Hazel and I had escaped to our room to get some work done. Being with the children was a joyful cacophony of laughter and attention seeking. It always made me smile, but it was exhausting. The kids had so much love and they gave it with wild abandon. They wanted to play, take pictures, be tossed in the air, be held, be held upside-down, be held with their friend – two kids upside-down at the same time, songs, spinning, games, sticky fingers, insect pets, dust, and dirt, and discovery. If you wanted to focus, you had to hide away for a bit.
I was finishing up the first draft of a document for the home when there was a small knock o n the door. Hazel opened it, and a tousled head peaked in. It was a small child, about five or six years old. His hair stood straight up, and his almond shaped, deep brown eyes glanced around the room.
“Hi! What’s your name?”
English is an official language in the Philippines, but not all the children understand it well, especially the very young ones.
He didn’t answer, but marched into our room. He looked at my notebook laying on the bed and thumbed through the pages. He looked up at me. “Do you want a pen?” He nodded. I handed him one and he started writing his name, carefully working on each letter. He could write his first name, and the beginning of his last name, but those final few letters were a challenge. He kept practicing and practicing.
We tried asking a few more questions, but he just kept his head down, intently focused on the task at hand.
I knew he was being reunited with his parents the next day. He had been in King’s Garden Children’s Home since he was a baby, while his parents were in jail on drug charges. He was so excited about going home. Every child there dreams about parents, and he was finally going to be with his very own. His parents. Where he belonged. He had been on exceptionally good behavior the past few days. I wondered if he was afraid he wouldn’t get to go home if he got in trouble.
Today he was quiet. I sensed he wanted to get away from the other children to think. I’m sure he was nervous and had no idea what to expect.
I picked up my Bible lying next to him and flipped through to find a story to read. A piece of paper slipped out from a conference I had attended a few months ago. On one side was printed Psalm 46. The other side was lined for notes, with much better spacing
for practicing letters. He grabbed the page and started practicing letters he saw on papers close by. While I read the story of Joshua and the battle of Jericho, he wrote his name over and over. Kyle Rodriguez.* Kyle Rodriguez. The ”z” was sideways, like an “N”. It was almost like he was practicing his identity.
After he got tired of writing, he started looking around the room. There’s a basket on the table between our two beds, and our hosts had graciously filled it with toiletries and snacks. He recognized a packet of cookies and grabbed them.
Hazel gently put them back. “No, there aren’t enough to share with everyone. I’m sorry.”
He pouted.
“I think it’s time to go downstairs and find the other kids. Come on!”
“Ayaw.” I don’t want.
“Come on, let’s go!”
“Ayaw.”
We could see a battle of the wills was on the horizon. “Should we start to leave?”
Hazel and I got up and went to the door.
“Ayaw.” He wasn’t upset, but determined.
We stepped outside, waited 10 seconds, and peeked back in to see he had gone for the cookies again.
“No, I’m sorry, it’s time to go!” I laughed as I gently pulled the cookie package from his hands and put them back.
“Ayaw.”
I picked him up off the bed, not sure if it would trigger a tantrum, but he let me carry him out of the room and was very excited to use our key to lock the door. I set him down and he gave me a quick smile as he scampered off to play.
The next day was the reunification. It was one o’clock the next afternoon when we left 
with Kyle, our social worker, his house parent, and Jonathan, the Home’s director, to meet Kyle’s parents at the Department of Social Welfare and Development. Kyle had a new backpack, filled with his things and a few treats. He didn’t smile or wave to his friends as he got into the car. It took us 45 minutes to get to the town center where the government offices were located. The adults were talking, but Kyle just stared straight ahead. He finally laid his head down on his house parent’s lap and took a nap.
We finally got to the right part of town and parked, which is never an easy task.
As soon as we got out, Kyle reached for Jonathan’s hand. Kyle had a history of behavior challenges, and had been sent to Jonathan’s office nearly every day since he took over as director of the home two months before. Jonathan looked at Kyle with loving concern and hugged him as they slowly walked towards the DSWD office.
We all felt the change as soon as we passed through the doors. It was actually happening. Kyle belonged with his parents, but everyone in the home loved him deeply and it was hard to think of him leaving. King’s Garden is the only home he has ever known. We were quiet as the DSWD staff ushered us to a small office with two couches.
We had arrived a few minutes early. Jonathan sat on the big couch, with Kyle next to him in the middle. Right at 3:00, which was snack time at the home, Kyle opened up his backpack and pulled out a bag of chips. It was 3:10, and his parents still weren’t there. 
Kyle leaned against Jonathan, who put a reassuring arm around him. Finally, at 3:15, his parents came. Even though Kyle had met them a few times before, there was no greeting, no spark of recognition. Kyle stared straight ahead.
The dad sat down next to Kyle, with the mother on the end of the couch. Their clothes were clean and neat. The father wore a purple and yellow striped polo shirt, and the mother was wearing a white t-shirt and stylishly-ripped jeans, with her hair up in a clip. Their skin was dark and thickened. They looked nervous. The dad tried to greet Kyle, but there was no response from him. It felt awkward.
The government social worker began the formal proceedings. It was all in Tagalog, but I understood the gist of the conversation. We are giving you custody of your son. You are responsible to care for his well-being. We will check in with you every few months to make sure Kyle is doing well. If we find he is not being cared for, we will remove him from your custody again. Do you understand? Do you agree?
The dad nodded yes, yes, he understood. The mother looked dazed.
Our social worker signed some papers relinquishing King’s Garden from custodial care of Kyle. The DSWD signed several papers, and then his parents signed. The father turned to Jonathan and thanked him for all the care the home had provided his son. It was about 3:20.
Kyle had been resting on Jonathan during the entire proceeding, seemingly unaware of what was happening. After the papers were finished, the government social worker turned to the parents and told them they could take Kyle.
Instantly, Kyle started screaming, tears streaming down his face.
“AYAW!”
I don’t want.
“AYAWWWW!”
He was sobbing.
The dad tried to give him a side hug. He looked embarrassed and lost. The mother just sat there, looking at him. They had never been parents. Kyle was their only child and had been taken away as a baby. I desperately wanted to go over to the mother and encourage her, show her how to get on his level, speak to him in a reassuring voice, how to hold him close. But the language barrier and the chaos of the moment made it impossible.
“AYAWWWWWW!!!!”
Kyle’s parents stood up. His dad picked him up, and he started kicking. Kyle reached for Jonathan. Jonathan had to let him go. He was with his parents. It was the best thing for him. This was his family. We heard his crying down the hall as they carried him out. “AYAW!”
Hazel and I looked at each other. We both had tears streaming down our cheeks. I had no idea how heart wrenching it would be. Would Kyle be ok? Would his parents really care for him? Would he have enough to eat? Would he get his 3:00 snack? Honestly, the thought of him at 3:00 the next day, looking for his snack, was just too much. I wiped away more tears.
He would be ok. This was good. This was the goal of King’s Garden, to see children reunited with their parents, or placed with adoptive families. He would be ok. And I knew I would too. It just takes time.
*Names have been changed to protect the child’s identity.