Once upon a time, in a country far far away, a little boy was born. The beautiful little boy was of Roma heritage, had huge chocolate brown eyes and dark hair. He also had down syndrome. Through circumstances beyond his control, he soon found himself in the area baby house, being raised by caregivers and wondering what happened to his mama. His name was Josiah.
Ten months later, in that same country, another little boy was born. This little boy had blond hair, gorgeous gray eyes and cerebral palsy. He spent the first two months of his life in the hospital. By that time, his mother had already made the decision to not take him home and so he, too, was taken to the baby house. His name was Seth.
Josiah and Seth lived together for several years inside the baby house. Josiah learned to walk, was potty trained and learned to feed himself. He was allowed to play with toys, to get down on the floor. He was a happy boy, with a huge smile, and he craved love. Everyone who met him commented on his sweet personality, his energy and his obvious need for a mother. He needed more love than any caregiver could ever give him.
Seth learned to sit up and pull to a stand, but didn't learn to walk. He was potty trained but was never allowed to feed himself because it would have taken too long. He spent his days in a play pen or in a stroller. He entertained himself by pulling himself up and over the bars of the play pen, getting in and out, over and over, all day long. He was not allowed on the floor, as the floor was dirty for kids who couldn't walk, and they didn't want him to get sick. People who visited him said he was sweet, bright and sought out interaction.
Both Josiah and Seth were housed together in the special needs groupa, located upstairs, away from visitors. Seth never, ever went outside to play. He never left their floor. Josiah was able to go out a couple times a week, but only if one particular caregiver could take him. They'd climb the long skinny spiral staircase down to the door on the bottom floor. Located on their own floor was a therapy room, a massage room and eventually, a water therapy room. That was their whole world. Their entire existence. For six whole years.
Life in the baby house was generally okay, as far as baby houses went. There was enough food to eat, not enough caregivers, lots of children running around. The director knew each child and made sure they received the care they required. She would not have stood for abuse or obvious mistreatment, but there were never enough caregivers to go around and the kids were largely left to themselves, to entertain any way they could.
One day in October, it was decided that the older children needed to be moved out of the baby house. Those over six years of age would be transferred. That included Josiah, Seth, Liam, Aaron, and Kristina, among others. Several from the special needs groupa. Because they could walk, Kristina, Liam, Aaron and Josiah were sent to a nearby Children's Home, a step down from a baby house, but a huge step up from an institution. The director, knowing Seth's fate because he couldn't walk, asked to keep Seth for a while longer to try to get him walking.
The next eight months were eventful at the Children's Home. Kristina was adopted by Sara Beamish. Liam was adopted by an Italian couple. Aaron was adopted by a Spanish family. Josiah wasn't adopted at all. He waited. At the Children's Home, there was less structure, bigger groupas, less food (although still enough) and poorer quality food. Children adopted from there were known to have regressed because of the lack of general care they were given. Outside, there was old decrepit play equipment to play on. Josiah was allowed out but couldn't leave the caregivers side to play with the other children. His caregivers didn't know how to contain his energy or his spirit. They kept him right beside them. He stood there and watched the children run around and play. An adopting family said they were worried about Josiah. He had lost considerable weight, looked sad and a little lost, and was absolutely starved for any kind of love and affection. He needed a family to come quickly. Josiah continued to wait.
June came, and time was up for Seth. If he could walk independently, he'd join Josiah and his other friends at the Children's Home. If he couldn't walk, he'd go to the nearest mental institution. Seth still wasn't walking. He arrived at the institution in June. His baby house director said she didn't want to send him there because children go there to die. She said she loved Seth, that everyone loved Seth, because he was such a smart, happy boy and very sweet. That must have been a long, confusing car ride for him. I try not to think about it too much.
He arrived and found out his new home spoke a different language- Romanian. He lost the little verbal skills he had and went non verbal. Because he couldn't get himself to the bathroom, they put him back in diapers. Because he was in a wheelchair, they wouldn't take him into the dining area to eat, and instead insisted on cramming food down his throat and holding his cup while he drank. He was reduced back to a baby. At the institution, there were virtually no toys, no books. Not even a TV in the room where he was. Very few young children and the children who were there were non verbal, communicating mostly in grunts and moans. None of the adults talked to him and even if they had, it was an unknown language anyway. Seth sat in a wheelchair for three months and slowly fell apart. He didn't know it yet, but his family was on their way.
His family arrived in September to find a ghost of a little boy, a child who bore only a slight resemblance to the pictures and description we had. In fact, when we walked in, I had to ask the director which child was Seth. And for several days, it crossed my mind that they had switched children on us. The child in front of us was vacant, disconnected and without hope. I will admit that we were very scared. We committed to him and moved forward, visiting him every day, and seeing small successes and progress being made every time we came to see him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he was coming back.
Then one day in October, Jeremy looked over at one of the outdoor swings. He came over to me and whispered in my ear "That's Josiah". I looked over and sure enough, sitting on the swing was Josiah. He was happy, glad to be outside on a little adventure, happy to feel the sun on his face. He had no idea what was about to happen. But I did. I walked around the building as Josiah suddenly came running by me, running for the car that had brought him. I watched, partially hidden by the building, as Josiah's director from the Children's Home got in the car. Josiah was panicked. He ran to the car and tried to pull the door open, trying to get in, as the car slowly pulled away. Josiah struggled. He wanted in. Where was his director going? Remember, Josiah knew transfer. He had done this once before. But before, he had several friends with him. A few familiar faces. This time, he was alone. Or so he thought.
The new caregivers came over as Josiah started crying and screaming. They peeled him from the car, escorted him away, gave him a cookie and tried to appease him. He shook with sobs and I sobbed with him. It was probably one of the most traumatic things I have ever witnessed. The loss, the fear, the absolute chaos that happens in a child's mind when they are transferred. I cried and fought the urge to go scoop him up and hold him in my arms. I hurt for that little boy. I hurt for him now. That is a loss that no child should ever have to suffer, and he's suffered it three different times- at birth, at transfer from his baby house, and at transfer from the children's home. Witnessing a transfer changed me more than probably any other aspect of our adoption, because now I fully comprehend what that does to a child. It's not good.
As soon as I could, I found Josiah. It was the next day. He was adjusting reasonably well but looked in shock. He liked being outdoors, a novelty for him. He liked the swing, although they kept him on it more than he wanted. They assigned him an older boy to keep track of him and we'd see them walking around and around the building. The caregivers were patient with him. We noticed they let him feed himself, and so he'd go to the big room to eat with most of the other boys. We also noticed that after a few days, he was back in diapers. One day, I was upstairs using the restroom and I poked my head into the room where I knew Josiah was. There were about ten boys in there, watching a tiny little TV screen attached to the wall. There were no toys or books. Just mats and some benches. Josiah and one other boy were off in the corner, sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, back and forth, staring at the wall....
About this time, Evan and Faith Jobes stepped forward and said they wanted to come get Josiah. Josiah finally had a family! I ached to tell him that, but knew that he'd never understand and even if he did, it would feel like forever to him. I, however, took heart in knowing his time there would be short. Faith and I figured it out and felt like she could be there by February. Only four months. I took pics of Josiah whenever I could, took notes on him for Faith, pushed him and Seth on the swing, wiped his little nose and shared cookies with him. I remember pushing him and another little boy on the swing and every time they'd swing forward, I'd grab Josiah's foot and push to make them go back, and he'd squeal in laughter. He would drink in any amount of attention and love. His big, dark, soulful eyes, gazing intently into mine and I ached because I knew what he needed and I knew she was on the way, but I couldn't tell him. I wanted to say "Hang on Josiah. Mamas coming. Mama will be here soon. Hang on to your sanity. Don't give up. Please Josiah. Don't give up." But I couldn't say that. So I just pushed him on the swing and shared our cookies. And felt hopelessly inadequate and useless.
Josiah and Seth. Two little boys, born just 10 months apart. Together for six years. Separated and brought back together again a year later, in what was probably the most traumatizing event in their lives. Two little boys who took different paths to get there, but both ending up at the same institution. Two little boys with a past. Two little boys with a future.
And then, Seth left....
Seth came home on October 28. He's been home six months now. Josiah still. isn't. home. February came and went. Josiah is still there. Rocking and rocking and hanging on. Josiah's family has hit one snag after another in an effort to get to their boy. They are so close. Agonizingly close. They expect to travel in the next month or two. Josiah is coming home. Were there ever sweeter words spoken?
Josiah's story will have a happy ending. Josiah will have a family. Could you be a part of Josiah's story? Could you donate to help Faith bring Josiah home? They are lacking just a little bit of the funds they need. An anonymous donor has stepped forward and pledged to match donations up to $2500 on any amount now through Sunday. Any amount will help. I don't have anything fancy to offer, because frankly, I stink at fundraising. All I have is Josiah's sad story and how it entertwined with Seth's story in a journey that inevitably saved them both. Was it coincidence that we were there when Josiah got transferred in? Was it coincidence that we witnessed that horrific day? I don't believe in coincidences. I don't believe that's how Heavenly Father works. I believe Seth was where he was and we were where we were so that we would see when Josiah arrived, because Josiah needed it that badly. When Josiah arrived, I contacted Reeces Rainbow, the advocacy group that advocated for Seth and advocated for Josiah. It was shouted from the rooftops, facebooked, and blogged. People who had long loved Josiah from afar screamed for that little boy. That day marked the final hurdle in prompting a family to come forward for a little boy who has always wanted and always craved a mama. The day that Faith wraps her arms around Josiah will be among the happiest days of my life. Josiah has had a long treacherous journey. More than any child deserves. He needs to feel a mama's love. He needs to come home quickly. We've been where he is. Every day counts.
Please help Josiah get to his family. All donations are tax deductible and all will make you feel good. You don't have to adopt to help an orphan. You can donate to help other families adopt. If you are here, reading this, it's because you've followed Seth's amazing journey home. You know the difference a family can make for a child. You've witnessed that. Please help Josiah receive that same blessing, the blessing that all children are meant to have- a family.
For those of you who don't know, Seth is currently in the hospital. He had his tonsils and adenoids taken out and tubes put in on Tuesday. On Thursday, he was admitted for pain management and hydration. Now, he has strep throat. He's in a lot of pain. Please keep him in your prayers that he will feel better quickly. 
