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The moment I became a Long

 

My home for the first thirteen months of my life.

 

Secondary infertility. That’s what the doctors said it was called. My parents, with two healthy children, were told they could never biologically have more. They walked out of that office and immediately looked to adoption, something they had discussed already, to add to their family. They started taking classes offered by Associated Catholic Charities, where they learned all about adoption and what the possibilities were, and they were connected with helpful agencies and social workers. My soon-to-be mom heard about a little girl in Russia who had problems with her legs and was up for adoption. My parents say they didn’t set out specifically to adopt children with special needs, but they hadn’t ruled it out, either. They knew that a lot of overseas orphans had physical disabilities, and they had checked to make sure their health insurance covered any surgeries, hospital visits, and so on that might be necessary. They were prepared to open their home and help however they could. So, following this lead, they got in touch with a group of people who had helped some families adopt children from Russia and were putting together another group to adopt from the same orphanage. My parents learned more about this little girl with malformed legs and were shown their first picture.

My mom says she knew right away that this was the child God wanted them to adopt. My parents always wanted a total of four children, including the two they already had, so they decided to adopt a second child from the same orphanage. In December 1992, Steve and Beth Long made plans to adopt a little boy, Dennis Alekseevich Tumashoff, along with the little girl, Tatiana Olegovna Kirillova.

They began the journey with paperwork and background checks, collecting letters of reference, and answering questions about how they grew up and what future plans they had for their family. Multiple visits to their home were required, too. These home studies are an in-depth examination of the house and surroundings in which an adoptee would grow up. In order to raise funds, the Longs sold a number of items, including the twelve-passenger van they had used for a daycare center they formerly operated. They requested more information on their Russian children in an attempt to prepare for what surgeries would be needed, but they were provided with no medical history. The only information my future parents had was a picture of me and my legs, along with the knowledge that Dennis had a cleft lip and palate. Desperate for more information about us, they even took the picture of me to a specialist at Johns Hopkins Hospital to see if he could tell them anything more, but nothing could be determined without x-rays and a medical history. Incredibly, it took less than three months from the moment they decided to adopt us to the moment my dad boarded the plane for Russia. Because they already had two kids, my mom stayed home in Baltimore to care for them. My dad would take the long trip solo, during two weeks away from his job, to bring us to our new home.

 

The very first photo of me that was shown to my parents when they were looking to adopt.

 

The door to the orphanage Josh and I were in. The building was decrepit, and the windows and doors let in a draft.

 

Steve Long’s first trip outside the United States took him halfway around the world to meet the newest members of his family. He flew out of Dulles International Airport with a group of other parents who were adopting, and after a layover in Shannon, Ireland, they landed in Moscow. From there, he flew to Irkutsk, where the orphanage was located. I can’t imagine what he must have been feeling, walking into that orphanage, knowing his daughter was inside, seeing me amid all the other children, locking eyes with me—his little girl—for the first time. He. Chose. Me!

It took me the longest time to understand this, though my parents told me about it frequently. Some parents are introduced to their new child on a sonogram screen and then meet her in a hospital room after nine months of careful preparation. But my remarkable parents were introduced to their new child through a photograph, and, moved by her story, they agreed to meet her for the first time in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers who did not speak their language. Still, I was their child, loved wholly and beyond reason. I get it now. He was there for me. Yeah, he was there for my brother^*, too . . . but right now we are talking about my story, okay?

 

Josh and me.

 

My dad tells some of the best stories about the return trip from Russia with the two newest additions of his family in tow. Little did he know, a blizzard dubbed the “storm of the century” was blowing in and would cause our plane to land in Canada, where we would be stranded overnight. Suddenly, taking care of a three-year-old and a thirteen-month-old in a different country seemed daunting. Between my brother puking on the plane, me continuously rolling over the pillow fortress my dad had built and falling off the hotel bed, and running out of diapers . . . we definitely had some great bonding time. To me, that trip symbolizes the craziness these two little Russian orphans continuously brought to our parents’ lives, but I’m told we were worth it.

 

Once in the U.S., I met the requirements for citizenship and nothing else technically had to be done. But my parents decided to go through the formal process and get me an official Certificate of Citizenship.

 

My family never treated me differently because I was adopted. My new older sister was ecstatic to have another girl around (before she realized I would grow up to steal her things), and my brother was always my protector (he’s a police officer now). My name was changed from Tatiana Olegovna Kirillova to Jessica Tatiana Long, and my parents’ perfect family of six was complete . . . or so they thought. My mom miraculously got pregnant again three years later . . . and then again two years after that, giving me two little sisters and a total of five siblings.

 

Stranded in Canada for the night.

 

Taking a quick nap on my mom while on family vacation, about one month after being adopted.

 

All smiles with my two oldest siblings, Amanda and Steven.

 

Holding my new little sister, Hannah.

 

Two Russians in the woods, a year after our adoption.