One Year Ago...

It was one year ago today that we became the legal parents of daughters we loved dearly but had never met. I think back and wonder at all the amazing changes that have happened in our family since that time. It has been a roller coaster ride, but one that I would take again and again. I simply cannot imagine my life without my girls...and I know Colt feels the same. I also strongly believe that our incredible boys would agree. Wyatt and Tsegereda are close and although the age and height thing raises its ugly head now and then, overall it has been a pretty smooth transition. Noah has found his place in the foursome and they all truly act as though they have grown up together since birth. The house is full of laughter, yelling (mostly me), crying and hugging--with Barbies, legos, hair bands and transformers strewn all over. Just as it should be.

Looking back again at our first glimpse of our daughters, it is amazing THEIR transformation:

In Memoriam

We received heartbreaking news last week...our dear friend and brother, Francis Kisanya, passed away from Brucellocis. He had been sick with malaria, but last we heard he was getting better. We usually spoke with Francis every week, but lately it had not been as frequent because of bad phone connections. In an email to me a few weeks ago, his wife had thought he was getting better. Then, out of nowhere, a friend called to deliver the shocking news of his death.

We are still shell-shocked.

Francis was the Kenyan who helped us track down and expose the truth of the evil adoption fraud that entrapped ours and 27 other families in Uganda. The whole debacle eventually led us to our daughters, to which we have been forever indebted to Francis. Colt was able to stay and spend invaluable time with Francis and his family while visiting Kenya and Uganda in 2009. I only knew Francis through phone calls and email. But we knew each other well. Well enough that he endearingly called me sister, and I knew him as a brother. He was a dreamer, which was amazing in that he was a man who had gone through much pain in his too-short life. Too often that creates a bitter and hardened man, but Francis used the pain to build more hope and desire for a better day. He was a teacher who loved his students and loved to learn. He had just finished his masters in education (going to school in Uganda) and was just starting his doctorate work. He always wanted to better himself and his world. He was constantly bombarded with struggles, but they only made him fight harder.

Whenever we talked, he always asked when I was coming to visit. I promised him that one day, I would come. I shed tears now because I never will meet the mortal man whom I call brother. He was so dear to Colt and I, and his family a part of ours. We simply cannot believe he is gone. Two years ago, nearly to the day Francis passed away, we lost another dear friend suddenly and without warning. The call delivered the same blow of disbelief, the same cry of "no!" as he was one of the most vibrant, simply amazing men we knew. After we got to know Francis, Colt and I often marveled at how similar Francis and Brett were, and now to have both of them gone...so suddenly and way before they had reached their dreams...well, it is hard to understand.

But there is always a reason and we must trust that we will see them again one day.

The following is what I wrote to Jackline, Francis' wife, after learning of his death:

Francis Muhalia Kisanya

My Brother.

I will not say kwaheri (good-bye).

I refuse.

I will say asante (thank you). Asante sana, dear brother.

I will say that my life was forever changed when you walked into it, as it will be forever changed now that you have journeyed beyond me.

I will say that the world is a much darker place now that you have left it, but that the stars are so much brighter now that you are there to shine your light upon us.

You always reached for the stars while you were here on earth…now you are with them.

I will always regret that I was not able to meet you in person, yet I knew your voice, your determination, your eternal hope, and your heart. It never mattered that we did not share blood, never shook hands…you are my brother.

You will be missed, dear brother, by all who have ever had the privilege to be touched by your light.

Asante sana, dear brother…we will meet one day.

I hope that he hears those words and knows the truth in them. Please tuck his family into your prayers and your hearts. They now have a difficult road to journey without him...