth Lambe Adoption Today

Credits: Marybeth Lambe