This Reminds Me

The girls are I dusted off some home movies this week.  We cringed as toddlers whacked each other, and laughed at babies splashing in the tub.  We even dug out some of my dad’s silent Super 8 epics, converted to VHS and soon to be cut to DVD.  The girls hooted at Aunt Judy’s “cat glasses,” and were most unkind about their mother’s attempts to hula-hoop.

Julia eventually asked me, “Mom, where are my movies?  Who has movies of me?”  Rachel immediately popped in the February 2006 DVD of her at Children’s Home #47 in St. Pete.  She marveled at herself speaking Russian….raced to the TV to point out her bed….explained how she had to leave her clothes and toys behind.  We heard about kiddos bathing three at a time in cold water, and how much fun it is to play in deep snow.

But then she asked, “Who has my baby movies?  Do you have movies of me as a little baby?,” with pinched fingers to show me she meant a really little baby, like appeared in the movies we’d watched of her sisters.  I took a deep breath and responded, “No, we don’t have any.  I wish we did.  But we do have this one picture of beautiful baby Julia.”

Snagged from the Russian data base, printed and proudly displayed in our den

That answer placated her for now.  But won’t later.

There are precious few momentos or bits of history that follow these kids to their forever families.  There are no inscribed books from Grandma, or scrunchy-eyed photos from the hospital.  No caregiver marvelled at that tiny hand waving “bye-bye,” or rushed to complete a baby book entry after that first step.

I read an essay by a young woman adopted from Viet Nam who said, “The history of every international adoptee is written in pencil.”  She meant much of their history is merely oral or inferred by conditions and therefore subject to change.

“Mom is a good hugger and is special.”  Shame that magnetic message is already erased!

Pencils are what you use when you’re learning.  Pencils are what you use for crossword puzzles – when you’re not sure.  Pencils are what you use when you’re afraid you might be making a mistake.

We’ll never be able to deeply explore or fully document her first six years.  The best we can do is tell her we love her now    And we need to not only say it, but also to write it – directly on her heart, in permanent ink.

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