At first, when our driver took us to Mr. Na’s orphanage this morning, we thought he had made a mistake by taking us to the wrong one. You see, the driver we had in 2004 drove us in so many funky, different directions, we look back now and honestly, we think he did that on purpose to throw us off and make it seem like he was driving for miles and miles—to be able to charge more money.

So we had no idea that “Our Children” was located directly behind the courthouse in Donetsk, and in between calling our translator in Kiev and trying to explain our worries to the driver, we were headed back to Kramatorsk with Mr. Na practically in tears because he didn’t think he was going to get to see his orphanage. Finally, we connected with our driver vis a vie our translator (whom I will call Mischa from now on because she looks just like Mischa Barton) and within fifteen minutes, we were right back where we started from.

We walked up the flower-lined path to the front door where we were greeted by the same head nurse who was there in 2004. She said, in English, “Good morning to you, we’re so glad you’re here…” and the moment she locked eyes with Mr. Na, her prepared statement gave way to pure emotion. She was just in awe. She smoothed his hair and stroked his cheek and I could tell that not only was he remembered, he was truly missed.

We walked upstairs to a smaller room where the nurse pulled Mr. Na’s adoption announcement from a photo album. She thanked us for sending it and told us how pleased she was that we stayed in touch.

The nurse then led us to the director’s office who, upon seeing Mr. Na, showered him with the same affection. She motioned for us to sit down and I pulled out Mr. Na’s Kindergarten photo to give to her, which she enjoyed. She asked Mr. Na some direct questions (how old are you? What is your name now?) and she smiled when we told her that his given name was now his middle name.

Another translator came in and we were taken to the rooms that Mr. Na once occupied: a large, cheery classroom where three dozen children were eating their lunch. For a moment, Pa thought he was in a Haufbrau Haus because all the kids were toasting Mr. Na, saying “Prevyet!” It wouldn’t have been better if it had been rehearsed! That room opened up to a bedroom with rows of toddler beds, adorned with pink or blue Tweety Bird duvet covers. It was adorable (and I’m sorry our camera failed us at that moment).

We reminded the director that Mr. Na had been in the hospital with bronchitis when we first met him. She asked us if he had any additional problems with his health, to which I smiled and told her he’s been pretty healthy all this time.

The nurse told us that they rarely ever see the children after they’re adopted, and so for them, this was a huge treat. I told her we were in Kramatorsk, adopting a Little Person and that we couldn’t resist showing Mr. Na his origins. They asked me if we had disclosed Mr. Na’s history to him to which I replied “yes.”

And what was Mr. Na doing all the while? Lapping up the attention, most definitely, but he remained very quiet and shy. I knew he was happy to be there, but he didn’t remember anything or anyone. Just before we said our goodbyes, I told the head nurse why we called him Mr. Na and she exploded with laughter as I used his “gimmie gimmie” gesture as I said, “Na! Na! Na!” I told them he had gotten it all confused. Instead of saying “Diy!” he’d say “Na!” when he wanted something (which was, and still is, all the time!)

Our time at “Our Children” was brief but heartwarming. I’m so glad we made the trek. We enjoyed our little side trip to Donetsk and hope to return again some time.

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