This Reminds Me

While Julia had no family in Russia, she had her classmates at Children’s Home #47. She had Viktor, Katya and their teachers.  She knew how snow crunched under her boots, and how warm she felt in her favorite royal blue jacket.  How her black bread and oatmeal tasted.  She knew which tiny bed among 42 others was hers, and what she’d be doing the next day.  And the next.  And the next.

Last fall, she mourned those dimming slices of the familiar.  And I’m sure she will again.

You can only miss what you’ve had.  And now – just lately - she’s twice expressed what she’s missing here.

On the last day of school, she drew her teacher (Mrs. Deshotel) a parting picture.  No one requested this gift of her, and she didn’t copy anyone’s wording.  She created the drawing and text all by herself.  Her teacher cried over it, and I nearly did myself.

“I will miss you Mrs. D.  Julia.”  She always draws herself with pigtails, like she wore in Russia.

Then last night, she was all fidgety and cranky and finally looked at me and puddled up with a pitiful, “Mom, I miss Rachel.”

The artist and her eldest sister at a recent church reception, acting like themselves.

I swept her into my arms as we called Rachel,  who is spending 10 days with good friends in Houston.  Turns out Rachel was really missing Julia, too.  So they talked about that while I waited nearby in anticipation of rocking Julia to sleep.

You can only miss what you’ve had.  And now Julia has had a wonderful, caring teacher whose classroom she won’t inhabit again.  And the sister that has petted and indulged her the most has been away almost a week, which is an eternity to a seven-year-old.

I hope she misses lots of other things in her life.  I hope she misses friends that move away.  I hope she misses more teachers, and each school as she graduates to another.  I hope one day she misses her childhood church, and I hope she misses this house after she moves out.  I want her to miss Rachel singing, Lois playing the guitar and Hannah fussing over which skirt is really the cutest.  I want her to miss being tickled, and being rocked, and being told, “Hurry, we’ll miss the bus.”  And one day – when Keith and I have gone home – I hope she misses us.

I want her to miss all those things.

Because you can only miss what you’ve had.

And I want her to have them all.

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