Life in the Orphanage

After the adoption paperwork was processed, my sister and I were taken to an orphanage. I was around four years old, old enough to understand that something had changed but not old enough to understand why.

The orphanage was crowded with children of all ages. Caregivers did their best with what they had, but resources were limited. Everything had a routine. Meals at certain times. Naps at certain times. Playtime on a schedule. It was structured but unfamiliar.

My sister was only eighteen months old. She was still very much a baby, and I felt responsible for her. I held her when she cried and fed her when I could. I tried to comfort her even when I did not feel comforted myself.

I missed my mother and grandmother, but I did not have the words to express it. I only knew that we were not at home and that our world had changed without warning. Children in places like that learn very quickly to adapt because they have no choice.

The orphanage was not cruel, but it was not home. It was a place where children waited for their lives to be decided for them.

And one day, ours was.