This Reminds Me

When Lois was little, she and I had a “secret.”  She would lean over and whisper to me, “You’re in the middle, and I’m in the middle.”  I would respond, “I’m by Judy and David.”  She’d conclude, “I’m by Rachel and Hannah.”

We’d share a wink and a smile, and take comfort in our shared family “middleness.”

Sometimes being in the middle means being cradled between people that love you.

And sometimes – as a adult – being in the middle means being torn between people you love.

My Aunt Neva, 71, died in her sleep in the wee hours Friday.  No warning – but also no pain, no misery.  She went to sleep one place, and woke up in another.  I’m close to her daughters Sue, Julie and Joyce.  If Susan Elaine (Sue) had been born just four days later, my name would have been “Susan” instead of “Rebecca Sue.”

I would very much like to hug the necks of Sue, Julie and Joyce.  I would like to see the pictures they’ll display of Aunt Neva and Uncle Jim, who performed our wedding ceremony while Sue played piano.  I’d like to share some jokes about Sue and me sneaking so many of my mom’s fruit balls one Christmas that we got sick.  About (Reverend) Uncle Jim whipping out an oversized hankie for Keith to wipe grease off his hands after my wedding dress got caught in David’s electric wheelchair.  About toddler Joyce creating a “pretty picture” with black marker on my new white bedspread.  About suffering through Aunt Zum’s ham loaf, and always having room for a White Castles or two.

I’d like to share all those things.  And laugh.  And maybe I’d laugh so hard I’d cry.

Oklahoma (Mary), Wyoming (Wy), Nevada (Neva) and Arizona (Zum) - 1971 – The Feminine Four of Eight Robinson Siblings.  We lost my mom (Wy) eight years ago next week, and my Aunt Zum last year.

But to get to the funeral in Ft. Wayne, I’d have to miss the first day of this school year for Rachel, Lois, Hannah and Julia.

I am not “in the middle” – I am not torn – about missing that first day because la-la-la, I’ll miss all the fun.

I am “in the middle” – I am torn – because after the Stone Oak Elementary open house last Thursday night, I figured out that Julia thought we were leaving her at school.  That it would be “many sleeps” until she could come home.  And when I reflected on the evening – all the kids separated by age, the low tables, the toys, the wall decorations, the authority figure at a desk, the cubbies – I was struck by how very similar the appearance of Stone Oak Elementary was to Children’s Home #47.

Julia is not an easy crier. But she did cry, burying her face in my shoulder and trying not to sob.  Her shoulders shook as she scrunched up her face into my pajama top, refusing to look at me.

I assured her every way I could with as many gestures possible that no, we were not leaving her at school day after day.  Not her, nor her sisters, not now, not ever.  I knew I didn’t get through.  Time is a tough, tough concept to explain with limited language.  So Friday morning, I arranged a quick call with our Russian-speaking adoption coordinator who assured Julia that “Mama y Papa” would be picking her up Monday evening.  And every evening.  That no, she was not being left at school indefinitely.  She seems reassured – but still wary.

Her time at school Monday will be the very first time she’s been apart from one or more of us since she came home May 18. So it is a hugely important day for her, and for us.  We think next week is every bit as important as her first week home.

She has to see that school is the norm.  That August – May each year, our lives revolve around it.  That she goes five days a week for seven hours a day, and then to the on-site after school program until we get arrive to take her home.  All the things that Rachel, Lois and Hannah have known for years.  They absorbed a lot of this information as toddlers, observing older kids.  Julia did not, and has no basis for easy comparisons.

She has to see what is normal.  And she’s been promised that “Mama y Papa” are going to be there to pick her up Monday.

So we will.  Because we have to.

And we are praying it goes well.

And now I am also praying for others to comfort for Sue, Julie and Joyce, since I cannot do so in person.

Sometimes being in the middle means comfort.

And sometimes it means being torn.

And to adults – that is no secret.

One Response to “I’ve Got a Secret”