A Little Story Behind the Story
Take two. I wrote about this life event once before* and will likely write about it again, as I continue to be amazed at how everything is unfolding, even decades later. In fact, this version was penned before my youngest son’s recent trip to South America. And, yes, I’m still questioning myself.
What Kind of Mom Does That?
When I posed for a photo in Red Square in 1992, I never imagined that the baby I left at home would one day pose for a similar photo 23 years later. What kind of mom switches her eight-month-old to formula so that she can take the trip of a lifetime without him? What kind of mom travels halfway across the world in a time when instant communication is impossible and so she can’t talk to her husband, baby, and two-year-old son for three weeks? What kind of mom doesn’t care about those things? Not me, I care, but I did it anyway.
Something in me allowed me to believe it would be okay to leave my baby behind. Something in me must have believed it would impact his life in a way so over-the-top wonderful that I must take this trip.
Tears and Unanswered Calls
A fellow traveler took this photo of 27-year-old me, missing my young family, while at a host’s home in Russia.
I wept into my pillow in the various Russian guest rooms where I slept, missing my baby and his toddler brother was overwhelming at times. But I woke each day ready for the next adventure as the one-woman documentary crew following a missionary and his companion around with a video camera and notepad.
I tried to place calls home through an international operator, but during the pre-cellphone, internet-connected era, all I could do was leave voice messages, never catching them at home.
Hello Again, It’s Me
The day we arrived back at our city airport, when families could greet passengers right as they deboarded the plane, I walked cautiously toward my family, for a moment thinking the boys might not remember me. My toddler ran and threw his little chubby arms around me as I knelt to his stature. I stood still holding him and turned toward my baby in my husband’s arms.
Setting the toddler down, I reached my arms toward the baby, and without pause, he reached back to me. I took him, holding him close as he snuggled his head into my neck. All was well in our little world.
Hasta Luego, Hijo
Fast forward 20 years, and this left-behind baby graduates with a degree in Modern Languages – fluent in Spanish, studying French, and dabbling in Russian. I drive him to the airport, where he boards a plane to backpack across Europe. He also planned a side trip to Moscow, where he’ll stay with friends he met through an online travel app.
He takes lots of photos to post on his blog documenting his journey. The one in Red Square finally showed up, and I am amazed at how it looks like he is in the exact spot where I stood all those years ago. He laughs when he tells me later that it took two takes over two days to get it right. He didn’t realize until late on the first day, when comparing the photo to the one of me saved on his phone, that he was not in the same position, so he went back the next day to get it just right. I keep the photos framed together on my desk.
What kind of son cares to stand where his mom once stood? The kind raised by this kind of mom, of course.
* My first story about our trips to Russia: Coming Full Circle in the Square.