“When Kyle and I began our adoption journey, Ukraine was the place we swore we would never go to.
There were too many unknowns: the time required in-country the variance in court timelines and procedures by region the well-known issues with children’s files and paperwork.
We wanted our adoptions to be straightforward, to come with a clear plan from beginning to end.
As the saying goes man plans and God laughs.
2012 ended with the stroke of Putin’s pen and a screeching halt to our plan to bring home two more tiny little Russians from Charlotte’s orphanage to complete our family.
Ukraine.
We arrived in the country exhausted, excited, and more than a little apprehensive about all the unknowns; we would be learning the ins and outs of a new country, working with a different team of adoption professionals, and trying to bond with an understandably frightened infant.
Add in some feelings of ‘this is not how this is supposed to go’ and a healthy serving of guilt that we were leaving our Russians behind.
Enter Serge Zevlever.
If I’m being honest, working with him was one of the things that I stressed about most.
Not because I had concerns about his abilities, but because, well his reputation preceded him.
Rumor had it that he was gruff tough and utterly no-nonsense.
Rumor had it that he was a bulldog or a shark, depending on who you asked.
Rumor had it that he was the Ukrainian equivalent of a mob boss in the adoption world, not to be crossed.
It took about five minutes of sitting with him in the DAP office to learn that most of the rumors held some grains of truth.
And it took five more to learn that underneath that world-weary, hardened exterior beat the heart of a man who loved his job and the children and families he served.
These babies and children that most of the world ignored were his mission.
I was amazed as he effortlessly held three conversations regarding multiple children and families at once, not missing a step or a detail.
He expected perfection because he understood the cost.
He knew what being adopted (or not being adopted) meant for these souls entrusted to him.
And when that meeting I worried about so much was over—he took us to lunch, taught us about country-specific differences in making borscht (European soup), and looked through pictures of Josie and Annie, reassuring us that he knew we would go back for them the moment we could.
Several weeks and a few hiccups later, Louisa was ours.
He scooped her into his arms when we met in Kyiv—and the smile on his face was priceless.
Seeing children in families clearly was his greatest joy and reward.
