Chapter 11

If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him.  —Matthew 7:11

I first learned about Liana when reading Roma’s official adoption profile, his life summary prepared for prospective adoptive parents. Roma, seven at the time God brought him to my reluctant attention, had a younger brother, Rostilav, age two, and an older sister, Liana, age seventeen. How could anyone split up a family, I wondered. He was a “social orphan,” meaning he had at least one living parent. According to the stories Roma told us about Liana in his early years with us, it was evident she loved and protected him, and taught him genuine love which enabled him to bond with us.

I knew very few details of the tragedies that destroyed the family and sent Roma to us. The translated Russian documents stated summarily that the three children had been removed from the home because the two older ones, Liana and Roma, were regularly begging on the streets for food. The mother had been incarcerated several times, and the father was serving a 14-year prison sentence. The paper trail of young Rostilav had ended abruptly before we began our adoption applications. Our case worker speculated that he had been adopted because of his age. Most adoptive parents choose children under five. Once over five, most children in the Russian orphanage system are never adopted. But there was the older sister who pulled at my heart strings. We asked about the possibility of adopting her too, to keep the remaining children together. We were told she was not eligible for adoption because of her age. She was attending a trade school.

The Russian powers-that-be obviously did have the authority to split up a family. Liana was not eligible for adoption. Rostilav was already adopted, and Roma was on adoption parade, being displayed by way of his circulating profile, for international adoption. Although I had fought God about His idea of adoption, He had made his will unmistakably clear. We were taking one small step toward that end by hosting Roma when he was part of a group of five children, ages seven to twelve, who were flown to American for a five-day visit in November 2001.  We were instructed not to dally with our application for adoption, because other families might be interested. Roma stole our hearts, and I feared any lingering on our part might be the loss of Roma. A few short, hectic months later, we went to Russia in April 2002, to bring Roma home.

Upon our return home, we gradually went through the mountain of paperwork requiring our attention. One was a translation of the official document Liana had signed releasing him to what she hoped would be a better life than what she could give him. She was not yet 18, shy just five weeks. She had no rights to contest the adoption; her signature was a formality. We were later told that had she been 18, she would have had rights to custodial guardianship. With guardianship of a minor brother, she would have been granted government aid and an apartment. I wondered . . . had the accelerated schedule to adopt been a calculated plan. Waiting parents before us had waited a year, or longer, and had been required to make two, and sometimes three trips, some trips lasting several weeks.  We filed papers in late January. Six weeks later, we had a court date. A month after that, we found ourselves, deer-in-the-headlights panicked, on a plane, bound for Russia. On the return trip, nine days later, on May 1, 2001, we had our new son in tow.

In the thirteen years that Roma had been our son, I had never forgotten Liana. Always in the shadows of my imagination was a teenage girl who had lost her family. I got to know Liana through Roma’s stories of her. He mastered English quickly, as he did everything he attempted. He talked about her as if we knew her, and soon we did. He told us she was beautiful, and she told him funny stories. She visited him at the orphanage with gifts of candy. I was always touched by this gentle act, but Roma was always reminded how miffed he was that Liana always insisted that he share his treasured gift with the other eager children.

Once Roma pointed to our oldest daughter, Heather, twelve years older than him, and away at college most of the time. He announced in his deep little voice and thick accent, “You look like Liana.” So suddenly I had my first idea of what Liana looked like. Liana was only six weeks younger than my younger daughter, Kellie, who was a senior in high school, who doted on her new little brother, read him stories, played games with him, and gave him candy. My girls were not a substitute for Liana but a reminder from a loving God who provides for our needs.  

For the first three years, home visits were required and paperwork sent to Russia to document Roma’s well-being. I requested, at every home visit, that the officials in Russia please get word to Liana that Roma was loved and thriving. I watched as the social worker wrote the request in her notes, every three months, as she pronounced that Roma was bonding well and in good health. I had no way of knowing if Liana got those messages.

Separating children from their families causes trauma. I worried about Liana, as well as Roma. Some children never recover. When Roma began a downward spiral, I thought of Liana. Looking for advice, I registered with several adoption groups whose purpose was to find family members lost through adoption. We had been so naïve at the beginning. We believed we could love Roma enough to heal any loss he had experienced. Roma seemed to be thriving. From the beginning, he was, by nature, a happy-go-lucky child. He was distracted with many activities of his own choosing. He seemed eager to embrace his new life. Roma appeared to be ready to close the heavy door on the previous chapter of his past. I, on the other hand, was unable to shut that door completely.

As he grew, he didn’t want to talk about Liana anymore, and he didn’t want me to mention her name either. Was it too painful?

“Mom,” Roma would try to quiet me in Roma’s blunt manner. “She is probably dead.” 

Is this how Roma dealt with his loss? Of course, it could be true, but his effort to forget Liana was to wipe her out completely? He couldn’t conceive that his sister could be somewhere “over there,” continuing life without him.

On a vulnerable day in a year of power struggles, my strong-willed boy confessed that he wished we could find Liana. After years of not appearing even curious about her, he exposed his profound loss. He had never forgotten Liana either.

Life happened so fast. It was unbelievable that he had been my son for almost 13 years. At 20, he had been with us much longer than with his birth sister. He lived with Liana for only five years, and she visited him in the orphanage for another two years before he left for a new life in America. Even if we could connect with Liana, would Roma be mature enough to deal with what might be an emotional experience? Would they even be able to communicate? He didn’t remember Russian, and it was doubtful Liana, now 30, knew English. Did she have a family? Did she ever wonder about Roma? Did she think about us as much as I still thought about her? 

I first began a half-hearted effort to find Liana in 2010, when I joined more adoption groups to share what I had learned and to learn from the experiences of others. From one of my adoption groups, in November while Roma was in Atlanta, I learned about VK.com, the equivalent of Facebook for speakers of the Russian language. According to the website, 100 million people use VK.com. It was worth a try before I spent upwards of $2,000 to begin a search that might yield no helpful information about Liana.

In late November of 2014, I opened a VK.com account and stalked the site, but I found no Liana Sudzhashvili, her name in 2002. On my new wall, which I opened under Roma’s name at birth, I posted photos of him when he was little, and carefully crafted a text stating when and where he was adopted, and my desire to locate his Russian family. I didn’t know what I was doing, but in the unlikely event that someone would search his name, they might stumble across his/my page. 

I checked back on “our” account occasionally. No activity. I stalked again, looking in Mozdok and Vladikavkaz. There were a few subscribers with the name Sudzhashvili in Roma’s original hometown. Perhaps cousins? But no Liana. When Roma came home, after he got settled, I showed him the account and suggested he take over my search. It was overwhelming when everything had to be translated from English to Russian, but thankfully there are websites for translations.  As excited as I was about the idea, Roma feigned indifference. He just wanted to see friends he hadn’t seen in months.

With a house full of family at Christmas, I ignored the account.

On December 29th, I told Roma that if he wasn’t going to investigate further, I was. He said I could, if I wanted to, but he was not interested right then. The pictures and places held no appeal to him. They were as foreign to him as they were to me.

Then it dawned on me the only way his profile would get any attention was if he/I had “friends.” I needed to send friend requests. So, with his permission, sort of, I sent friend requests to every member of VK.com who had the same last name, Sudzhashvili. Surprisingly, there weren’t nearly as many Sudzhashvilis as I would have imagined for a country the size of Russia. One hundred million users and possible connections! I added more photos of him, from the earliest one I had of him, up to the most recent. I wrote as if I were Roma, because I had his permission. I said I was looking for family, especially my sister Liana.  I said a prayer, and posted it all, in English. His region of Russian is eight hours behind us. Everyone slept as my friend requests alerted mailboxes.

The next day, December 30, was busy with family home for the holidays. When my daughter, Kellie, her husband, and five children met friends for lunch, I headed to check on my VK status. I had six new friends! Two messages!

One messaged, “Who are you?” (He had obviously not read my newsy status).

Another “friend,” Eduard, messaged, “Hi. Do you speak Russian language”?

The messages were from hours ago. I answered the second one.

Trying to be very simple with my English, I wrote, “No. I was only seven. I only speak English now.” (I felt silly in the conversation, pretending to be Roma.

He messaged back. “I speak English very poorly. Are you my brother?” Perhaps translation difficulty? Cousin, family maybe?

I had a live one, so I continued, “No, my brother is Rostilav, age 15. I am looking for family.”

Eduard messaged back, “My father says you are Liana’s brother.”

I sat stunned, covered with goose bumps, tears burning my eyes as I studied the words. Then I typed breathlessly but carefully, “YES, Liana is my sister. 30 years old? Do you know her? I haven’t seen her since I was seven. But she was very good to me.”

Eduard: “Of course I know her. She is my aunt. Sorry I didn’t answer right away, I was busy.”

I suspect Eduard and his father were checking out the pictures and contents on my page. The familiar boy who smiled from the pictures. I can only imagine what was happening with this family so far away at almost 11 p.m., their time.

Eduard: “I asked my father. He said you are his nephew.”

Then Eduard sent a link. I clicked on it. It was another VK account with a photo of a pretty young woman in sunglasses. The name was not Liana. I studied the wall. The birthday was wrong. I knew Liana’s birth date. I was careful not to be deceived.

Me: “That is not Liana, wrong birthday.”

Eduard, in his broken English: “page her husband but it’s on this page is she on photo”

Me: “Send her my page and photo. See if she recognizes me.”

Eduard “I’ll call you, don’t worry everything will be fine. It’s late tonight, tomorrow I’ll call ok?”

Me: “That’s right, it is nighttime there. Thank you so much!”

Eduard: “Glad to help you.”

Roma arrived home at this point in this frantic encounter. I ran to the door to meet him, grabbed him and tried quickly to fill him in on the details as we walked into my study. He was a textbook “deer in the headlights” as he was trying to process this shocking development. I led him to the desktop computer and sat him down as I was explaining. “Read and answer,” I commanded. And Roma, never a compliant child, sat, read, and answered, not even minding me hanging over his shoulder to read along.

Roma: “So you are my cousin?”

Sweet Eduard, ready for bed: “You are my relative, know it.”

Roma: “okay, talk to you tomorrow.”

Eduard, “No problem brother. Sorry for my English.”

Then suddenly there was a friend request from the girl in the sunglasses. It was getting close to midnight in Russia.

Roma finished his message to Eduard: “Haha I don’t speak any Russian anymore.” Then he accepted the friend request as I watched over his shoulder, my heart racing.

Eduard: “not anything to worry about . . . Liana you a friendship sent.”

Roma: “yeah, I got it.”

Eduard: “Chat”

Roma: “What?”

Eduard: “Communicate with her.”

Sometimes Eduard’s English was better than Roma’s.

Roma: “I just did”

Eduard: “Do you have a translator?”

Roma asked me, and I explained about translator sites on the web.

Roma: “Computer translates, so yes.

Then he switched to Liana.

Roma’s and Liana’s messaging, even with the awkwardness of translator was very sweet and intimate. I tiptoed out and closed the glass door behind me to give him some privacy for this raw and tender moment, as I was overwhelmed with tears. 

Kellie and her family returned while he was still in the study, busy over my computer. I met her at the door and whispered, “Roma is messaging Liana.” She looked into the office through the closed glass doors and her wide eyes filled with tears. Mine own filled again. This was a monumental moment we were witnessing.

I read their correspondence later, as tears streamed down my cheeks. It was too personal to share. It felt like an intrusion on their privacy to read it, but I couldn’t stop. I needed to know how to help Roma adjust to what I knew would be a life-altering event. I knew it would take time for these long-lost siblings to get reacquainted. Roma confessed that he was too emotional to talk about finding Liana at that time. He informed me that this was HIS story to share, not mine, which meant, “don’t write about this.” As hard as it was, I agreed to wait until he gave me permission. He trusted I would understand the sacredness of this meeting. But as we talked about it, he realized it was a story, like so many he had lived, that must be shared.

I cried off and on for days over Roma’s and Liana’s fresh, tender, and raw grief and joy. I had difficulty processing it all. It was almost incomprehensible. But I could not fathom the depth of the story that would be revealed over the next days and weeks. This experience was holy.

Continue with Chapter 12