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“Ana?” Her voice quivered as she said my name. It was gentle and familiar, and I realized how much I had missed her. There was shock and igniting joy in her eyes when she learned that the American family that adopted me had now come to adopt her. A rush of love and happiness rushed through my veins. After two years of separation, we reunited under a new name – a name that made us sisters. Any orphan was glad to be adopted, even though hardly any information was disclosed to the child other than the fact that a family was coming for them. It was a celebrated occasion in the orphanage and no questions were raised about the future happiness of the adoptee. Tania’s adoption was a planned surprised. She had no idea that I would be part of the family that was adopting her. We grew up together, always hoping and praying that the orphanage would not be the only home we know. My prayer was answered first, but little did she know that her answer would not be far behind. Traveling back to Russia made me realize how distant my former home had become. I thought that I was going back to visit what was still so much a part of my life, in hopes of finding everything the same or better. Yet I was only deeply burdened by the state of life that was my own not long before. Bleakness and destitution echoed through the entrance of orphanage number 3, up the mud-tracked stairs and through the main entry to group number 6. The paint on the walls pealed off with cries of isolation. Outdated, dirty and poor contrasted my pleasant memory of cheery windows and fairy tale murals. It was hard to believe that just two years prior I was one of the 18 children of group number 6 in orphanage number 3. My mind, confused and suddenly mature, did not know where to find rest in this place that was once my home. I struggled to find some connections that would remove this horrible feeling that I am a stranger here. We had spent hours playing dolls together and mindlessly chattering about our future. I remember this one time in particular when we made a promise to each other to “sign papers” when we were grown up that would make us official sisters. There was nothing childish to us about the idea – anything was possible out in the big world. As soon as we were old enough to leave the orphanage, we would live together in an apartment and have all the things that normal people who weren’t raised in an orphanage had. Our adoption into the same family was beyond anything even little girls could ever imagine. Standing there, with tear-stained faces, we could not believe how it was that we were together again, and this time forever. Even now as I reflect on the experience, everything that happened to me before she was my sister seems a blur; I can’t imagine life without her. They say that every girl has a dream, a fantasy that follows her through life. And though my dream has become reality, I often find myself entranced by the mystery of its unveiling. My adoptive parents, without my prompting, came to love one girl among a hundred, and they made this girl, who happened to be my best friend, my sister. Later, holding my sister’s hand, I recalled a teaching that I once heard “save a life, and you save the world. My parents saved not only two lives, they saved a love, and they saved the world more than twice over. Comment on this story on our public message board |
