Immigration 5: Leaving Misha

Part I : Leaving

There’s always a pain that is associated with any sort of leaving. Going to a new school means saying goodbye to long established friendships. Moving to a new town means saying goodbye to loved ones and leaving behind favorite haunts. But immigration from behind the iron curtain takes leaving to a whole new level.

We left everything and everyone forever. Remember, in 1977, there was no hint of the collapse of the Berlin Wall or Perestroika nor the dissolution of the USSR into Russia. In 1977 we knew with absolute certainty that we would never see the faces of lifelong friends, parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles or aunts ever again.

The decision having been made, the consequences were simply to be borne. So we prepared ourselves and our loved ones did the same. The one thing, however, I was not prepared for was the loss of not only my real family but also my imaginary one. All my toys, all my anthropomorphized stuffed animals, were to be left behind.

When survival depends on the contents of your suitcase you’d better believe teddy bears aren’t going to make it in.

So as we waved our goodbyes to all the tear stained faces of friends and family, I also waved goodbye to the inanimate forms of my daily companions. Elephants and bears, big and small were distributed among family and friends.

Part II : Misha

Mutual pain tends to bring people closer together and so it was with our, now tiny, family. The three of us clung to each other as if our lives depended on it .. which in all reality they probably did. Such intimacy allowed my parents to be very aware of my mental and emotional state and they were able to support me when I most needed it. And so it was that a few months after arriving in the states my parents knew that I needed a toy.

One day, walking the streets of New York, looking in all the colorful window displays we came across a toy shop. The display was loaded with teddy bears of all shapes, colors and sizes. But I didn’t see them, I saw only one. It was as if Misha, a blue and white teddy bear that my uncle had given me back in the Soviet Union, had crossed the ocean just to land in that window display for me to see.

To hear my Mother tell it, I let out a sound that carried with it the miles of separation from the toys I loved and had to leave behind. And so my parents took the precious, little spending money they had and bought their little girl a companion. And that is exactly what he has been. These thirty years have seen him absorb my tears, hear my laughter and suffer my wrath. He is that childhood toy that all of us have had and in some cases still have.

These thirty years have also seen walls demolished, Perestroikas flourish and The USSR become Russia. And so, distraught tear stained faces were seen again, now older, still tear stained but now adorned with ear to ear grins. Friends and family visited here and my parents visited there.

My Grandmother has made the trip on more than one occasion and a few years back, when she came, she brought someone along. I knew something was up as soon as I saw her. Her eyes held a secret and her expression was a bit mischievous as she pulled a blue and white teddy bear from his hiding place. I knew who it was at once! My beloved Misha, the thirty plus year ago gift from my uncle, one of the characters from my imaginary family that I, at one point, knew I would never see again.

It was truly a wonderful moment.

But there’s something no one knows, well not until now. I didn’t recognize him. Nothing about that lovely teddy bear was familiar! All I had left of him was the memory of my affection, nothing more. Time, it is said, heals all wounds. Somehow, though, in this particular instance, I wish it hadn’t done such an excellent job.

So now, my Russian and American Mishas share a shelf in my room, keeping an eye on me and mine. And I imagine that in the quiet of the night the bears exchange stories of the girl and woman who loved and loves them.